University of Virginia Library

Forth from the bowers of Eros and the Faun,
When the glad Faun flew down the forest shade,
And Eros sprang upon his glittering plumes,
Bound for his mighty mother's silver heaven,
The silver heaven of the Uranian Love,
Not the soft sphere of that sweet amorous Queen
That changes as she circles round our star.—
Forth from the bowers of Eros and the Faun,
When the strong Dream let Ariadne go,
Homeward, with hope to light her steps, she went.
And now she neared the gorgeous capital
Of Minos, the great sea-prince, throned o'er Crete,
Her father and her king, and paused and gazed.
Before her rose a fair metropolis,
Shining colossal through the misty eve,
With dome and pinnacle and hanging wall,
With gorgeous frontispiece of cresting towers,
Temple and palace and the abodes of men,
Wrought of clear marble, white as drifted snow.
And now she entered that old grove divine,
Wherein all statues of all forms appeared,
The workmanship of wisest Dædalus,
Who dwells among the ever-during Gods,
And moulds with silent hand our later age,
When Truth with Beauty weds, and knightly hearts
Are big with the new chivalry of work.
Here Zeus the Olympian looked the Titan dead
With the bare potency of kingly frowns;
In marble Here walked with that grand pace
That queens do use; and here, in armour clothed,
The maiden warrior, mighty Pallas, leant
Against her olive; an uplifted spear
Poseidon grasped to strike the cleaving earth,
And summoned the white steed with foamy mane,
And mouth on tremble with a fiery snort.
Beside him Hermes with his restless wand
Along the road urged the delaying Dead.
All forms from plain or forest, sea or shore,
Mountain and vale, all products of the mind
Were gathered here for prophecy or song.
Nor only in the bloom of ripened thought,
Had the wise craftsman fixed, in sculptured moulds,
Eternal grace and perfect loveliness,
So marrying melody to marble forms;
But the enormous bulk of ancient gods,
The primal rulers of a buried world,
Crouched, stood or lay in solid dreadfulness.
Here Zagreus from clenched teeth defiance frown'd,
With all that Titan crew o'erthrown of old,
Porphyrion, Brontes, Arges, Steropes.
Here glared Medusa's head with frozen orbs,
Holding betwixt strange terror and delight
The heart that looked on its melodious pain.
Memnonian statues from grandæval Thebes,
And of old kings the marble pieties,
Stood round, grey children of the eternal Prime,
Fixing their dead eyes on the passer-by.
All these the Princess saw; but now she paused,
Where, veiled in leaves, a snow-white temple rose.
With sylvan quiet that invited still
All loitering steps. She, slowly entering here,
—Sacred to Aphrodite was the fane—
Breathed her low vows; but even as she prayed
The forward-flowing wind filled all the place
With a sharp piteous cry, and with the shock
Of falling blocks that came from far away,
Borne down the breeze. Aghast, the Princess stood
As one that sees some shape ne'er seen before;
Then, with a look eager and wild as Fear,
Broke from her prayer, and with precipitate step
Now over hill and now o'er valley flew,
Breathless, unresting, till her feet attained
A lawny upland, where the Orient sun
Smiled on a temple that, before the Dawn,
Rose fair as poesy, but westering shone
On ruins, and departed glory mourned.
What few white blocks yet stood, resisting force,
One piled on other, impious hands assailed.
Women with voices harsh as jarring jays,
Shouted when marble fragments snowed the ground,
Old men, whose silver hairs fresh brilliance caught
From the indignant sun, with lifted axe
Threatened the statue lying at their feet,
In act to strike, or with stout withy band,
Or twisted bulrush, manacled the priests
Of Bacchus, while around them raved and wept,
Maiden or youth, the votaries of the God.
High o'er the multitude conspicuous rose
A Form imperial, that with quiet eyes
Beheld the waste and terror of the scene,
Approving what he saw; a kingly crown
Circled his head, and purple robes adorned
His stately limbs; no passion lit his face,
But on his brow sate sovereign Intellect.
This was the Flower of Cretan chivalry,
Minos, sole judge and lord of all the land,
Who, loving well the old laws and sanctities,
O'erlooked the grander life that still renews
The ancient Order, and with random blow
Struck down the loveliest growth of budding Time.

Awhile before the sovereign of all Crete
The princess stood, uplifting to the king
The full resplendence of her queenly eyes,
Till, fitting her stern thoughts to words, she spake:
“What dread disaster have the Heavens in store,
“That this strange madness overcomes us all,
“That we have dared o'erthrow the homes of Gods,
“Have dared break up their sacred images?”

To whom the Lord of Crete made answer thus:
“Daughter, 'tis not for thee to counsel kings,
“Nor school a sire, yet partly that rare gifts,
“Wisdom and art and prophecy are thine,
“And partly for the sake of me who speak.
“And chiefly for the love I bear my child,
“I answer, and while answering, pardon thee.
“One am I who revere the old pieties,
“The uses of the plain good men that walked
“In the safe paths of common thought, and knew
“No Gods but those the antique world obeyed.
“I worship the Olympian Zeus with all
“The authentic congregation of the skies.
“I have devised and sanctioned all good laws,
“Still holding it for fittest, fairest, best,
“To make the sons of Crete brave, temperate, wise,
“To train her daughters up to household needs,
“Submissive, filial, modest and discreet.
“Thus have I wrought, and favouring my great ends,
“With me have wrought the Gods that work for all.
“And now, shall Change uncrown our royal work?
“Shall men that toil give place to idle girls,
“And the old Gods to new? This youngling Power,
“When first received among our island Gods,
“Dreamt of no empire, but now bolder grown
“Usurps supreme dominion; the fair hills
“That once shut in his mystic royalties,
“Suffice no more; our barriers all o'erthrown
“Into the centre of our kingly towns
“He comes, as conquerers come, and with him brings—
“O grief! O shame! —the sweet and blinding spells
“Of freedom, power, knowledge, and poesy,
“That lure our maidens from the maiden's life,
“From loom and distaff, and the gentler toils
“That grace the woman, till, foregoing all,
“The sweetness, light, and radiant purity
“Of their true life, they leave their innocent homes.
“And, slain by Folly, know too late their fault.”

