{"collection":"Northern European Mythology","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/browse/neu/morris/ep3/ep309.htm","path":"neu/morris/ep3/ep309.htm","source_url":"https://sacred-texts.com/neu/morris/ep3/ep309.htm","text":"The Earthly Paradise, (December-February), by William Morris, [1870]\nBELLEROPHON bore unawares to Jobates King of Lycia the deadly message of King Pr\u0153tus: wherefore the Lycian King threw him often in the way of death, but the Fates willed him not to perish so, but gave him rather great honour and a happy life.\nLO ye have erst heard how Bellerophon\n Left Argos with his fortune all undone,\n Well deeming why, and with a certain scorn,\n Rather than anger, in his heart new-born,\n To mingle with old courage, and the hope\n That yet with life's wild tangle he might cope,\n Nor be so wholly beaten in the end:\n Whatever pain he gat from failing friend,\n And earth made lonely for his feet again,\n The brightness of his youth might nowise wane\n Before it, or his hardihood grow dim.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So now the evening sun shines fair on him\n In Lycia, as he goes up from the quays,\n Well pleased beneath the new folk's curious gaze p. 235\n With all the fair things that his eyes behold:\n As goodly as the tale was that men told\n Of King Jobates\u2019 city, goodlier\n Than all they told it seemeth to him here,\n And mid things new and strange and fairly wrought\n Small care he hath for any anxious thought.\n And so amid the shipmen's company\n He came unto the King's hall, builded high\n Above the market-place, and no delay\n In getting speech of the great King had they,\n For ever King Jobates' wont it was\n To learn of new-corners things brought to pass\n In outlands, and he served in noble wise\n Such guests as might seem trusty to his eyes.\n So in the midmost of his company\n He passed in through the hall, and seemed to be\n A very god chance-come among them there,\n Though little splendid soothly was his gear;\n A bright steel helm upon his brows he had,\n And in a dark blue kirtle was he clad,\n And a grey cloak thereover; bright enow\n With gold and gems his great sword's hilt did glow,\n But no such thing was in aught else he wore;\n A spear great-shafted his strong right hand bore,\n And in his left King Pr\u0153tus' casket shone:\n Grave was his face now, though there played thereon\n A flickering smile, that erst you might have seen\n In such wise play, when small space was between\n The spears he led and fierce eyes of the foe. p. 236\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Thus through the Lycian court-folk did they go\n Till to the King they came: e\u2019en such a man\n As sixty summers made not pinched or wan,\n Though beard and hair alike were white as snow.\n Down on the sea-farers did he gaze now\n With curious peering eyes, and now and then\n He smiled and nodded, as he saw such men\n Amidst them as he knew in other days;\n But when he met Bellerophon's frank gaze,\n There his eyes rested, and he said: \"O guest,\n Though among these thy gear is not the best,\n Yet know I no man more if thou art not\n E\u2019en that Bellerophon, who late hast got\n Such praise mid men of Argos, that thy name\n Two months agone to this our country came,\n Adorned with many tales of deeds of thine;\n And certainly as of a man divine\n Thy mien is and thy face: how sayest thou?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"So am I called,\" he said, \"mid all men now,\n Since that unhappy day that drave me forth,\n Lacking that half that was of greatest worth,\n And made me worthy\u2014for my deeds, O King,\n What I have done is but a little thing;\n I wrought that I might live from day to day,\n That something I might give for hire and pay\n Unto my lord; from whom I bring to thee\n A message written by him privily,\n Hid in this casket; take it from my hand, p. 237\n And do thou worthily to this my band,\n And let us soon depart, for I am fain\n The good report of other men to gain,\n Wide through the world;\u2014nor do thou keep me here\n As one unto King Pr\u0153tus\u2019 heart right dear,\n Because I deem that I have done amiss\n Unto him, though I wot not how it is\n That I have sinned: certes he bade me flee,\n And ere he went my face he would not see;\n Therefore I bid thee, King, to have a care\n Lest on a troublous voyage thou shouldst fare.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Sweet is thy voice,\" the King said; \"many a maid\n Among our fairest would be well a-paid\n In listening to thy words a summer day.\n Nor will our honour let thee go away\n Whatso thy deed is, though I deem full well\n But little ill there is of thee to tell.