The Life and Death of Jason
17. BOOK XVII.
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Jason at Corinth. The wedding of Glauce. The death of Jason.
SO ends the Winning of the Golden Fleece;
So ends the tale of that sweet rest and peace
That unto Jason and his love befell;
Another story now my tongue must tell,
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And tremble in the telling. Would that I
Had but some portion of that mastery
That from the rose-hung lanes of woody Kent
Through these five hundred years such songs have sent
To us, who, meshed within this smoky net
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Of unrejoicing labour, love them yet.
And thou, O Master!...Yea, my Master still,
Whatever feet have scaled Parnassus' hill,
Since like thy measures, clear and sweet and strong,
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Unto the bastioned bridge, his only chain…
O Master, pardon me, if yet in vain
Thou art my Master, and I fail to bring
Before men's eyes the image of the thing
My heart is filled with: thou whose dreamy eyes
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Beheld the flush to Cressid's cheeks arise,
When Troilus rode up the praising street,
As clearly as they saw thy townsmen meet
Those who in vineyards of Poictou withstood
The glittering horror of the steel-topped wood.
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TEN years have passed, since in the market-place
The hero stood with flushed and conquering face,
And life before him like one happy day;
But many an hour thereof has passed away
In mingled trouble and felicity.
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And now at Corinth, kissed by either sea,
He dwells, not governed now nor governing,
Since there his kinsman Creon is a king.
And with him still abides the Colchian
But little changed, since o’er the waters wan
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She gazed upon the mountains that she knew
Still lessening as the plunging Argo flew
Over the billows on the way to Greece.
But in these ten sweet years of rest and peace
Two fair man-children hath she borne to him,
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Who, joyous fair of face and strong of limb,
Full oft shall hear the glorious story told
Of Argo and the well-won Fleece of Gold,
By some old mariner; and oft shall go
Where nigh the sea the wind-swept beech-trees grow,
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And with a grey old woman tending them,
Shall make an Aea of some beech-tree's stem,
About whose roots there stands the water black.
Nor of the fleece shall they have any lack,
For in the bushes hangs much tangled wool
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From wandering sheep who seek the shadow cool;
And for the dragon shall there be thereby
A many-coloured snake with glazed dull eye,
Slain by the shepherd; so shall pass their days,
Whom folk look soon to gather wealth and praise.
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AND 'midst these living things has Argo found
A home here also; on the spot of ground
'Twixt Neptune's temple and the eastern sea,
She looks across the waves unceasingly;
And as their ridges draw on towards the land,
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The winds tell stories of the kingly band.
There, with the fixed and unused oars spread out,
She lies amidst the ghosts of song and shout,
And merry laughter, that were wont to fill
Her well-built hollow, slowly dying still,
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Like all that glorious company of kings
Who in her did such well-remembered things.
But as the day comes round when o'er the seas
She darted 'twixt the blue Symplegades,
And when again she rushed across the bar,
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With King Aeetes following her afar,
And when at length the heroes laid adown
The well-worn oars at old King Aeson's town,
When, year by year, these glorious days come round,
Bright with gay garments is that spot of ground,
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And the grey rocks that o'ertop Cenchreæ
Send echoes of sweet singing o'er the sea.
For then the keel the maidens go about
Singing the songs of Orpheus, and the shout
Of rough-voiced sea-folk endeth every song;
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And then from stem to stern they hang along
Garlands of flowers, and all the oars they twine
With garlands too, and cups of royal wine
Cast o'er her bows; and at the stern a maid
Handles the tiller, she being all arrayed
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In Juno's fashion; while anigh the stem
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Stands one with wings and many-coloured hem
About her raiment, like the messenger
Who bears the high Gods' dreadful words with her,
And through the sea of old that stem did lead.
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LO, in such wise they honoured that great deed,
But Jason did they reverence as a God;
And though his kinsman bore the ivory rod
And golden circlet, little could he do
Unless the great Thessalian willed it too.
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Yet therefore Creon nowise bore him hate,
But reverencing the wise decrees of fate,
Still honoured him the more; and therewith thought,
Would that this man by some means might be brought
To wed my daughter; since when I am dead,
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By none but him the people shall be led.
And on this thought he brooded more and more,
And 'gan to hate the Colchian very sore,
And through the place, as lightly he might do,
He spread ill tales of false things and of true,
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And unto Jason's self such words did say
As well he thought might turn his heart away
From faith and truth; and as such words will come,
When wise men speak them, to a ready home,
So here they did; though soothly for his part,
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He knew it not, nor yet his restless heart.
BUT on a day it fell that as they sat
In Creon's porch, and talked of this or that,
The king spake: Yea no dread thy strong heart bears,
But is it that no whisper yet it hears
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Of what the Gods may do for Pelias?
Nay, Jason said, let what will come to pass!
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His day is past and mine is flourishing;
But doubtless is an end to everything,
And soon or late each man shall have his day.
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Then said the king: Neither did thine hand slay
The man thyself, or bring his death about;
Each man shall bear his own sin without doubt.
Yet do I bid thee watch and take good heed
Of what the Colchian's treacheries may breed.
