Complete Works of Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Page 35
Arise, wretch stoled in black; beat thy breast unrelenting,
And shriek to the worlds, “Fair Adonis is dead!”
II.
I mourn for Adonis — the Loves are lamenting.
He lies on the hills in his beauty and death;
The white tusk of a boar has transpierced his white thigh.
Cytherea grows mad at his thin gasping breath,
While the black blood drips down on the pale ivory,
And his eyeballs lie quenched with the weight of his brows,
The rose fades from his lips, and upon them just parted
The kiss dies the goddess consents not to lose,
Though the kiss of the Dead cannot make her glad-hearted:
He knows not who kisses him dead in the dews.
III.
I mourn for Adonis — the Loves are lamenting.
Deep, deep in the thigh is Adonis’s wound,
But a deeper, is Cypris’s bosom presenting.
The youth lieth dead while his dogs howl around,
And the nymphs weep aloud from the mists of the hill,
And the poor Aphrodite, with tresses unbound,
All dishevelled, unsandaled, shrieks mournful and shrill
Through the dusk of the groves. The thorns, tearing her feet,
Gather up the red flower of her blood which is holy,
Each footstep she takes; and the valleys repeat
The sharp cry she utters and draw it out slowly.
She calls on her spouse, her Assyrian, on him
Her own youth, while the dark blood spreads over his body,
The chest taking hue from the gash in the limb,
And the bosom, once ivory, turning to ruddy.
IV.
Ah, ah, Cytherea! the Loves are lamenting.
She lost her fair spouse and so lost her fair smile:
When he lived she was fair, by the whole world’s consenting,
Whose fairness is dead with him: woe worth the while!
All the mountains above and the oaklands below
Murmur, ah, ah, Adonis! the streams overflow
Aphrodite’s deep wail; river-fountains in pity
Weep soft in the hills, and the flowers as they blow
Redden outward with sorrow, while all hear her go
With the song of her sadness through mountain and city.
V.
Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead,
Fair Adonis is dead — Echo answers, Adonis:
Who weeps not for Cypris, when bowing her head
She stares at the wound where it gapes and astonies?
— When, ah, ah! — she saw how the blood ran away
And empurpled the thigh, and, with wild hands flung out,
Said with sobs: “Stay, Adonis! unhappy one, stay,
Let me feel thee once more, let me ring thee about
With the clasp of my arms, and press kiss into kiss!
Wait a little, Adonis, and kiss me again,
For the last time, beloved, — and but so much of this
That the kiss may learn life from the warmth of the strain!
— Till thy breath shall exude from thy soul to my mouth,
To my heart, and, the love-charm I once more receiving
May drink thy love in it and keep of a truth
That one kiss in the place of Adonis the living.
Thou fliest me, mournful one, fliest me far,
My Adonis, and seekest the Acheron portal, —
To Hell’s cruel King goest down with a scar,
While I weep and live on like a wretched immortal,
And follow no step! O Persephone, take him,
My husband! — thou’rt better and brighter than I,
So all beauty flows down to thee: I cannot make him
Look up at my grief; there’s despair in my cry,
Since I wail for Adonis who died to me — died to me —
Then, I fear thee! — Art thou dead, my Adored?
Passion ends like a dream in the sleep that’s denied to me,
Cypris is widowed, the Loves seek their lord
All the house through in vain. Charm of cestus has ceased
With thy clasp! O too bold in the hunt past preventing,
Ay, mad, thou so fair, to have strife with a beast!”
Thus the goddess wailed on — and the Loves are lamenting.
VI.
Ah, ah, Cytherea! Adonis is dead.
She wept tear after tear with the blood which was shed,
And both turned into flowers for the earth’s garden-close,
Her tears, to the windflower; his blood, to the rose.
VII.
I mourn for Adonis — Adonis is dead.
Weep no more in the woods, Cytherea, thy lover!
So, well: make a place for his corse in thy bed,
With the purples thou sleepest in, under and over
He’s fair though a corse — a fair corse, like a sleeper.
Lay him soft in the silks he had pleasure to fold
When, beside thee at night, holy dreams deep and deeper
Enclosed his young life on the couch made of gold.
Love him still, poor Adonis; cast on him together
The crowns and the flowers: since he died from the place,
Why, let all die with him; let the blossoms go wither,
Rain myrtles and olive-buds down on his face.
Rain the myrrh down, let all that is best fall a-pining,
Since the myrrh of his life from thy keeping is swept.