\n Give forth the casket; in good time will we\n This message of the King of Argos see,\n And do withal what seemeth good therein.\n Sit ye, O guests, for supper doth begin!\u2014\n Ho! marshals, give them room; but thou sit here,\n And gather heart the deeds of Kings to bear\n While yet thou mayst, and here with me rejoice,\n Forgetting much; for certes in thy voice\n Was wrath e\u2019en now, and unmeet anger is\n To mingle with our short-lived spell of bliss.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then sat Bellerophon adown and thought p. 238\n How fate his wandering footsteps erst had brought\n To such another place, and of the end,\n Whate\u2019er it was, that fate to him did send.\n Yet since the time was fair, and day by day\n Ever some rag of fear he cast away,\n And ever less doubt of himself he had,\n In that bright concourse was he blithe and glad,\n And the King blessed the fair and merry tide\n That set so blithe a fellow by his side.\nBUT the next day, in honour of the guest,\n The King bade deck all chambers with his best,\n And bid all folk to joyous festival,\n And let the heralds all the fair youth call\n To play within the lists at many a game;\n \"Since here last eve the great Corinthian came\n That ye have heard of: and though ye indeed\n Of more than manly strength may well have need\n To match him, do your best, lest word he bear\n Too soft that now the Lycian folk live here,\n Forgetting whence their fathers came of yore\n And whom their granddames to their grandsires bore.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So came the young men thronging, and withal p. 239\n Before the altars did the oxen fall\n To many a god, the well-washed fleeces fair\n In their own bearers' blood were dyed, and there\n The Persian merchants stood and snuffed the scent\n Of frankincense, for which of old they went\n Through plain and desert waterless, and faced\n The lion-haunted woods that edged the waste.\n Then in the lists were couched the pointless spears,\n The oiled sleek wrestler struggled with his peers,\n The panting runner scarce could see the crown\n Held by white hands before his visage brown;\n The horses, with no hope of gold or gain,\n With fluttering hearts remembered not the rein\n Nor thought of earth. And still all things fared so,\n That all who with the hero had to do\n Deemed him too strong for mankind; or if one\n Gained seeming victory on Bellerophon,\n He knew it for a courteous mockery\n Granted to him. So did the day go by,\n And others like it, and the talk still was\n How even now such things could come to pass\n That such a man upon the earth was left.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But when the ninth sun from the earth had reft\n Silence, and rest from care, then the King sent\n To see Bellerophon, who straightly went,\n And found Jobates with a troubled face,\n Pacing a chamber of the royal place\n From end to end, who turned as he drew near, p. 240\n And said in a low voice, \"What dost thou here?\n This is a land with many dangers rife;\n Hast thou no heed to save thy joyous life?\n The wide sea is before thee, get thee gone,\n All lands are good for thee but this alone!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And as the hero strove to catch his eye\n And \u2019gan to speak, he passed him hurriedly,\n And gat him from the chamber: with a smile\n Bellerophon turned too within a while,\n When he could gather breath from such a speech,\n And said, \"Far then King Pr\u0153tus' arm can reach:\n So was it as I doubted; yet withal\n Not everything to every king will fall\n As he desires it, and the Gods are good;\n Nor shall the Lycian herbage drink my blood:\u2014\n The Gods are good, though far they drive me forth;\n But the four quarters, south, west, east, and north,\n All are alike to me, who therein have\n None left me now to weep above my grave\n Whereso I fall: and fair things shall I see,\n Nor may great deeds be lacking unto me:\u2014\n Would I were gone then!\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But with that last word\n Light footsteps drawing swiftly nigh he heard,\n And made a shift therewith his eyes to raise,\n Then staggering back, bewildered with amaze,\n Caught at the wall and wondered if he dreamed,\n For there before his very eyes he seemed p. 241\n To see the Lycian Sthenob\u0153a draw nigh;\n But as he strove with his perplexity\n A soft voice reached his ears, and then he knew\n That in one mould the Gods had fashioned two,\n But given them hearts unlike; yea, and her eyes\n Looked on his troubled face in no such wise\n As had the other's; wistful these and shy,\n And seemed to pray, Use me not cruelly,\n I have not harmed thee.