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Then quickly Jason turned his head around
And said: What is there dwelling above ground
That loveth me as this one loveth me?
O Creon! I am honoured here as thee;
All do my will as if a God I were;
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Scarce can the young men see me without fear,
The elders without tears of vain regret.
And, certes, had this worshipped head been set
Upon some spike of King Aeetes' house,
But for her tender love and piteous;
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For me she gave up country kin and name,
For me she risked tormenting and the flame,
The anger of the Gods and curse of man;
For me she came across the waters wan
Through many woes, and for my sake did go
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Alone, unarmed, to my most cruel foe,
Whom there she slew by his own daughters' hands,
Making me king of all my father's lands:
Note all these things, and tell me then to flee
From that which threateneth her who loveth me.
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Yea, said the king, to make and to unmake
Is her delight; and certes for thy sake
She did all this thou sayest, yea, and yet more;
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Seeing thee death-doomed on a foreign shore,
With hardy heart, but helpless; a king's son,
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But with thy thread of life well-nigh outrun;
Therefore, I say, she did all this for thee,
And ever on the way to Thessaly
She taught thee all things needful, since ye were
As void of helpful knowledge as of fear.
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All this she did, and so was more than queen
Of thee and thine: but thou, thine age is green,
NOR will thou always dwell in this fair town,
Nor through the wild wood hunt the quarry down:
Bethink thee, of the world thou mayst be king,
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Holding the life and death of everything,
Nor will she love thee more, upon that day
When all her part will be but to obey;
Nor will it then be fitting unto thee
To have a rival in thy sovereignty
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Laid in thy bed, and sitting at thy board.
Now somewhat Jason reddened at that word,
But said: O Creon, let the thing be so!
She shall be high the while that I am low,
And as the Gods in heaven rule over me,
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Since they are greater, in such wise shall she,
Who as they gave me life, has given me life,
And glorious end to seeming hopeless strife.
Then Creon said: Yea, somewhat good it were
If thou couldst lead that life, and have no fear.
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Laughing he spoke; but quickly changed his face,
And with knit brows he rose up from his place,
And with his hand on Jason's shoulder, said:
O careless man, too full of hardihead!
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O thou ease-loving, little-thinking man,
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Whate'er thou doest, dread the Colchian!
She will unmake thee yet, as she has made,
And in a bloody grave shalt thou be laid.
Then turning, to his palace went the king,
But Jason, left alone and pondering,
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Felt in his heart a vague and gnawing fear,
Of unknown troubles slowly drawing near,
And, spite of words, the thing that Creon said
Touched in his heart that still increasing dread,
And he was moved by that grave elder's face,
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For love was dying in the ten years' space.
BUT Creon, sitting in his chamber, thought,
Surely I deem my hero may be brought
To change his mate, for in his heart I see
He wearies of his great felicity;
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Like fools, for whom fair heaven is not enough,
Who long to stumble over forests rough
With chance of death: yet no more will I say,
But let the bright sun bring about the day.
Now such an one for daughter Creon had
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As maketh wise men fools, and young men mad,
Who yet in Corinth at this time was not,
But dwelt afar upon a woody spot
Anigh Cleonæ; whither oft before
Had Jason gone for chasing of the boar
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With Creon and his folk; and on a day
With the old king again he took his way
To that dark wood, whereto, about the noon.
They came, well harbingered by thrushes' tune.
And there straight fell to hunting of the boar;
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But, either through default of woodland lore,
Or bidden by the king, huntsmen and all
The king's stout servants from the chase did fall,
And Jason with him soon was left alone.
And both saw that the day should soon be done,
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For 'midst the thick trees was it nigh twilight,
Then Jason said: Surely our bed to-night
Will be beneath these creaking boughs and black.
Nay, said the king, surely we shall not lack
Soft golden beds such as old men desire,
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Nor on the hearth the crackling of the fire,
For hereby is a little house of mine,
Where dwells my daughter Glauce, near the shrine
Of round-armed Juno; there, with two or three,
Matrons or maids, she guardeth reverently
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The altar of the Goddess. With that word
Forward his jaded horse old Creon spurred,
And Jason followed him; and when the sun
His burning course that day had well-nigh done,
The king and Jason came anigh the place
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Where stood the house upon a swarded space
Amidst thick trees, that hedged it like a wall,
Whose shadows now o'er half the lawn did fall,
While, 'twixt their stems the low sun showed like fire,
And in the east the still white moon rose higher.
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But midmost there a glittering roof of gold
Slim shafts of pale blue marble did uphold,
And under it, made by the art divine
Of some dead man, before a well-wrought shrine,
Watching her altar, kind and satisfied
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The Golden Goddess stood all open-eyed:
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And round her temple was a little close
Shut by a gilded trellis of red rose
From off the forest green-sward; and from thence
Carried by winds about the beechwood dense,
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The scent of lilies rose up in the air,
And store of Juno's fowl was roosting there,
Or moving lazily across the grass.
