University of Virginia Library

PANDORA

A Dialogue

Prometheus—Epimetheus—Pandora
EPIMETHEUS
Peace, in the bright courts of the tyrant, peace!
Rest, for the sweet world slain beneath his frown!
The strange sound deepens, peace! our war is done.
Strangely hath Zeus remembered mercy now.
The prince god folds away his deadly shafts.
The strong one moves his arrow from its string,
Softens his stern lip-corners to a smile,
And reaches out, as friend with freind, his hand
Grown tired with hurling down perpetual death.
Evil indeed that battle where none win.
Weary is he and weary am I of war;
He, the unwearied, hungers for his rest.
If neither race prevail, as neither may,
It is an idle thing with lidless eyes
To watch each other, each bereaved of calm.
We can disturb his peace, he ruin ours,
And still no truce, no interval, no respite.
Rejoice, if now be done these bitter ways;
Break into song and take hereafter ease.
Smile, O thou warrior Titan, smile at last
To find love fairer than perpetual fear.
Behold, what love I bring thee, clear as air,
Strange as a dream, soft as a mountain down,
And moulded as the pauses of a song;
Even such a gracious thing and excellent
I found this woman, in the shining lands
Beyond the meadow parcels of blown seed,
Between the millet and the junipers,
Languid as one from slumber newly come,
And still her eyes had soft desire of sleep.
In wonder I beheld and made no word,
Till of herself she moved her lips to sound;
“Thus to the Titan saith the lord of clouds,
O race, unwearied, full of war and toil,
Fate is more strong than your contentious arms.
Ye hate, shall hatred then unsceptre Zeus,
Or anger empty any throne in heaven?
I fear you not and yet ye weary me.
That our old strife may therefore merge and die,
I send this woman for a marriage gift.
Let her accomplish peace for me with thine,
Prometheus: be content: I have forgiven.
Thine old rebellions I have put away,
And my reward outweighs the harm I gave thee.
Shall not her love efface the thunder scars,
Wherewith I drave thee backward from my realm?”
Therefore I joying led her to thy face,
Here where the red cliff fronts the flats of sand,
And short salt grasses cease in mountain sedge.

PROMETHEUS
Art sister to the race of sleep and dust,
Or goddess scorning kinship with the dead?

PANDORA
The ruler sends me as his daughter down
To kneel and touch thy strong hand with meek lips,
His daughter and his gift, saying, Be friends,
Take her and love her, Titan, but forgive.

PROMETHEUS
Is Zeus grown sudden-generous to his foes?

PANDORA
Nay, but it irks him thro' eternal hours
To hold his arrow always on the string.

PROMETHEUS
Hast thou alone, O maid, of living souls,
Heard this thing speak, as men speak, word and tone?
I feel his hand is heavy indeed to slay,
But he will never face me eye to brow.
I should not greatly fear him, tyrant, then;
But now he lets his mischiefs speak for him.

PANDORA
Zeus in my waking life I have not seen;
A swift dream brought this word, faded and went,
Before thy brother's footstep snapt my sleep.
From my birth-trance in wonder I arose.
But of my past remembrance none remains.
I know not if I lived ere this day woke;
Or in what fields I wandered other hours.
Yet earth is half familiar to mine eyes;
And in my thought old broken images
Mix with the present and confuse me wholly.
I am as one, who, eating some strange root,
Loses life-record in the taste of it.