\u2014Thus her soft speech ran:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Far have I sought thee, O Corinthian man,\n And now that I have found thee my words fail,\n Though erst my heart had taught me well my tale.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She paused, her half-closed lips were e\u2019en as sweet\n As the sweet sounds that thence the air did meet,\n And such a sense swept o\u2019er Bellerophon\n As whiles in spring had come, and lightly gone\n Ere he could name it; like a wish it was,\n A wish for something that full swift did pass,\n To be forgotten.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some three paces were\n Betwixt them when she first had spoken there,\n But now, as though it were unwittingly,\n He slowly moved a little more anigh;\n But she flushed red now ere she spake once more,\n And faltered and looked down upon the floor.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"O Prince Bellerophon,\" at last she said, p. 242\n \"I dreamed last night that I beheld thee dead;\n I knew thee thus, for twice had I seen thee,\n Unseen myself, in this festivity;\n And since I know how loved a man thou art,\n Here have I come, to bid thee to depart,\n Since that thou mayst do yet.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nigher he came\n And said, \"O fair one, I am but a name\n To thee, as men are to the Gods above;\n And what thing, then, thy heart to this did move?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So spake he, knowing scarce what words he said,\n Strange his own voice seemed to him; and the maid\n Spake not at first, but grew pale, and there passed\n A quivering o\u2019er her lips; but at the last,\n With eyes fixed full upon him, thus she spake:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Why should I lie? this did I for thy sake,\n Because thou art the worthiest of all men,\n The loveliest to look on. Hear me, then;\n But ere my tale is finished, speak thou not,\n Because this moment has my heart waxed hot,\n And I can speak before I go my way\u2014\n Before thou leav\u2019st me.\u2014On my bed I lay,\n And dreamed I fared within the Lycian land,\n And still about me there on either hand\n Were nought but poisonous serpents, yet no dread\n I had of them, for soothly in my head p. 243\n The thought was, that my kith and kin they were;\n But as I went methought I saw thee there\n Coming on toward me, and thou mad\u2019st as though\n No whit about those fell worms thou didst know;\n And then in vain I strove to speak to thee,\n And bid thee get thee down unto the sea,\n Where bode thy men ready at bench and mast;\n But in my dream thou cam\u2019st unto me fast,\n And unto speech we fell of e\u2019en such things\n As please the sons and daughters of great kings;\n And I must smile and talk, and talk and smile,\n Though I beheld a serpent all the while\n Draw nigh to strike thee: then\u2014then thy lips came\n Close unto mine; and while with joy and shame\n I trembled, in my ears a dreadful cry\n Rang, and thou fellest from me suddenly\n And layst dead at my feet: and then I spake\n Unto myself, 'Would God that I could wake,'\n But woke not, though my dream changed utterly,\n Except that thou wert laid stark dead anigh.\n Then in this palace were we, and the noise\n Of many folk I heard, and a great voice\n Rang o\u2019er it ever and again, and said,\n Bellerophon who would not love is dead.\n But I\u2014I moved not from thee, but I saw\n Through the fair windows many people draw\n Unto the lists, until withal it seemed\n As though I never yet had slept or dreamed,\n That all the games went on, where yesterday p. 244\n Thou like a god amidst of men didst play:\n But yet through all, the great voice cried and said,\n Bellerophon who would not love is dead.\n This is the dream\u2014ah, hast thou heard me, then?\n Abide no more, I say, among these men:\n Think\u2019st thou the world without thy life can thrive,\n More than my heart without thy heart can live?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Almost before her lips the words could say,\n She turned her eager glittering eyes away,\n And hurried past, and as her feet did bear\n Her loveliness away, he seemed to hear\n A sob come from her; but for him, he felt\n As in some fair heaven all his own he dwelt,\n As though he ne\u2019er of any woe had known,\n So happy and triumphant had he grown.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But when he thus a little while had stood\n With this new pleasure stirring all his blood,\n He \u2019gan to think how that she was not there,\n And \u2019thwart the glory of delight came care,\n As uttermost desire so wrought in him,\n That now in strange new tears his eyes did swim,\n He scarce knew if for pleasure or for pain.