BUT from the temple did the two kings pass
Unto a marble house that was thereby,
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Not great indeed, but builded cunningly,
And set about with carven images,
Built in a close of slim young apple-trees;
A marble fountain was there nigh the door,
Wherein the restless water trickled o’er
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A smooth-hewn basin coloured like a shell,
And from the wet pink lip thereof it fell
By many a thin streak into a square pool,
From whence it ran again, the grass to cool,
In a small stream o’er sand and earth and flint,
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Edged all about with fragrant blue-flowered mint,
Or hidden by the flat-leaved quivering sedge.
But from the pool's smooth-wrought and outmost edge
There went a marble step the fount to meet,
Well worn by many a water-drawer's feet.
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And thereon now they saw a damsel stand,
Holding the basin's lip with either hand,
While at her feet a brazen ewer stood;
But when she heard them coming from the wood,
She turned about, and, seeing men near by,
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Caught up the brazen vessel hastily,
And swiftly ran back towards the marble house;
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But Creon, in his voice imperious,
Cried: Hither, Glauce, am I grown so old,
That without fear thou canst no more behold
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Thy father, Creon? Nay, come near, O child,
And bid us welcome to the forest wild.
Then straight she stopped, and setting down the urn,
Unto her father and his guest did turn,
While o'er his saddle-bow old Creon bent,
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Rejoicing in her beauty as she went;
And for one moment every scheme forgat,
For raising this thing and abasing that;
As well he might, for as in poor array
She drew on towards them at that end of day,
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With raiment fluttering in the evening breeze,
She seemed like Her, the crown of Goddesses,
Who, o'er the dark sea, at the sunset came
To be in heaven a joy, on earth a flame.
Blushing, she came to Creon's saddle-bow,
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And kissed him, who said, smiling: Fearest thou
Thy father, grown the oldest of old men?
How wilt thou look upon this stranger then,
Who is no God, though such he seems to be,
But.Jason, leader of the Minyæ?
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Somewhat she started at the glorious name,
And o'er her face deeper the red flush came,
As she, with upraised face and shamefast eyes,
Said: Welcome, winner of the guarded prize!
Good hap it is indeed that thou art come
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Unto my little-peopled woodland home.
Come then, my lords, to what awaits you here;
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Not rich Mæonean wine, nor dainty cheer
Your lips shall taste, but of fair simple flowers,
Plucked at the edges of the beechen bowers,
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Your drink shall savour, and your meat shall be
Red-coated squirrels from the beechen tree.
Then fain to hide her eyes and blushing face,
She turned from them, and at a gentle pace
Unto the pillared porch she led the twain.
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There they, alighting the dark house did gain,
And there they ate and drank, making such cheer
As fasting men will do; and still anear
Was Glauce to them, telling every maid
How such and such a thing should be arrayed;
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And ever the Thessalian's eager eyes
Did follow her, and to his heart did rise
Vague feelings of a new-found happiness.
But now as the round moon was growing less,
And waxing brighter, and of fitting food
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The kings had eaten as they thought it good,
Then Creon said: O daughter, rise and take
This full cup to the hero for my sake,
And bid him drink thereof, and tell thee all
That unto him at Aea did befall,
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And what fate did as still he journeyed home.
Then unto Jason did the maiden come,
Bearing the cup, and when he saw her thus,
The lapse of time seemed strange and piteous;
For he bethought him of that other tide,
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When certain-seeming death he did abide
In King Aetes' hall; and when she drew
Anigh unto him, back the past years flew,
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And he became that man entrapped again,
And newly felt, as then, that joyous pain,
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And in his hand as then the cup he took,
With the warm fingers, and as then her look
Sent fire throughout his veins; yea, and as then
He had no heed of any Gods or men.
Therewith her musical sweet voice he heard,
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Speaking again the king her father's word:
O Jason, if it please thee, tell me all
That unto thee at Aea did befall,
And what thou sawest as thou journeydst home,
And how it happed thee to thy land to come.
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But ever as she spake she gazed at him,
And with new thoughts her simple eyes did swim,
Thinking her happy that this man had wed;
And therewithal she turned from pale to red,
And red to pale. Then said he; Thou shall know,
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O fair king's daughter, all I have to show.
And so the story of the Fleece began,
And how fair Argo crossed the water wan;
While from his glittering eyes, deep sunk with eld,
The wily king those beauteous folk beheld,
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As still from Jason's lips poured forth the tale,
And she sat listening, whiles with cheeks grown pale
And parted lips, and whiles with downcast eyes,
And blushing for the thoughts that would arise
Uncalled for; and thus passed that eve away
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Till time of rest came. Then until the day,
In his fair silken bed did Jason dream
Of Argo struggling with the unknown stream,
And all the wonders of their by-gone quest,
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And well-known faces long time laid to rest.
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BUT when the night was o’er, and the great sun
Another day for all things had begun,
The kings arising unto Corinth rode;
But ere they left the woodland fair abode,
Unto the Goddess did they sacrifice,
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And on her altar in such woodland wise
As huntsmen use, their offerings did they lay.
With them was Glauce on that dawn of day,
Upon the left hand of the ancient king,
Unto the reverend Goddess ministring.
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But when they turned once more unto the town,
The half-quenched censer did she lay adown,
And holding still the fresh-plucked flowery wreath,
Bade them farewell. Then by thick wood and heath
They rode, and on their journey Jason said
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Few words and wandering; for still that maid
Did he behold before his waking eyes.