PROMETHEUS
I praise thee nothing, brother, for thy joy.
If thou hast found a marvel, to thy harm
This crafty Zeus hath brought thy feet to find,
And stumble on his most pernicious gift.
Wiser have left it in the meadow reeds,
Gotten thee home again and had no heed.
Doth Zeus repent and love us, O unwise?
Shall we not rather weary out the stars,
Eons and eons, with this feud of ours?
Wrinkles will creep on the eternal sun,
And all large hills be vallied in waste seas,
Ere one prevail. Conquest alone is Peace.
And now, forsooth, he overflows with gifts.
Much careth he, the crafty, how I wed.
Nay, this is some delusion of his own
To work me death: this thing being wonderful,
Specious, a fair trap to hold bound men's eyes;
Since she is smooth and pleasant as a wave,
Fresh as a sea-flower, polished as its sea;
With a sweet subtle sadness haunting her,
And ruling all her beauty with a calm
That is the crown of beauty; being fair,
As the gods give their daughters to be fair,
Still grace divine disdaining much to weep
And far above all laughter. Such an one
As this beholding the fool human heart
Leaps greatly, is suffused with blind delight,
As tho' it stumbled on some mighty good
Entreated long of the deaf gods in prayer.
But this soft creature with her gracious ways
And warmth and perfume and light fugitive glances,
Whence is her birth, my brother, whence her charm?
Who wove the amber light into her hair,
Who gave her all the changes of her eyes?
Who framed the treasures of her breast, and carved
The balmy marvel of her throat, whose hand
Fashioned the silver curving shoulder down?
Who clothed her limbs with colour like soft fruit,
Who wrought and rounded her swift gleaming feet?
Come, let us reason this, desire is blind,
And brief is love that follows of desire;
Yea, very brief, but often at the end
Treason and fire and poison, death and harm.
Titans are we, not wholly gods, but more
Than gods in this, if we possess our souls.
Why should we hanker after her sweet hands?
Let her be lovelier than the birth of light,
Why should the incense of her presence move
The soul-embattled Titan from resolve
To have no dealing with the false arch-god,
But to let always the clear flame of hate
Burn steadily between his house and ours?
Can Zeus be sour in soul and sweet in gift?
An evil tree grows only poisoned fruit.
Can he renounce his nature in an hour?
Can he be piteous even to harmless men,
And these have done no insult to his throne?
But we the Titan seed alone endure,
And quail not, when he thunders in a world
Where all things else are chained beneath his feet.
We toss defiance to his arrogant face,
While all sweet nature grovels at his heel.
Us he detests, us he abhors, us fears:
Wilt thou have gift of such, for I will none?