\n Of other things he strove to think in vain\u2014\n Nought seemed they;\u2014the strange threatening of the King,\n Nay the maid's dream\u2014it seemed a little thing\n That he should read their meaning more than this:\n 'Here in the land of Lycia dwells thy bliss; p. 245\n So much she loved thee that she wished thee gone,\n That thou mightst live, though she were left alone;\n Or else she had not left thee; failing not\n To see how all the heart in thee waxed hot\n To cast thine arms about her and to press\n Her heart to thine and heal its loneliness.'\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Pity grew in him as he thought thereof,\n And with its sweet content fed burning love,\n Till all his life was swallowed by its flame,\n And dead and past away were fear and shame,\n Nor might he think that he could ever die.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But now at last he with a passionate sigh\n Turned from the place where he had seen her feet,\n And murmured as he went, \"O sweet, O sweet,\n O sweet the fair morn that thou breathest in,\n When thou, awakening lone, dost first begin\n For one more day the dull blind world to bless\n With sight of thine unmeasured loveliness.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So speaking, through a low door did he gain\n A little garden; the fair morn did wane,\n The day grew to its hottest, the warm air\n Was little stirred, the o\u2019er-sweet lily there\n With unbowed stem let fall upon the ground\n Its fainting leaves; full was the air of sound\n Of restless bees; from high elms far away\n Came the doves' moan about the lost spring day,\n And Venus\u2019 sparrows twittered in the eaves p. 246\n Above his head. There \u2019twixt the languid leaves\n And o\u2019er-blown blossoms he awhile did go,\n Nursing his love till faint he \u2019gan to grow\n For very longing, and love, bloomed an hour,\n Began to show the thorn about the flower,\n Yet sweet and sweet it was, until the thought\n Of that departing to his mind was brought,\n And though he laughed aloud with scorn of it,\n Yet images of pain and death would flit\n Across his love, until at last anew\n He \u2019gan to think that deeds there were to do\n In his old way, if there he still would bide.\n Deeds must have birth from hope; grief must he hide,\n And into hard resolve his longing chill,\n If he would be god-loved and conquering still:\n So back he turned into the house, in mind,\n Whatso might hap, the King once more to find,\n And crave for leave to serve him; for he deemed,\n Whate\u2019er the King had warned or his love dreamed,\n That he and youth \u2019gainst death were fellows twain\n For years yet, whoso in the end should gain.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Deep buried in his thoughts he went, but when\n He drew anigh the hall a crowd of men\n Were round about it; armed they were, indeed,\n But rent and battered was their warlike weed,\n And some lacked wounding weapons; some men leant\n Weakly \u2019gainst pillars; some were so much spent\n They wept for weariness and pain; no few p. 247\n Bore bandages the red blood struggled through;\n E\u2019en such they seemed, the hero thought, as folk\n That erst before his Argive spears had broke,\n And at his feet their vain arms down had cast:\n So, wondering thereat, through these folk he passed\n Into the hall, where on the ivory throne\n Jobates sat, with flushed face, gazing down\n Upon the shrinking captains; therewithal\n E\u2019en as he entered did the King's eyes fall\n Upon him, and the King somewhat did start\n At first, but then, as minding not the part\n That he had played that morn, a gracious smile\n Came o\u2019er his face; then spake he in a while:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Look upon these, O wise Bellerophon,\n And ask of them what glory they have won\u2014\n Or ask them not, but listen unto me:\n Over the mountain-passes that men see\n Herefrom, a town there is, and therein dwell\n Folk baser and more vile than men can tell;\n A godless folk, without a law or priest;\n A thankless folk, who at high-tide and feast\n Remember not the Gods; no image there\n Makes glad men's eyes, no painted story fair\n Tells of past days; alone, unhelped they live,\n And nought but curses unto any give:\n A rude folk, nothing worth, without a head\n To lead them forth,\u2014and this morn had I said\n A feeble folk and bondsmen of mine own.\n But now behold from this same borel town p. 248\n Are these men empty-handed now come back,\n And midst these Solymi is little lack\n This morn of well-wrought swords and silk attire\n And gold that seven times o\u2019er has felt the fire.