Pale he lay, thine Adonis, in purples reclining,
The Loves raised their voices around him and wept.
They have shorn their bright curls off to cast on Adonis;
One treads on his bow, — on his arrows, another, —
One breaks up a well-feathered quiver, and one is
Bent low at a sandal, untying the strings,
And one carries the vases of gold from the springs,
While one washes the wound, — and behind them a brother
Fans down on the body sweet air with his wings.
VIII.
Cytherea herself now the Loves are lamenting
Each torch at the door Hymenaeus blew out;
And, the marriage-wreath dropping its leaves as repenting,
No more “Hymen, Hymen,” is chanted about,
But the ai ai instead— “Ai alas!” is begun
For Adonis, and then follows “Ai Hymenaeus!”
The Graces are weeping for Cinyris’ son,
Sobbing low each to each, “His fair eyes cannot see us!”
Their wail strikes more shrill than the sadder Dione’s.
The Fates mourn aloud for Adonis, Adonis,
Deep chanting; he hears not a word that they say:
He would hear, but Persephone has him in keeping.
— Cease moan, Cytherea! leave pomps for to-day,
And weep new when a new year refits thee for weeping.
QUEEN ANNELIDA AND FALSE ARCITE.
Modernised from Chaucer
I
O thou fierce God of armies, Mars the red,
Who in thy frosty country callèd Thrace,
Within thy grisly temples full of dread,
Art honoured as the patron of that place,
With the Bellona Pallas, full of grace!
Be present; guide, sustain this song of mine,
Beginning which, I cry toward thy shrine.
II
For deep the hope is sunken in my mind,
In piteous-hearted English to indite
This story old, which I in Latin find,
Of Queen Annelida and false Arcite:
Since Time, whose rust can all things fret and bite,
In fretting many a tale of equal fame,
Hath from our memory nigh devoured this same.
III
Thy favour, Polyhymnia, also deign
Who, in thy sisters�
�� green Parnassian glade,
By Helicon, not far from Cirrha’s fane,
Singest with voice memorial in the shade
Under the laurel which can never fade;
Now grant my ship, that some smooth haven win her!
I follow Statius first, and then Corinna.
IV
When Theseus by a long and deathly war
The hardy Scythian race had overcome,
He, laurel-crownèd, in his gold-wrought car,
Returning to his native city home,
The blissful people for his pomp make room,
And throw their shouts up to the stars, and bring
The general heart out for his honouring.
V
Before the Duke, in sign of victory,
The trumpets sound, and in his banner large
Dilates the figure of Mars — and men may see,
In token of glory, many a treasure charge,
Many a bright helm, and many a spear and targe,
Many a fresh knight, and many a blissful rout
On horse and foot, in all the field about.
VI
Hippolyte, his wife, the heroic queen
Of Scythia, conqueress though conquerèd,
With Emily, her youthful sister sheen,
Fair in a car of gold he with him led.
The ground about her car she overspread
With brightness from the beauty in her face,
Which smiled forth largesses of love and grace.
VII
Thus triumphing, and laurel-crownèd thus,
In all the flower of Fortune’s high providing,
I leave this noble prince, this Theseus,
Toward the walls of Athens bravely riding, —
And seek to bring in, without more abiding,
Something of that whereof I ‘gan to write
Of fair Annelida and false Arcite.
VIII
Fierce Mars, who in his furious course of ire,
The ancient wrath of Juno to fulfil,
Had set the nations’ mutual hearts on fire
In Thebes and Argos, (so that each would kill
Either with bloody spears,) grew never still —
But rushed now here, now there, among them both,
Till each was slain by each, they were so wroth.
IX
For when Parthenopæus and Tydeus
Had perished with Hippomedon, — alsò
Amphiaraus and proud Capaneus, —
And when the wretched Theban brethren two
Were slain, and King Adrastus home did go —
So desolate stood Thebes, her halls so bare,
That no man’s love could remedy his care.
X
And when the old man, Creon, ‘gan espy
How darkly the blood royal was brought down,
He held the city in his tyranny,
And forced the nobles of that regiòn
To be his friends and dwell within the town;
Till half for love of him, and half for fear,
Those princely persons yielded, and drew near, —
XI
Among the rest the young Armenian queen,
Annelida, was in that city living.
She was as beauteous as the sun was sheen,
Her fame to distant lands such glory giving
That all men in the world had some heart-striving
To look on her. No woman, sooth, can be,
Though earth is rich in fairness, fair as she.