He ended; and the Princess made reply:
“O Father, hear me pleading for the God.
“No youngling Power is he, but, old as Time,
“Who under many changing names fulfills
“His being, changeless in perpetual change.
“He is the life that throbs in burning stars,
“And gleams in clouds; from whom sweet longings come,
“Fierce joys, and thoughts dreadful and beautiful,
“Shadows of mightier worlds by mightier suns
“Thrown in glad colours on the world of man.
“Of him is song that honours human life,
“And the wild sweet enthusiasm of love,
“And ecstasy, and dream and oracle.
“He is the trampler on the foaming grape,
“Wearer of ivy, king of lonely flutes,
“And chiming strings that haunt the midnight air;
“Joyer in lifted hills and shaking woods,
“Great lord of purple glooms and lurking lights.
“Yet all this flush of life, this flaming power,
“Is crown'd with beauty, spher'd with perfect law,
“And orbed with peace; and as from sightless root
“Dawns, leaf by leaf, the pure ethereal flower
“That feeds on sunbeams, so from passion springs
“The inner love which clothes the perfect soul
“With the white garment of its blameless joy.”

“Daughter, ” replied the King, “enough is said.
“Never henceforth to this usurping God
“In all my Cretan realm shall fane be reared,
“Or prayer be breathed, or solemn ode be sung.”

“O King! O father!” thus the Princess cried,
“Recall thy words, for Gods are not as men,
“Nor is the painted show or semblance all,
“But thro' the senses shining evermore
“The Godlike visits men. Recall thy words.”
So spake the Princess, with a noble zeal;
To whom the Sovereign of all Crete replied:
“I cannot act upon a woman's whim,
Nor, trusting in fair possibilities,
“Let go ripe certainty. Did I not see,
“With scarce-believing eyes, a rabble-rout
“Of youths, all frenzied with the juice of grapes,
“Shake the still courts of my metropolis?
“Did not men stream with tipsy revelry
“Thro' our imperial city? Were not doors
“Opened and shut, and from their secret bowers
“Young maidens borne away with shout and song,
“For all their mothers' weeping? —But enough!
“I have decreed that Bacchus never more
“Have welcome here; and to make good my word,
“Have overthrown his statues and his shrine,
“Disclaiming all obedience. Silence then
“With meek retirement best beseems my child.”
“O father, thou hast said,” the Princess cried,
“I will not speak nor answer any more:
“The Gods will aid the Gods.” Inclining low
Before the king she stood as one that stands,
In the dread presence of omnipotent Power,
Speechless and helpless, curbing her chafed will,
Then, sad and slow, with stately step retired.

Thro' many a spacious street the Princess past,
And grove all beautiful with marble shapes,
And regal square throng'd with the silent life
Which patient sculptors lure from lifeless stone;
Still on, until she heard the whispering trees
That fringed the palace gate. Here fingering winds,
With song of birds amid the dancing leaves,
And sigh of reed and rush and waving grass,
Troubled the else inviolable calm:
The daylight waned: the red and menacing moon
Showed near and large, and with dim shapeless fears
Perplexed her heart, till Ariadne saw
From starry heights, in worlds invisible,
Hope fall, as falls to earth a heavy stone
Which some strong hand has hurled above the clouds;
Yet paused she not, but thro' the palace gates,
Unfolding for her, entered, and beheld
Within, half hidden in the swathing grass,
Urania, her fair daughter, haply here
Deserted by the women, when the din
And outcry of the frantic populace
Rolled up to heaven, and they bewildered sought
Refuge in secret cave or tangled wood.

The child lay sleeping on her folded arm;
Her hair, astray in golden tendrils, fell
Shadowing her face and neck; and lightly came
And went the breath between her parted lips,
Twin rosebuds, while one happy smile, no more,
Ruffled the summer calm of looks as clear
As waters dreaming in a tranquil pool.

Then o'er the slumberer Ariadne leant,
And woke her, breathing warmly on her face
And fanning her light hair; so never more
Awakened. But the child, low murmuring, said:

“Kiss, kiss me, mother dear, and clasp my hand,
“And say farewell to me ere I depart,
“Where all day long the lovely children play
“On pleasant fields of yellow asphodel:
“Clasp, clasp me, mother, ere I fade from life,
“And kiss me as I kissed thee yesterday.
“I shall not need thy kisses any more,
“When a pale shade I play with shades as pale.”

So spake she; but her words were lent by Death,
In that great darkness where new stars appear,
And Ariadne, at these low sweet sounds—
The last sweet sounds that she might ever hear—
Spoke not, but knelt, and from that dying brow
Parted the waving gold, and kissed her child,
Who, smiling, from her kisses faded fast.
There was no moan, no sigh, no falling tear,
Nor stifled sob for her who thus from life
Gently withdrew; but Ariadne knelt
Folding her hands beside that fair dead child,
With a prophetic soul that knew its woes,
And welcomed every evil it divined.

So leave them, with no wail upon the night,
To the calm Gods and to the patient stars.