University of Virginia Library

BOOK VI.

Relax Orsines, your left arm relax:
In that which holds the spear I want your strength.
If this you tighten you draw force from that;
And Dionysus meant a deadly wound
When pointing steel at grim Lycurgus King;
Compel your strength where strength will best avail.
So spoke Pygmalion to his willing friend
Who stood as Dionysus. Light his love
For sculptured forms and mimicry on walls;
But as a graybeard with a favourite child
For love will join his pastimes and pursuits,
That otherwise were moil and weariness,
Orsines loved to posture God or man
Aiding Pygmalion's service to the Gods.
Thus on they toiled thro' many a summer morn:
One's ardour warming to lay hold and show
That force the other did his best to give.
One day they argued on the people's press
For power, which turned against them to their bane
Unguided by the Best. How wantonly
Their abject faith in mouthing demagogues
Noised empty phrases into oracles,
And gave base maxims vogue by utterance.
Orsines thought these bubbles might be touched
By spear and sword with profit to the state.
To cut off thistles ere they flower and seed
Saved wasting soil and spared the labourer.
Nay, nay, Orsines, you a warrior trained
By daily exercise in warlike feats
Tend to resolve all tangles by the stroke
Of steel. But steel, O friend, will scarce suppress
A rising tide; or backward push the sun
Because forsooth his beams too fiercely burn!
Against the tide we must protect our shores
By driven piles; and stones in sloping walls;
And quays of solid strength. Then tides become
The servants of our greatness, bearing ships
Exultingly to conquest; or in peace
Enriching us by gathered merchandise.
We must not throw sharp sand against the wind.
No; we must strive to guide not stay this growth;
For tho' we are in our high state the flowers,
The people are the mighty stem whereon
We live and grow; or perish if cut off.
Orsines thought Pygmalion must hit true
As, tho' in arms by far his overmatch,
He beat him worse in words and arguments;
And meekly prudent ventured no reply.
Pygmalion asked what did Orsines think;
Would lengthening our bows by one good span
Increase the force within the men's control?
Orsines said the attempt were dangerous.
The men might hold the force well in command,
And aim as truly as at shorter range;
But if attacking over greater space,
With sword and spear, their breath might fail before
The close, and profit thus the waiting foe.
Ianthe, radiant, entered while he spoke,
With wine; and bread; and fruit; these placing by
She said,
May I pour wine for you my Lord
Orsines?
Rough and simple warrior he
Would take of wine, yea verily he would.
And as she offered him the well-filled cup
He reddened to the roots of his black curls
Vowing he fain would pour for her instead.
A strangely ordered Ganymede would you
Make my Orsines with your knotted beard
And hands of sinewy grip. Old stories say
Hephaestus once poured nectar for the Gods,
And made Olympus with such laughter shake
The wrath of Zeus in thunder scarce had made
A greater uproar. But of Ares yet
I have not heard he so amused their feast.
Orsines said that maids so often poured,
And tended on the wants of men, that men
Might change at times and tend upon the maids.
Ianthe looked amazed at words so sleek
From Chief so rough. Pygmalion laughing cried
It is our Island's lack of war that tames
Orsines into peaceful courtesies.
Both gazed upon Ianthe as she moved
Across the chamber to the doorway where
Beyond the day was shining bright and still.
When, while her figure moved dark and defined
Against the outside glare, both inwardly
Felt there was something yet more fair than light.
Orsines told Pygmalion how alway
His Mother, older and in lassitude
Beyond Time's warrant, urged him constantly,
In mild pathetic plaint, that he would bring
Her home a daughter to her loneliness,
As she had never since my Father fell,
The day your own great Father met his fate,
Much mingled with the cheerful world without.
She yearns for children's laughter in the house;
Her breast is dry for longing. Pattering feet
Would be as music to her heart. The clasp
Of tender little fingers; kisses soft
That baby lips give sweetly, as the prankt
Delicious honeysuckle utters sweets
To every wandering zephyr that demands,
Her pent-up desolation would, she says,
Release in new-born joy of young delights,
And she again partake of blessed life.
How comes it my Orsines you so fail
Fulfilling her such reasonable hopes?
It comes Pygmalion from the hindering fact
That though I have seen many noble maids
Too good and fair for my rude warrior ways,
Yet have I not seen one who strikes my soul
With sense of possibility that I
Could pass untired with her my lifelong course
Till now; when suddenly, as I saw her,
Ianthe, asking should she pour for me
I felt I could for ever with her dwell
And she would be my home. Therefore, as you
Are Lord and Guardian of her fate, I ask
Permission to declare my suit, and take,
If graciously received, the Maiden home
To cheer my Mother with delightful hopes.
Came to Pygmalion's memory when a child
He heard a moth scrape at his prison-walls
With energy unflagging. Worn, at length
The side began to tremble to and fro,
Scarcely a film, which the small creature burst
And struggling out, all moist and crumpled, clung
To his sometime tomb. Motionless awhile
The warm air dried his wings, to gorgeous hues
Expanded: these for a time he fluttered,
Then half an arm's length rose, and wavered back.
This did he thrice, then paused. Last, gallantly,
In power complete and noble sweep uprose;
But reached not more than half the tree's height ere
A darting bird from out the branches seized,
And gorged him in mid air. This pirate, too,
Had ears and eyes in watching for his prey,
Whose first flight from his dusky prison-house
Was to his grave in that rapacious maw.