Then Psyche would have thank'd their service true, But that she fear'd her echoing words might scare Those sightless tongues; and well by dream she knew The voices of the messengers of prayer,
Which fly upon the gods' commandment, when
They answer the supreme desires of men,
Or for a while in pity hush their care.
'Twas fancy's consummation, and because
She would do joy no curious despite,
She made no wonder how the wonder was;
Only concern'd to take her full delight.
So to the bath,-what luxury could be
Better enhanced by eyeless ministry?—
She follows with the voices that invite.
There being deliciously refresht, from soil
Of earth made pure by water, fire, and air,
They clad her in soft robes of Asian toil,
Scented, that in her queenly wardrobe were;
And led her forth to dine, and all around
Sang as they served, the while a choral sound
Of strings unseen and reeds the burden bare.
Pathetic strains and passionate they wove,
Urgent in ecstasies of heavenly sense;
Responsive rivalries, that, while they strove
Combined in full harmonious suspense,
Entrancing wild desire, then fell at last
Lull'd in soft closes, and with gay contrast
Launch'd forth their fresh unwearied excellence.
Now Psyche, when her twofold feast was o'er, Would feed her eye; and choosing for her guide A low-voiced singer, bade her come explore The wondrous house; until on every side As surfeited with beauty, and seeing nought But what was rich and fair beyond her thought, And all her own, thus to the voice she cried:
'Am I indeed a goddess, or is this
But to be dead: and through the gates of death
Passing unwittingly doth man not miss
Body nor memory nor living breath;
Nor by demerits of his deeds is cast,
But, paid with the desire he holdeth fast,
Is holp with all his heart imagineth?'
But her for all reply the wandering tongue
Call'd to the chamber where her bed was laid
With flower'd broideries of linen hung:
And round the walls in painting were portray'd
Love's victories over the gods renown'd.
Ares and Aphrodite here lay bound
In the fine net that dark Hephaestus made:
Here Zeus, in likeness of a tawny bull, Stoop'd on the Cretan shore his mighty knee, While off his back Europa beautiful
Stept pale against the blue Carpathian sea;
And here Apollo, as he caught amazed
Daphne, for lo! her hands shot forth upraised In leaves, her feet were rooted like a tree:
Here Dionysos, springing from his car
At sight of Ariadne; here uplept
Adonis to the chase, breaking the bar
Of Aphrodite's arm for love who wept:
He spear in hand, with leashèd dogs at strain;
A marvellous work. But Psyche soon grown fain
Of rest, betook her to her bed and slept.
Nor long had slept, when at a sudden stir
She woke; and one, that thro' the dark made way, Drew near, and stood beside; and over her
Trembling now she lay,
Fainting with terror: till upon her face
A kiss, and with two gentle arms' embrace,
A voice that call'd her name in loving play.
Though for the darkness she coud nothing see,
She wish'd not then for what the night denied:
This was the lover she had lack'd, and she,
Loving his loving, was his willing bride.
O'erjoy'd she slept again, o'erjoy'd awoke
At break of morn upon her love to look;
When lo! his empty place lay by her side.
So all that day she spent in company
Of the soft voices; and Of right, they said,
Art thou our Lady now. Be happily
Thy bridal morrow by thy servants sped.
But she but long'd for night, if that might bring
Her lover back; and he on secret wing
Came with the dark, and in the darkness fled.
And this was all her life; for every night
He came, and though his name she never learn'd,
Nor was his image yielded to her sight
At morn or eve, she neither look'd nor yearn'd
Beyond her happiness: and custom brought
An ease to pleasure; nor would Psyche's thought
Have ever to her earthly home return'd,
But that one night he said 'Psyche, my soul,
Sad danger threatens us: thy sisters twain
Come to the mountain top, whence I thee stole,
And thou wilt hear their voices thence complain.
Answer them not: for it must end our love
If they should hear or spy thee from above.'
And Psyche said 'Their cry shall be in vain.'
But being again alone, she thought 'twas hard
On her own blood; and blamed her joy as thief
Of theirs, her comfort which their comfort barr'd;
When she their care might be their care's relief.
All day she brooded on her father's woe,
And when at night her lover kisst her, lo!
Her tender face was wet with tears of grief.
Then question'd why she wept, she all confest;
And begg'd of him she might but once go nigh
To set her sire's and sisters' fears at rest;
Till he for pity coud not but comply:
'Only if they should ask thee of thy love
Discover nothing to their ears above.'
And Psyche said 'In vain shall be their cry.'
And yet with day no sooner was alone,
Than she for loneliness her promise rued:
That having so much pleasure for her own,
'Twas all unshared and spent in solitude.
And when at night her love flew to his place,
More than afore she shamed his fond embrace,
And piteously with tears her plaint renew'd.
The more he now denied, the more she wept;
Nor would in anywise be comforted,
Unless her sisters, on the Zephyr swept,
Should in those halls be one day bathed and fed, And see themselves the palace where she reign'd. And he, by force of tears at last constrain'd, Granted her wish unwillingly, and said:
'Much to our peril hast thou won thy will;
Thy sisters' love, seeing thee honour'd so,
Will sour to envy, and with jealous skill
Will pry to learn the thing that none may know.
Answer not, nor inquire; for know that I
The day thou seest my face far hence shall fly,
And thou anew to bitterest fate must go.'
But Psyche said, 'Thy love is more than life;
To have thee leaveth nothing to be won:
For should the noonday prove me to be wife
Even of the beauteous Eros, who is son
Of Cypris, I coud never love thee more.'
Whereat he fondly kisst her o'er and o'er,
And peace was 'twixt them till the night was done.
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