PANDORA
Cruel art thou, Prometheus, being wise,
And yet not greatly cunning after all.
Art thou no match for one weak girl that weeps,
Thou Titan that would mate thyself with Zeus?
Tears are my wisdom, and my speech alone
To kneel and put my cheek against thy hand,
And weep a little over it and say,
“Fear me, my King, for I am terrible.”
I, utterly broken, weaker than a weed,
Am God's strong vengeance whom these Titans fear.
She is worth trembling at, this girl that weeps,
And awful, being melted into tears,
Sighing she threatens and entreating slays:
Zeus and his thunder fear not, but fear me.
Woe, then, to the arch-god's crown, wail for his throne;
How shall his ruling comfort him at all?
Doth he not vainly build pavilion clouds,
And bind sweet crisping heaven beneath his feet,
That he tread firm and warmly in his realm;
And when these Titans scorn and spit at him,
Can he invent no vengeance but a girl?
Thou sayest this Zeus is evil, let him be;
How should a woman reason of the gods?
Yet are they fierce and strange and sullen lords,
As thy word goes; they faint not, neither weep;
Shall they repent, be broken, bow them down?
Surely they shall not falter or remove,
Tho' they rule blind and stay themselves on fear.
Revile them; what have I to do with these?
Heal thou my tears; I care not how they rule.
I only know that I am desolate,
Since thou dost turn away thy gracious eyes
In anger, saying, “This woman means me death.”
Excellent Titan, O great king, my light,
To whom my nature blindly feels for aid,
Hath not some fateful power supreme and strange
Impelled me to thy presence, laid mine arms
With feeble claspings at thy mighty knees,
Saying, “Behold thy king, adore him well,
Lord of thy service, master of thy days.”
Do then my trembling arms and suppliant hands,
My lids unlifted, my short eager breath,
Do these resemble Death and Vengeance so,
That thou must push me off and stride away?
Thy hard eyes reason on each tear I shed;
With wise incurious musings, careless cold,
Gloating on me unbeautified in pain,
Thou weighest all my movements of despair.
Lo, one word spoken and my lips are mute;
I, that am held this subtle poison plague,
This utmost curse, born of thy tyrant's hate,
I even, I, strewn in this dust, demand;
Doth the vine, feeling for her elm to raise
Her frail limp garland-branch and pendant rings,
Mean any death to that which is her stay?
On whom her feeble arms may lean and thrive,
Since lonely and without him die she must?
Ah, such a death, ah, such a loving curse
Would I be round thee, my great elm, my king;
Ah, such a trouble my warm arms, such fear
My love, such hate my kisses. Let Zeus be;
Can he turn my love backward if he choose,
Can he command desire as babes are led?
God is not strong against a woman's love;
And, tho' Zeus lust to crush thy race and thee,
Zeus will not make me harm thee, if I love.
Nature is more than any god of these.
Let mercy guide thee if love may not lead.
Thou art so great and wise, my puny love
Would only vex thee, like an insect's wing
Scarce worthy to be brushed in scorn aside.
Let me remain and dream not to be loved,
Where I may hear thy voice, and watch thine eyes,
And the large gleams of purpose in their light;
Healer of worlds, thou godlier than all gods;
In whom the warm half mortal human heart
Tempers chill ichors of Olympian veins.
Leave me thy presence only; for I faint
In this sweet nature mateless and alone.
The steep grey woods, the broken mountain halls
Crush me with power. The lonely wave on the cliff
Has tongue to make me tremble. The crisp cloud
Rolling along shadows me like a fear.
And all the old stern creations of the world,
Founded for ever, still and lovely powers,
Oppress my soul; till in their ageless eyes
I seem to usurp in daring to live on.
Yea, the large luminous unclouded Heaven
Narrows about me full of voice and whisper.
Let me from these grey ancient presences
Creep to thy shadow and assuage my dread.
Let me lie down with thy strong hunting dogs
And guard the curtain-fold against thy tent;
Make me thy slave, no more; almost thy hound.
Employ me in some petty useful way,
To watch thee sleeping and draw panther skins
Warm to thy shoulder; as soft equal night
Alters to chill touched by sweet scent of dawn.
Or I have old-world harmonies to sing
And fill thy wakeful eyes with folded sleep;
But in keen day, when thy wise thought has wing,
Vain words of mine thy musings shall not break,
But I will sit and love and be most still.

EPIMETHEUS
Wisdom is much, my brother: thou art wise.
But reason over-strained is Folly's thrall.
Can this white perfect creature, excellent,
Steeped in the lovely tincture of pale light,
Round her the scent of rainy forest pines,
With hair like soft bents full of seed and flower,
Lie with her lips against her sacred form?
Most holy must she be that is so fair;
Her fresh young beauty answers for her truth.
I hold thee then intolerably wise
To dare make weep a thing so strangely sweet.
Prove her untruth; I am content to seem
For such delicious falsehood wholly fool.
If thy perfection be the mask of guile,
Slay me, sweet lily; I accept my doom.
For how should I in after hours endure,
If one year's flight reveal thee as divine,
As we accept thee lovely, and discern
Glory celestial in thine outward frame,—
If, fearing stain or ambush taint within,
I roughly move thee from my path, and go
A fool for ever aping wisdom ill?
But, O my brother, what a shaken life
Broken with lees, stained with great drops and dust,
Thou minglest to thy soul renouncing love,
Scoffing at rest and spitting out at peace.
And thou art ever railing on this Zeus;
Clothed round and haunted with perpetual fear,
And drooping at his vengeance. Dream thy fill,
Thou wakest up with Zeus; at festival
There is thy Zeus in every cup again.
So now this phantom scares thee from the joy
Holy and best, commended of all gods.
Wilt thou refuse this glowing lovely fruit
Lest Zeus should put thee poison in its rind?
I charge thee, brother, it is a fearful thing,
Worthy of endless pity and disdain,
To maim thy soul with fast and pinion her
In solitude for ever. Love is great,
His foemen will be broken at the end,
His wheels are mighty. Titan, then arise,
Touch with thy hand her bright hair suppliant;
Raise her and fold around her thy great arms.
Take thy delight upon her fruitful lips;
So make her nature blossom with thy love,
So bind her with strong influence wholly thine,
So strengthen thee at the springs of her fresh life,
Till thou wax more Titanic, and expand
Thy lordly nature to new stateliness;
Till thou redouble might, and scoff at fear,
And the arch-father of thy fear above;
Till thou, may be, in comfortable halls,
No longer roaming under icy stars,
Titan, in vengeance eating down thy heart;
Or toiling on the sterile lands of storm,
Knee-deep in ruins of the mountain cone,
Or tumbled fields of pine; shalt warm at home
Listen the light wail of the nursling child,
And hear the mother murmuring over it,
With cradle-kisses broken, songs of sleep.
And, if eternal conflict must prevail
With thee and thine against the thunder-kings,
Let us breed offspring, nobler yet than we,
Sustaining sterner onset; to outpass
Our deed in larger prowess; tear their thrones
Away, as withered branches, out of heaven;
Efface them, and rule calmly in their seat
To teach man better comfort than their reign.