And with the oft-recurring memories
Of days and things a long time passed away
Her image mixed, and words that she did say.
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But when upon the threshold of his house
He met Medea, who, with amorous
And humble words, spoke to him greetings kind,
He felt as he whose eyes the fire doth blind,
That presently about his limbs shall twine,
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And in her face and calm grey eyes divine
He read his own destruction; none the less
In his false heart fair Glauce's loveliness
Seemed that which he had loved his whole life long,
And little did he feel his old love's wrong.
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Alas for truth! each day, yea, hour by hour,
He longed once more to see the beechen bower,
And her who dwelt thereby. Alas, alas!
Oft from his lips the hated words would pass:
O wavering traitor, still unsatisfied!
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O false betrayer of the love so tried!
Fool! to cast off the beauty that thou knowst,
Clear-seeing wisdom, better than a host
Against thy foes, and truth and constancy
Thou wilt not know again, whate'er shall be!
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So oft he spoke words that were words indeed,
And had no sting, nor would his changed heart heed
The very bitterest of them all, as he
Thought of his woodland fair divinity,
And of her upturned face, so wondering
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At this or that oft-told unheeded thing.
Yet whiles indeed old memories had some power
Over his heart; in such an awful hour
As that, when darksome night is well-nigh done,
And earth is waiting silent for the sun;
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Then would he turn about his mate to see,
From lips half open breathing peacefully;
And open, listless, the fair fingers laid,
That unto him had brought such mighty aid.
Then groaning from her would he turn away,
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And wish he might not see another day,
For certainly his wretched soul he knew,
And of the cruel God his heart that drew.
But when the bright day had come round again,
With noise of men, came foolish thoughts and vain,
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And, feeding fond desire, needs must he burn
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Unto Cleonae his swift steps to turn.
Nor to these matters was the Colchian blind,
And though as yet his speech to her was kind,
Good heed she took of all his moody ways,
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And how he loved her not as in past days;
And how he shrunk from her, yet knew it not,
She noted, and the stammering words and hot,
Wherewith as she grew kinder still he strove
To hide from her the changing of his love.
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Long time she tried to shut her eyes to this,
Striving to save that fair abode of bliss;
But so it might not be; and day by day
She saw the happy time fade fast away;
And as she fell from out that happiness,
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Again she grew to be the sorceress,
Worker of fearful things, as once she was,
When what my tale has told she brought to pass.
SO, on a weary, hopeless day, she said:
Ah, poor Medea, art thou then betrayed
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By that thou trustedst? Art thou brought to nought
By that which erst, with wonders strangely wrought,
Thou madest live through happy days and long?
Lo, now shall be avenged those poor maids' wrong,
Who, in that temple o'er the murmuring sea,
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Ran maddening here and there; and now shall be
That word accomplished that I uttered then,
Nor yet believed…that to all earthly men,
In spite of right and wrong, and love and hate,
One day shall come the turn of luckless fate.
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Alas! then I believed it not, when I
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Saw Argo's painted prow triumphantly
Cleave the grey seas, and knew that I it was,
My very self, who brought those things to pass,
And lit those eyes unseen. How could I know
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Unto what cruel folly men will grow?
She wept therewith; and once more on that night
She stole abroad about the mirk midnight,
Once more upon a wood's edge from her feet
She stripped the shoes and bared her shoulder sweet.
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Once more that night over the lingering fire
She hung with sick heart famished of desire.
Once more she turned back when her work was done:
Once more she fled the coming of the sun;
Once more she reached her dusky, glimmering room;
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Once more she lighted up the dying gloom;
Once more she lay adown, and in sad sleep
Her weary body and sick heart did steep.
Alas! no more did tender Love come down
And smooth her troubled face of fear and frown;
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No more with hope half-opened lips did smile.
Not long she slept, but in a little while,
Sighing, she rose, when now the sun was high,
And, going to her wallet wearily,
Took forth a phial thence, which she unstopped
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And a small driblet therefrom slowly dropped
Upon a shred of linen, which straightway
In the sun's gleaming pathway did she lay;
But when across it the first sunbeam came,
Therefrom there burst a colourless bright flame,
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Which still burnt on when every shred was gone
Of that which seemed to feed the flame alone;
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Nor burnt it less for water, that she threw
Across it and across. Thereon she drew
A linen tunic from a brazen chest,
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Wherein lay hid the fairest and the best
Of all her raiment; this she held, and said:
Jason, thy love is fair by likelihead,
Pity it were to hide her over-much,
And when this garment her fair limbs shall touch,
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So will it hide them as the water green
Hid Citheræa, when she first was seen.
Soothly she spoke, because the web was fair
And thin, and delicate beyond compare,
And had been woven in no common loom,
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For she herself within her fair-hung room
Had set the warp and watched the fine web glide
Up from the roller, while from side to side,
Scarce seen, the shuttle flew from fingers thin
Of a dark Indian maid, whom gold did win
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From some Phœnician, that loved nought but gold.
