Day-light and night, and stars unmingled dance,
Nor can he raise his glance.
She saw the rocky coast
Whereon the azured waves
Are laced in foam, or lost
In water-lighted caves ;
The olive island where,
Amid the purple seas,
Night unto Darkness bare
The four Hesperides:
And came into the shade
Of Atlas, where she found
The garden Earth had made
And fenced with groves around.
And in the midst it grew
Alone, the priceless stem,
As careful, clear and true
As graving on a gem.
Nature had kissèd Art
And borne a child to stir
With jealousy the heart
Of heaven's Artificer.
From crown to swelling root
It mocked the goddess' praise,
The green enamelled sprays,
The emblazoned golden fruit.
And 'neath the tree, with hair and zone unbound,
The fair Hesperides aye danced around,
And Ægle danced and sang 'O welcome, Queen!'
And Erytheia sang 'The tree is green!'
And Hestia danced and sang 'The fruit is gold!'
And Arethusa sang 'Fair Queen, behold!'
And all joined hands and danced about the tree,
And sang 'O Queen, we dance and sing for thee!'
IN. If there be any here who has complaint
Against our rule or claim or supplication,
Now in the name of Zeus let it appear,
PR. All hail, most worthy king, such claim have I.
IN. May grace be with thee, stranger; speak thy mind.
PR. To Argos, king of Argos, at thy house
I bring long journeying to an end this hour,
Bearing no idle message for thine ears.
For know that far thy fame has reached, and men
That ne'er have seen thee tell that thou art set
Upon the throne of virtue, that goodwill
And love thy servants are, that in thy land
Joy, honour, trust and modesty abide.
And drink the air of peace, that kings must see
Thy city, would they know their peoples' good
And stablish them therein by wholesome laws.
But one thing mars the tale, for o'er thy lands
Travelling I have not seen from morn till eve,
Either from house or farm or labourer's cot,
In any village, nor this town of Argos
A blue-wreathed smoke arise: the hearths are cold,
This altar cold: I see the wood and cakes
Unbaken-O king, where is the fire?
IN. If hither, stranger, thou wert come to find
That which thou findest wanting, join with us
Now in our sacrifice, take food within,
And having learnt our simple way of life
Return unto thy country whence thou camest.
But hast thou skill or knowledge of this thing,
How best it may be sought, or by what means
Hope to be reached, O speak! I wait to hear.
PR. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day.
IN. On earth there is fire thou sayest!
There is fire on earth this day.
IN. This is a sacred place, a solemn hour,
Thy speech is earnest yet even if thou speak truth,
O welcome messenger of happy tidings,
And though I hear aright, yet to believe
Is hard thou canst not know what words thou speakest
Into what ears: they never heard before
This sound but in old tales of happier times,
In sighs of prayer and faint unhearted hope:
Maybe they heard not rightly, speak again!
PR. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day.
IN. Yes, yes, again. Now let sweet Music blab
Her secret and give o'er;
That mocks her method. Yet 'tis but the word.
Maybe thy fire is not the fire I seek;
Maybe though thou didst see it, now 'tis quenched,
Or guarded out of reach: speak yet again
And swear by heaven's truth is there fire or no;
And if there be, what means may make it mine.
PR. There is, O king, fire on the earth this day:
But not as thou dost seek it to be found.
IN. How seeking wrongly shall I seek aright?
PR. Thou prayest here to Zeus, and him thou callest
Almighty, knowing he could grant thy prayer:
That if 'twere but his will, the journeying sun
Might drop a spark into thine outstretched hand:
That at his breath the splashing mountain brooks
That fall from Orneæ, and cold Lernè's pook
Would change their element, and their chill streams
Bend in their burning banks a molten flood:
That at his word so many messengers
Would bring thee fire from heaven, that not a hearth
In all thy land but straight would have a god
To kneel and fan the flame: and yet to him,
It is to him thou prayest.
Therefore to him.
PR. Is this thy wisdom, king, to sow thy seed
Year after year in this unsprouting soil?
Hast thou not proved and found the will of Zeus
A barren rock for man with prayer to plough?
IN. His anger be averted! we judge not god
Evil, because our wishes please him not.
Oft our shortsighted prayers to heaven ascending
Ask there our ruin, and are then denied
In kindness above granting: were 't not so,
Scarce could we pray for fear to pluck our doom
Out of the merciful withholding hands.
PR. Why then provokest thou such great goodwill
In long denial and kind silence shown?
IN. Fie, fie! Thou lackest piety: the god's denial
Being nought but kindness, there is hope that he
Will make that good which is not :—or if indeed
Good be withheld in punishment, 'tis well
Still to seek on and pray that god relent.
PR. O Sire of Argos, Zeus will not relent.
IN. Yet fire thou say'st is on the earth this day.
PR. Not of his knowledge nor his gift, O king.
IN. By kindness of what god then has man fire?
PR. I say but on the earth unknown to Zeus.
IN. How boastest thou to know, not of his knowledge?
PR. I boast not: he that knoweth not may boast.
IN. Thy daring words bewilder sense with sound.
PR. I thought to find thee ripe for daring deeds.
IN. And what the deed for which I prove unripe?
PR. To take of heaven's fire.
What should I dare, beseech you?
IN. Madman, pretending in one hand to hold The wrath of god and in the other fire.
PR. Thou meanest rather holding both in one.
IN. Both impious art thou and incredible.
PR. Yet impious only till thou dost believe.
IN. And what believe? Ah, if I could believe!
It was but now thou saidst that there was fire,
And I was near believing; I believed:
Now to believe were to be mad as thou.
CHORUS. He may be mad and yet say true-maybe
The heat of prophecy like a strong wine
Shameth his reason with exultant speech.
PR. Thou say'st I am mad, and of my sober words
Hast called those impious which thou fearest true,
Those which thou knowest good, incredible.
Consider ere thou judge: be first assured
All is not good for man that seems god's will.
See, on thy farming skill, thy country toil
Which bends to aid the willing fruits of earth,
And would promote the seasonable year,
The face of nature is not always kind:
And if thou search the sum of visible being
To find thy blessing featured, 'tis not there:
Her best gifts cannot brim the golden cup
Of expectation which thine eager arms
Lift to her mouthèd horn-what then is this
Whose wide capacity outbids the scale
Of prodigal beauty, so that the seeing eye
And hearing ear, retiring unamazed
Within their quiet chambers, sit to feast
With dear imagination, nor look forth
As once they did upon the varying air?
Whence is the fathering of this desire
Which mocks at fated circumstance? nay though
Obstruction lie as cumbrous as the mountains,
Nor thy particular hap hath armed desire
Against the brunt of evil,-yet not for this
Faints man's desire: it is the unquenchable
Original cause, the immortal breath of being :
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