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Lo now, thou spak\u2019st of wandering forth again\u2014\n Rather be thou my man, and \u2019gainst these men\n Lead thou mine army; nay, nor think to win\n But little praise if thou dost well herein,\n For these by yesterday are grown so great\n That if thou winnest them, midst this red heat\n Of victory, a great deed shalt thou do,\n And great will thy reward be; wilt thou go?\n Methought thou hadst a mind to serve me here.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So, as Bellerophon drew more anear,\n He thought within his heart, \"Ah, then, I know\n From all these things why he would have me go;\n Yet since indeed I may not quite depart\n From Lycia now, because my new-smitten heart\n Is bound with bonds of love unto the land,\n Safer am I in armour, sword in hand,\n Than midst these silken hangings and fair things,\n That well I wot hide many poison-stings:\n The Gods are great, nor midst of men am I\n Of such as, once being threatened, quickly die.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then he spake out: \"O King, wilt thou then pray\n To all the Gods to give me a good day?\n For when I was a youth and dwelt at home p. 249\n Men deemed I knew somewhat of things to come,\n And now methinks more dangers I foresee\n Than any that have yet been forged for me.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The King frowned at that word, and flushed blood-red,\n As if against his will; but quickly said,\n In a mild voice: \"Be of good cheer, O son;\n For if the Gods help not Bellerophon\n They will not have to say, that in this land\n I prayed their good-will for thee with close hand.\n No god there is that hath an altar here\n That shall not smoke with something he holds dear\n While thou art absent from us\u2014but these men,\n Worn as they are, are fain to try again,\n As swiftly as may be, what from the Fates\n In bloody fields the Lycian name awaits;\n Mine armoury is not empty, yet there are\n Unwounded men to furnish forth the war\n Yea, and mine household-folk shall go with thee,\n And none but women in mine house shall be,\n Until the Lycian shield once more is clean\n Through thee, as though no stain had ever been.\n Canst thou be ready by the second day\n Unto the Solymi to take thy way?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"So be it,\" said the wise Corinthian;\n \"And here, O King, I make myself thy man\u2014\n May the Gods make us faithful; but if worse p. 250\n Must happen, on his head fall all the curse\n Who does the wrong!\u2014Now for thy part see thou\n That we who go have everything enow;\n Nor think to hear too soon of victory,\n For though a spliced staff e\u2019en as strong may be\n As one ne\u2019er broken, lean thou not thereon\n Till o\u2019er the narrow way thy feet have won\n And thou may\u2019st try it on the level grass.\n Now give me leave,. for I am fain to pass\n Thy men in order by me, and to find\n How best thy wounded honour I may bind.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0When first the hero's hand the King's hand took,\n But ill belike Jobates that did brook,\n And well-nigh drew it back; yet still it lay\n And moved not, and the King made haste to say:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"May the Gods bless us both, as I bless thee,\n Who at this tide givest good help to me!\n Depart, brave man; and, doing but thy best,\n Howe\u2019er fate goes, by me shalt thou be blest.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then went Bellerophon, and laboured sore\n To give the Lycian folk good heart once more,\n Till day passed into night, and in fair dream\n And hopeful waking, happy love did gleam,\n E\u2019en like the young sun, on the hero's head.\n But when the next bright day was well-nigh dead, p. 251\n Within the brazen porch Bellerophon\n Stood thinking o\u2019er all things that had been done.\n Alone he was, and yearning for his love,\n And longing for some deed the truth to prove\n Of what seemed dreamlike now, midst all the stir\n Of men and clash of arms; and wearier\n He felt than need was, as the evening breeze\n Raised up his hair. But while sweet images\n His heart made now of what he once had seen,\n There in the dusk, across the garden green,\n A white thing fluttered; nor was steadier\n His heart within him, as he thought of her,\n And that perchance she came; and soon anigh\n A woman drew, but stopping presently\n Over against him, he could see her now\n To be a handmaid, and, with knitted brow,\n Was going thence, but through the dusk she cried:\n \"O fair my lord Bellerophon, abide\n And hearken\u2014here my lady sendeth me,\n And saith these words withal:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Philono\u00eb,\n Born of the Lycian King, Both give thee this\n Fair blade, and prayeth for thee health and bliss;\n Saying, moreover; as for this same sword,\n Draw it not forth before base man or lord,\n But be alone when first it leaves the sheath .