But sighing now the raiment to behold,
She poured into a well-wrought bowl of brass
The thing that in the phial hidden was,
And therein, fold by fold, the linen laid,
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Then for a little while her hands she stayed,
Till it had drunk the moisture thoroughly;
Whereon she took it forth and laid it by,
Far from the sunlight, on her royal bed,
Saying: O thou who hast the hardihead,
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Whoe'er thou art, to take from me mine own,
It had been better for thee that of stone
Thy limbs were wrought, nor made to suffer pain,
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If this morn's deed has not been quite in vain.
So saying, did she mutter moodily,
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Watching the spread-out linen slowly dry;
At last she took it and within a bright
Fair silver casket hid it from the sight.
This done, about the noble house she went,
And bitterly full oft her eyes she bent
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On man and maid, and things grown old and dear,
'Midst hope of rest, no longer hoped for there.
AND, meantime Jason by the wily king
Still watched, had little joy in anything,
For while with fierce desire his heart still burned,
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Yet now again for rest and peace he yearned,
Nor praise of other men yet counted nought,
And somewhat of the coming days he thought,
Arid helpless eld with many memories
Beset, and pictures of reproachful eyes;
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Yet thinking of the chain of days and nights
Stretched out all barren of once-hoped delights,
A sorry thing life seemed to him to be,
And one path only from that misery
Seemed open to him…where the fair girl stood,
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Within the shadow of the beechen wood.
But while he wavered thus 'twixt love and fear,
And something of the old time grown too dear
To cast off lightly, Creon noted all;
Fair grew his hope that things should so befall
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As he had willed, and in such wise he wrought
That all unto an ending soon he brought.
Therefore it happed that on a July morn,
Jason at last, by many troubles torn,
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Mounted his horse, and toward Cleonæ turned.
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But as with pale face, and a heart that burned
To end all things in sweet love at the last,
He by the palace of King Creon passed,
There Creon stood before the door, and said:
Where goest thou, O Jason? By my head,
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Wilt thou not sit at our high feast to-day?
What do'st thou then, upon the stony way
That leads to Argolis? O King, said he,
I am not meet for your solemnity,
Because the Gods to-day have made me sad;
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Nor knew I that high feast should here be had,
But thought to-day to see my arrows fly
Within the green glades of the wood hereby.
Meseems, the king said, Summer yet is young,
And on the wall thy quiver may be hung,
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When unto Citheræa's house of gold
Go thronging man and maid and young and old:
When elders like to me will hold this feast;
Who in their foolish hearts can mourn at least
For days and things that never come again.
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Yet, for myself, I shall not feast in vain,
For on this day my daughter comes to me;
Her whom anigh Cleonæ thou didst see;
And she too goes with flower-bearing hands
To kiss the foot that on the tortoise stands.
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So saying, did his ancient wily eyes
Behold the blood to Jason's brow arise,
And inwardly he laughed; but Jason said:
Yea then, O King, to chase my drearihead,
This were a fair sight for mine eyes to see,
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And since thou willest, I will go with thee.
Then 'lighting from his horse, beside the king
He stood, and talked of this or that light thing,
And saw meanwhile full many a wain broad-wheeled,
Laden with blossoms plucked from close and field,
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Go toward the temple of the Cyprian queen,
And youths and maidens, wreathed about with green,
Pass singing carols through the listening street.
At last the king said: Come, and let us meet
This joyous band within the very fane.
| 590 |
So forth they went, and soon the place did gain,
Where the fair temple of the Goddess rose
From 'midst a grassy apple-planted close.
But each side of the door a maid there stood,
Clad in thin silken raiment red as blood,
| 595 |
Who had by her a gilded basket light,
Filled full of blossoms woven for delight,
Wherefrom unto the passing kings they gave
Wreaths bound with gold, that somewhat they might have
To offer to the dread divinity,
| 600 |
Whose image wrought of silver cunningly
Stood 'neath a canopy of gleaming gold
Midmost the place, where damsels fair did hold
Baskets of flowers, or swung rich censers high;
Then to the precious shrine they drew anigh
| 605 |
And forth stood Creon, and the fragrant wreath
Laid on the altar, and beneath his breath
Some prayer he muttered; and next Jason laid
His gift by Creon's, but of much afraid,
And hoping much, he made not any prayer
Page 330
| 610 |
Unto the Goddess; then amid the fair
Slim pillars did he stand beside the king,
Confused as in a dream, and wondering
How all would end. But as they waited thus,
Within that fragrant place and amorous,
| 615 |
Languid grew Jason with the roses' scent
And with the incense-cloud that ever went
Unto the half-seen golden roof above,
Amongst whose glimmering dusk the grey-winged dove
Hung crooning o'er his wrongs; moreover there
| 620 |
The temple-damsels passed them, shy and fair,
With white limbs shining through their thin attire,
And steadfast eyes, the hearts of men to fire,
Beneath their heavy crowns of roses red;
And veiled sweet voices through the place did shed
| 625 |
Strange fitful music, telling more than words,
Confused by twitter of the restless birds
Within the temple-eaves, and by the doves,
Who 'mid the pillars murmured of their loves.