XII
Young was this queen, but twenty summers old,
Of middle stature, and such wondrous beauty,
That Nature, self-delighted, did behold
A rare work in her — while, in stedfast duty,
Lucretia and Penelope would suit ye
With a worse model — all things understood,
She was, in short, most perfect fair and good.
XIII
The Theban knight eke, to give all their due,
Was young, and therewithal a lusty knight.
But he was double in love, and nothing true,
Ay, subtler in that craft than any wight,
And with his cunning won this lady bright;
So working on her simpleness of nature,
That she him trusted above every creature.
XIV
What shall I say? She lovèd Arcite so,
That if at any hour he parted from her,
Her heart seemed ready anon to burst in two;
For he with lowliness had overcome her:
She thought she knew the heart which did foredoom her.
But he was false, and all that softness feigning, —
I trow men need not learn such arts of paining.
XV
And ne’ertheless full mickle business
Had he, before he might his lady win, —
He swore that he should die of his distress,
His brain would madden with the fire within!
Alas, the while! for it was ruth and sin,
That she, sweet soul, upon his grief should rue;
But little reckon false hearts as the true.
XVI
And she to Arcite so subjected her,
That all she did or had seemed his of right:
No creature in her house met smile or cheer,
Further than would be pleasant to Arcite;
There was no lack whereby she did despite
To his least will — for hers to his was bent,
And all things which pleased him made her content.
XVII
No kind of letter to her fair hands came,
Touching on love, from any kind of wight,
But him she showed it ere she burned the same:
So open was she, doing all she might,
That nothing should be hidden from her knight,
Lest he for any untruth should upbraid her, —
The slave of his unspoken will she made her.
XVIII
He played his jealous fancies over her,
And if he heard that any other man
Spoke to her, would beseech her straight to swear
To each word — or the speaker had his ban;
And out of her sweet wits she almost ran
For fear; but all was fraud and flattery,
Since without love he feignèd jealousy.
XIX
All which with so much sweetness suffered she,
Whate’er he willed she thought the wisest thing;
And evermore she loved him tenderly,
And did him honour as he were a king.
Her heart was wedded to him with a ring,
So eager to be faithful and intent,
That wheresoe’er he wandered, there it went.
XX
When she would eat he stole away her thought,
Till little thought for food, I ween, was kept;
And when a time for rest the midnight brought,
She always mused upon him till she slept, —
When he was absent, secretly she wept;
And thus lived Queen Annelida the fair,
For false Arcite, who worked her this despair.
XXI
This false Arcite in his new-fangleness,
Because so gentle were her ways and true,
Took the less pleasure in her stedfastness,
And saw another lady proud and new,
And right anon he clad him in her hue;
I know not whether white, or red, or green,
Betraying fair Annelida the Queen.
XXII
And yet it was no thing to wonder on,
Though he were false — It is the way of man,
(Since Lamech was, who flourished years agone,)
To be in love as false as any can;
For he was the first father who began
To love two; and I trow, indeed, that he
Invented t
ents as well as bigamy.
XXIII
And having so betrayed her, false Arcite
Feign’d more, that primal wrong to justify.
A vicious horse will snort besides his bite;
And so he taunted her with treachery,
Swearing he saw thro’ her duplicity,
And how she was not loving, but false-hearted —
The perjured traitor swore thus, and departed.
XXIV
Alas, alas, what heart could suffer it,
For ruth, the story of her grief to tell?
What thinker hath the cunning and the wit
To image it? what hearer, strength to dwell
A room’s length off, while I rehearse the hell
Suffered by Queen Annelida the fair
For false Arcite, who worked her this despair?
XXV
She weepeth, waileth, swooneth piteously;
She falleth on the earth dead as a stone;
Her graceful limbs are cramped convulsively;
She speaketh out wild, as her wits were gone.
No colour, but an ashen paleness — none —
Touched cheek or lips; and no word shook their white,
But ‘Mercy, cruel heart! mine own Arcite!’
XXVI
Thus it continued, till she pinèd so,
And grew so weak, her feet no more could bear
Her body, languishing in ceaseless woe.
Whereof Arcite had neither ruth nor care —
His heart had put out new-green shoots elsewhere;
Therefore he deigned not on her grief to think,
And reckoned little, did she float or sink.
XXVII
His fine new lady kept him in such narrow
Strict limit, by the bridle, at the end
O’ the whip, he feared her least word as an arrow, —
Her threatening made him, as a bow, to bend,