PROMETHEUS
The tune of thy word is anguish in my ear,
The taste of thy persuasion bitter lees;
Grievous to hear at wise lips idiot sound.
Art thou too blinded of this subtle king?
Hath he brought vapour on thy soul, and cloud
Against thy reason? So some witless wren
Trills with delight among the painted weed,
But overhead forgets the hawk at poise.
O tremble then, ye Titans, for your house:
I hear Zeus rouse his brothers to the field,
I see them smile as if they scented death,
I hear the grinding of their chariot-wheels.
They shall prevail, their hour is at the doors.
Yea, let them go and pluck bay-garlands soon,
Let glory clothe them; they have smitten well;
Prepare thy face, O Titan, for their heels,
Put down a patient neck for them to tread.
Ay me, the lordly race, so proud it was,
Totters before them; scorn is rightly theirs,
Since no worm turns on earth against them now.
And, by my soul, this shall hereafter be,
If for one shining bauble thy heart fails,
If great resolve quails under eye-delight.
Thy blind confusions cloud my plainest word;
Mine eyes as thine pronounce her beautiful;
Lovely she is and true perchance may be.
But this “perchance” is a wide slippery word,
And in its foldings there are many deaths.
I will believe, a thing so pure with grace
Is in herself most clean of evil mind;
She knows no death in each of her sweet hands.
Her could I love, if, over all, this stern
Supremest hate, whose eyelids vanquish sleep,
Held not its lidless watch to torture us.
If this prevail, lean mercy will be ours,
Exquisite hurting, and most cruel pain.
Therefore, who sets his face to cope with Zeus,
Hath slender hours of pastime, and lays by
Love that is born, as some soft flower in dreams,
The season lily of a wintry spring;—
Must lay love by for ever and a day,
And childless gird him braver for the fight,
And wage securer onset; if each child
Is a new wounding place that he must guard,
A new rift in his harness to defend
Against the subtle vengeance; keen of eye;
Finger on bow; crouched snake-like; arrows near.
He too, that would not bend to save himself,
Will crawl to save his children; let me gain
A lonely glory or a childless fall.
Therefore, I do refuse her fair and true,
False or unfalse, resign her either way.
He, who has made her in his craft, may guide
Her darkened eyes in roads where is no light,
Nor any song, but noise of smitten breasts,
Wrung hands, tear-weeping, hiss and ache of woe.
Is she not then his instrument and blind?
As we could train her in all gracious ways,
He will mislead her simple hands to harm,
She guileless all the while. O brother, fear her;
Blind are her steps, her master terrible,
And hungry with the famine of old hate
To crush our race out in red fire and gloom.