But when the pleasure of that temple fair
| 630 |
Had sunk into his soul, upon the air
Was borne the sound of flutes from folk outside,
And soon the greatest doors were opened wide,
And all the rout of worshippers poured in,
Clad in fair raiment, summer-like and thin,
| 635 |
And holding wreaths, part twined of fragrant flowers…
The children of the soft, sweet April showers…
And part of blossoms wrought in ruddy gold.
Now back the incense from the altar rolled
At their incoming, driven by the wind,
| 640 |
And round the pillars of the place it twined,
Page 331
Enwrapping Jason, so that faint and dim
The fair show of the maidens was to him,
As each upon the altar laid adown
The blossoms mingled with the golden crown,
| 645 |
And prayed her prayer, then passed behind the shrine.
At last from 'midst that cloud did Venus shine
Before the face of the Thessalian,
Who, with fixed eyes, and lips grown thin and wan,
Stared at the image, little though he saw,
| 650 |
But at her feet a sweet face, grave with awe,
Just bending over toward the silver feet,
Which Glauce with a timid kiss did greet,
And this being done, drew backward murmuring
Her prayer to Venus: Goddess, a small thing
| 655 |
Before this altar do I ask of thee,
That I my hero and my love may see,
That I but therewithal her face she raised,
And met his hungry eyes that on her gazed,
And stopped all trembling, letting fall adown
| 660 |
The hand that held the gold-enwoven crown.
Yet little anger Venus had therefore,
But rather smiled to see her learn her lore
Within her house upon her festal day.
But now upon the altar did she lay
| 665 |
Her mingled crown, and yet she finished not
Her prayer begun, though in her poor heart, hot
With thoughts of love, full many a prayer she prayed.
And now was all that pageant well arrayed
To pass about the temple, and her place
| 670 |
Did Glauce take with flushed and eager face;
But on her finger did she loose a ring,
Page 332
Which that same day the wise Corinthian king
Had given unto her; thus she went along,
Murmuring faint words amidst her fellows' song.
| 675 |
Then past the kings the long procession swept,
And somewhat from the pillars Jason stepped,
Seeking a sign from that desired face;
And when the damsels at a gentle pace
Went by him, and for fear of him and awe
| 680 |
Shrunk back, and with their slender hands did draw
Closer about them the thin fragrant weed;
Still nought of all their beauty did he heed,
But as the maiden army passed him by
Into sweet Glauce's eyes appealingly
| 685 |
He gazed, who, trembling like some snow-trapped dove,
From her soft eyes sent forth one look of love
Then dropped the lids, as, blind with love and shame,
Unto the place where stood the kings she came.
And there her hand that down beside her hung
| 690 |
She raised a little, and her faltering tongue
Just framed the words: O love, for thee, for thee!
And with that word she trembled piteously,
In terror at the sound of her own voice.
And much did wily Creon then rejoice,
| 695 |
Looking askance, and feigning to see nought,
When he beheld those hands together brought.
But Jason, when those fingers touched his own,
Forgat all joys that he had ever known;
And when her hand left his hand with the ring,
| 700 |
Still in the palm, like some lost, stricken thing
He stood and stared, as from his eyes she passed.
And from that hour all fear away was cast,
Page 333
All memory of the past time, all regret
For days that did those changed days beget,
| 705 |
And therewithal adown the wind he flung
The love whereon his yearning heart once hung.
AH! Let me turn the page, nor chronicle
In many words the death of faith, nor tell
Of meetings by the newly-risen moon,
| 710 |
Of passionate silence ’midst the brown birds’ tune,
Of wild tears wept within the noontide shade,
Of wild vows spoken that of old were made,
For other ears, when, amidst other flowers,
He wandered through the love-begetting hours.
| 715 |
Suffice it that unhappy was each day
Which without speech from Glauce passed away,
And troublous dreams would visit him at night,
When day had passed all barren of her sight.
And at the last, that Creon, the old king,
| 720 |
Being prayed with gifts, and joyful of the thing,
Had given a day when these twain should be wed.
MEANWHILE, the once-loved sharer of his bed
Knew all at last, and fierce tormenting fire
Consumed her as the dreadful day drew nigher,
| 725 |
And much from other lips than his she heard:
Till, on a day, this dreadful, blighting word,
Her eyes beheld within a fair scroll writ,
And ‘twixt her closed teeth still she muttered it:
Depart in peace! And take great heaps of gold,
| 730 |
For nevermore thy body will I fold
Within these arms. Let Gods wed Goddesses
And sea-folk wed the women of the seas,
And men wed women; but thee, who can wed
And dwell with thee without consuming dread,
| 735 |
O wise kin of the dreadful sorceress!
Page 334
And yet perchance thy beauty still may bless
Some man to whom the world seems small and poor,
And who already stands beside his door,
Armed for the conquest of all earthly things.
| 740 |
Lo, such an one, the vanquisher of kings,
And equal to the Gods should be thy mate.
But me, who for a peaceful end but wait,
Desiring nought but love…canst thou love me?
Or can I give my whole heart up to thee?
| 745 |
I hear thee talk of old days thou didst know…
Are they not gone?...wilt thou not let them go,
Nor to their shadows still cling desperately,
Longing for things that never more can be?
What! wilt thou blame me still that the times change?
| 750 |
Once through the oak-wood happy did I range,
And thought no ill; but then came over me
Madness, I know not why, and o'er the sea
I needs must go in strife to win me fame,
And certes won it, and my envied name
| 755 |
Was borne with shouts about the towns of Greece.
All that has vanished now, and my old peace,
Through lapse of changing years, has come to me.
Once more I seem the woodland paths to see,
Tunes of old songs are ringing in mine ears,
| 760 |
Heard long ago in that place free from fears,
Where no one wept above his fellow dead,
And looked at death himself with little dread.
The times are changed, with them is changed my heart,
Nor in my life canst thou have any part,
| 765 |
Nor can I live in joy and peace with thee,
Page 335
Nor yet, for all thy words, canst thou love me.
Yet, is the world so narrow for us twain
That all our life henceforth must be but vain?
Nay, thou shalt go, and be a queen henceforth
| 770 |
Of fairer worlds than mine, of greater worth:
And wheresoe'er thou goest shalt thou fare
As one for whom the Gods have utmost care.
YEA, she knew all, yet when these words she read,
She felt as though upon her bowed-down head
| 775 |
Had fallen a misery not known before,
And all seemed light that erst her crushed heart bore.
For she was wrapped in uttermost despair,
And motionless within the chamber fair
She stood, as one struck dead and past all thought.
| 780 |
But as she stood, a sound to her was brought
Of children's voices, and she 'gan to wail
With tearless eyes, and from writhed lips and pale
Faint words of woe she muttered, meaningless,
But such as such lips utter-none the less.
| 785 |
Then all at once thoughts of some dreadful thing
Back to her mind some memory seemed to bring
As she beheld the casket gleaming fair,
Wherein was laid that she was wont to wear,
Which in the venom lay that other morn;
| 790 |
And therewithal unto her heart was borne
The image of two lovers, side by side.
Then with a groan the fingers that did hide
Her tortured face slowly she drew away,
And going up to where her tablets lay,
| 795 |
Fit for the white hands of the Goddesses,
Therein she wrote such piteous words as these:
Page 336
WOULD God that Argo's brazen-banded mast
'Twixt the blue clashing rocks had never passed
Unto the Colchian land! Or would that I
| 800 |
Had had such happy fortune as to die
Then, when I saw thee standing by the Fleece,
Safe on the long-desired shore of Greece!
Alas O Jason! for thy cruel praise!
Alas, for all the kindness of past days!
| 805 |
That to thy heart seems but a story told
Which happed to other folk in times of old.
But unto me indeed, its memory
Was bliss in happy hours, and now shall be
Such misery as never tongue can tell.
| 810 |
Jason, I heed thy cruel message well,
Nor will I stay to vex thee, nor will stay
Until thy slaves thrust me thy love away.
Be happy! think that I have never been;
Forget these eyes, that none the less have seen
| 815 |
Thy hands take life at my hands, and thy heart
O'erflow in tears, when needs was we should part.
But for a little; though, upon the day
When I for evermore must go away,
I think indeed thou wilt not weep for this;
| 820 |
Yea, if thou weepest then, some honied kiss
From other lips shall make thy grey eyes wet,
Betwixt the words that bid thee to forget
That even thou hast loved but her alone.
Yet of all times mayst thou remember one,
| 825 |
The second time that ever thou and I
Had met alone together; mournfully
Page 337
The soft wind murmured on that happy night,
The round moon, growing low, was large and bright,
As on my father's marble house it gleamed,
| 830 |
While from the fane a baneful light outstreamed,
Lighting the horror of that prodigy,
The only fence betwixt whose wrath and thee
Was this poor body. Ah! thou knowest then
How thou beheldst the shadows of thy men
| 835 |
Steal silently towards Argo's painted head.
Thou knowest yet the whispered words I said
Upon that night; thou never canst forget
That happy night of all nights. Ah! and yet
Why make I these long words, that thou the more
| 840 |
Mayst hate me, who already hat'st me sore,
Since 'midst thy pleasure I am grown a pain.
Be happy! for thou shalt not hear again
My voice, and with one word this scroll is done;
Jason, I love thee, yea, love thee alone;
| 845 |
God help me, therefore! and would God that I
Such as thou sayst I am were verily,
Then what a sea of troubles shouldst thou feel
Rise up against thy life! how shouldst thou steel
Thy heart to bear all, failing at the last;
| 850 |
Then wouldst thou raise thine head o'erwhelmed downcast,
And round about once more shouldst look for me,
Who led thee o'er strange land and unknown sea.
And not in vain, O dearest! not in vain!
Would I not come and weep at all thy pain,
| 855 |
That I myself had wrought? would I not raise
Page 338
Thy burdened head with hopes of happy days?
Would I not draw thee forth from all thy woe?
And fearless by thy side would I not go,
As once I went through many unknown lands,
| 860 |
When I had saved thee from my father's hands?
All would I do, that I have done erewhile,
To have thy love once more, and feel thy smile;
As freed from snow about the first spring days
The meadows feel the young sun's fickle rays.
| 865 |
But I am weak, and past all, nor will I
Pray any more for kindly memory;
Yet shall thou have one last gift more from me,
To give thy new love, since men say that she
Is fairer than all things man can behold.
| 870 |
Within this casket lies in many a fold
Raiment that my forgotten limbs did press.