Chorus of Nymphs
A wild sweet star in amber folds of morn,
A violet pale in fields of twisted tares;
The lovely queen Pandora, newly born,
Leaving her native ether unawares
And regions golden in celestial dawn,
Descends refreshing nature; as the rain
In pale sward renders daisy faces plain,
Earth at thy coming wakens all her rills,
The fountain heads remurmur, the light wave
At the vale mouth a sweeter tribute spills;
And, once sonorous under mountain cave,
The many winds are dead and done away;
Or up in broken spaces of the hills,
Among the ravens and the tumbled crags,
Some breeze goes gentle as a child at play.
The lowland rapid crisp with ruffled flags,
The still tarn rippled by the martin's wing,
The fleet unresting waters of the sea,
Are shaken in the light of dædal spring.
The shadows pass away because of thee,
Pandora, crown of all created things.
A large deep music gathers from the land;
The grey cliff-head, the burnished island spire
Tremble in lucid haze as veins of fire.
The pale waves spend their foam and push the sand,
Furrow and whiten, shatter and retire.
Thy loveliness is as the moon's command
To sway them as she will and make them flow;
They are amazed at thy ethereal brow.
The fear of thy bride-beauty, and the love
That changes fear till fear grows strangely sweet,
Make nature listen if thou dost but move,
And thrill the meadow-grasses at thy feet.
The watery saffron, gentian, bloom of light,
The lilies of the moorland amber-eyed,
Sigh toward thee passing; the dew-spider weaves
Weak webs to tangle thy bright steps aside.
The woodbine reaches ineffectual leaves.
Beautiful sister, let us come to thee;
Fear not our worship, flee not, holy one,
Be thy sweet breath about us like the sea,
Be thy pure brow above us as the sun.
Be to us breath and ocean, light and spring,
Reward us only with thy presence, bring
Thyself, and be the deity of these;
Rule us and love us, and there shall not cease,
O queen, thine adoration. Let thy hands
Be near us for our worship, and thy hair
Unfolded for our wonder; as the sands
New washed of tide are coloured, when waves spare
Some of their liquid glowing as they go
To leave them bright a little. But thy brows
Have bound deep heavy sunlight on their snows
For a perpetual spoil. Thou dost not know
The stint and fluctuation of the tide;
For thou art clothed with fair on every side;
Thou art no cloud allowed one hour to glow.
Nay, for thy lord who stablished thee so sweet,
Hath put all change beneath thy perfect feet,
Hedged thee with honour excellent; made Praise
A drudge to hew thee wood, and Love to watch and wait,
A slave beside a lute-string, to make thee easy ways
Of sleep, when pastime-wearied, and bondsman to thy state.
Yea, and thine eyes shall see meek Love beside thee,
And smile a little, as not over-glad,
Being too royal, with no joy denied thee,
Than to be otherwise than grandly sad.
As the gods laugh not over much, indeed
Why should they laugh, and what is worth their weeping?
Sweet youth fails not beneath them like a reed,
The shadow and the shine are in their keeping.
The large deep flows on under them, the cloud
Is strewn along their tables, and the light
Is broad about them, when the wind is loud;
And the deep gates of sunset in their sight
Burn with the broken day. But these maintain
High state as always. Their hands reap and slay
Nor render any reason. They are fain
Because their rule cannot be put away;
Because their arrows swerve not when they draw,
Because their halls are winter-proof, their hate
Mighty and fat with store of death, their law
Shod with the iron permanence of fate.
If they are vengeful, can they not revenge?
Wrathful, allow their wrath its utmost way;
Insatiate, can almost lust their fill;
Listless, can drowse on tinted cloud all day,
Lulled by the nations wailing as they pray?—
Nay, let us break our song nor think on these.
To thee this conflict, Titan, doth belong;
We are but weak, as ineffectual seas
That roll and spill their foam-lines all day long—
She is as lovely, lord, as thou art strong.
To us she cometh as some strange desire;
As a bird's voice thro' silence in the night:
As scent of oaken woods: or perfumed fire
Floated among the pines in curling spire:
The loosening of her ringlets is like light.
Refresh thy lordly spirit at her lips.
They shall renew thy soul with subtle power.
Turn thee, O lord, to thy desired repose;
Time hath made ripe for thee this perfect flower,
And folded up her fragrance like a rose.
Arise and take thy joy and dream no wrong;
Who shall assail thee in thy mighty hall?
Ours let it be to sing thy nuptial song,
Until some beam auroral touch the trees,
And wake thy palace with an ouzel's call;
And in sweet hush the perfumed wing of morn
Arrive on amber cloud and shaken breeze.