When thou wert wont to praise their loveliness.
Fear not to take it from the sorceress' hands,
Though certainly with balms from many lands
| 875 |
Is it made fragrant, wondrous with a charm
To guard the wearer's body from all harm.
Upon the morn that she shall make thee glad,
With this fair tunic let her limbs be clad,
But see that no sun falls upon its folds
| 880 |
Until her hand the king, her father, holds,
To greet thine eyes: then, when in godlike light
She shines, with all her beauty grown so bright,
That eyes of men can scarcely gaze thereon…
Then, when thy new desire at last is won…
| 885 |
Then, wilt thou not a little think of me,
Who saved thy life for this felicity?
Page 339
SHE ceased, and moaning to herself she said:
Ah! when will all be ended? If the dead
Have unto them some little memory left
| 890 |
Of things that while they lived Fate from them reft,
Ere life itself was reft from them at last,
Yet would to God these days at least were past,
And all be done that here must needs be done!
Ah! shall I, living underneath the sun,
| 895 |
I wonder, wish for anything again,
Or ever know what pleasure means, and pain?
And for these deeds I do; and thou the first,
O woman, whose young beauty has so cursed
My hapless life, at least I save thee this,
| 900 |
The slow descent to misery from bliss,
With bitter torment growing day by day,
And faint hope lessening till it fades away
Into dull waiting for the certain blow.
But thou, who nought of coming fate dost know,
| 905 |
One overwhelming fear, one agony,
And in a little minute shalt thou be
Where thou wouldst be in threescore years at most;
And surely but a poor gift thou hast lost.
The new-made slave, the toiler on the sea,
| 910 |
The once rich fallen into poverty,
In one hour knows more grief than thou canst know;
And many an one there is who fain would go
And try their fortune in the unknown life
If they could win some ending to this strife,
| 915 |
Unlooked-for, sudden, as thine end shall be.
Kindly I deal with thee, mine enemy;
Since swift forgetfulness to thee I send.
Page 340
But thou shalt die--his eyes shall see thine end.
Ah! if thy death alone could end it all!
| 920 |
But ye, shall I behold you when leaves fall,
In some sad evening of the autumn-tide?
Or shall I have you sitting by my side
Amidst the feast, so that folk stare and say,
Sure the grey wolf has seen the queen to-day?
| 925 |
What! when I kneel in temples of the Gods,
Must I bethink me of the upturned sods,
And hear a voice say: Mother, wilt thou come
And see us resting in our new made home,
Since thou wert used to make us lie full soft,
| 930 |
Smoothing our pillows many a time and oft?
O mother, now no dainty food we need,
Whereof thou once wert wont to have such heed.
O mother, now we need no gown of gold,
Nor in the winter time do we grow cold;
| 935 |
Thy hands would bathe us when we were thine own,
Now doth the rain wash every shining bone.
No pedagogue we need, for surely heaven
Lies spread above us, with the planets seven,
To teach us all its lore. Ah! day by day
| 940 |
Would I have hearkened all the folk would say.
Ah! in the sweet beginning of your days
Would I have garnered every word of praise.
What fearless backers of the untamed steed!
What matchless spears, what loyal friends at need!
| 945 |
What noble hearts, how bountiful and free!
How like their father on the troublous sea!
O sons, with what sweet counsels and what tears
Would I have hearkened to the hopes and fears
Page 341
Of your first loves: what rapture had it been
| 950 |
Your dear returning footsteps to have seen
Amidst the happy warriors of the land;
But now, but now, this is a little hand
Too often kissed since love did first begin
To win such curses as it yet shall win,
| 955 |
When after all bad deeds there comes a worse;
Praise to the Gods! ye know not how to curse.
But when in some dim land we meet again
Will ye remember all the loss and pain?
Will ye the form of children keep for aye
| 960 |
With thoughts of men? and Mother, will ye say,
Why didst thou slay us ere we came to know
That men die? hadst thou waited until now,
An easy thing it had been then to die;
For in the thought of immortality
| 965 |
Do children play about the flowery meads,
And win their heaven with a crown of weeds.
O children! that I would have died to save,
How fair a life of pleasure might ye have,
But for your mother: nay, for thee, for thee,
| 970 |
For thee who might'st have lived so happily;
For thee, O traitor! who didst bring them here
Into this cruel world, this lovely bier
Of youth and love, and joy and happiness,
That unforeseeing happy fools still bless.
| 975 |
AMID these wild words had the evening come
Of the last day in that once happy home;
So, rising, did she take the casket fair,
And gave it to a faithful slave to bear,
With all those wailing words that she had writ
| 980 |
To Jason, her love once; then did she sit
Page 342
Within that chamber, with her heavy head
Laid on her arms, and scarce more than the dead
She moved, for many hours, until at last
A stupor over her some kind God cast,
| 985 |
So that she slept, and had forgetfulness
A little while from fury and distress.
But Jason, when he read that bitter word
Was sore ashamed, and in his ears