\n Yet since upon it lieth life and death,\n Surely thou wilt not long delay to see\n The face of that bright friend I give to thee.\" p. 252\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He felt the cold hilt meet his outstretched hand,\n And she was gone, nor longer did he stand\n Than but to look if any stood thereby,\n Then gat him gone therefrom, and presently\n Was lone within his chamber; there awhile\n He stood regarding with a lovesome smile\n The well-wrought sword, and fairly was it dight\n With gold and gems; then by the taper's light\n He drew it from the sheath, and, sooth to tell,\n E\u2019en that he hoped for therewithal befel,\n Because a letter lay \u2019twixt blade and sheath,\n Which straight he opened, and nigh held his breath\n For very eagerness, the while he read:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Short is the time, and yet enow, it said,\n Nightfall it will be when thou readest this.\n If thou wouldst live yet, for the weal and bliss\n Of many, gird this sword to thee, and go\n Down to the quay, and there walk to and fro,\n Until a seafarer thou meetest there,\n With two behind him who shall torches bear;\n He shall behold the sword, and say to thee,\n 'Is it drawn forth?' and say 'Yea, verily,\n And the wound healed.' Then shall he bring thee straight\n Unto his keel, which with loose sails doth wait\n Thy coming, and shall give thee gold good store,\n Nor bide the morn to leave the Lycian shore.\u2014\n Farewell; I would have seen thee, but I feared\u2014\n \u2014I feared two things; first, that we might be heard p. 253\n By green trees and by walls, and thus should I\n Have brought the death on thee I bid thee fly;\n The first\u2014but for the second, since I speak\n Now for the last time\u2014Love has made me weak;\n I feared my heart made base by sudden bliss\n I feared\u2014wilt thou be wroth who readest this?\u2014\n Mine eyes I saw in thine that other tide;\n I thought perchance that here thou mightst abide,\n Constrained by Love.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now if I have said ill,\n Shall not my soul of sorrow have its fill?\n I sin, but bitter death shall pay therefor.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He read the piteous letter o\u2019er and o\u2019er,\n Till fell the tears thereon like sudden rain,\n For he was young, and might not love again\n With so much pleasure, such sweet bitterness,\n Such hope amid that new-born sharp distress\n Of longing; half-content to love and yearn,\n Until perchance the fickle wheel might turn.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The well-kissed sword within his belt he set,\n But ye may well deem was more minded yet\n To bide his fortune in the Lycian land,\n What fear soe\u2019er before his path might stand;\n And great his soul grew, thinking of the tide\n When every hindrance should be thrust aside,\n And love should greet him; calm, as though the death,\n He knew so nigh him, on some distant heath\n Were sitting, flame-bound, waiting for the word p. 254\n Himself should give; with hand upon his sword,\n Unto the hall he took his way: therein\n Was growing great and greater joyful din,\n For there they drank unto the coming day;\n And as through all that crowd he made his way,\n The shouts rose higher round him, and his name\n Beat hard about the stony ears of Fame.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So then beside the Lycian King he sat\n A little while, and spake of this and that,\n E\u2019en as a man grown mighty; and at last\n Some few words o\u2019er that feasting folk he cast,\n Proud, mingling sharp rebuke with confidence.\n And bade them feast no more, but going thence\n Make ready straight to live or die like men.\n And therewithal did he depart again\n Amidst them, and for half the night he went\n Hither and thither, on such things intent\n As fit the snatcher-forth of victory;\n And then, much wondering how such things could be,\n That aught but love could move a man at all,\n Into a dreamless slumber did he fall,\n Wherefrom the trumpet roused him in the morn,\n Almost before the summer sun was born;\n And midst the new-born longings of his heart,\n From that fair place now must he needs depart\n Unguarded and unholpen to his fate.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Nought happed to him \u2019twixt palace-court and gate p. 255\n Of the fair city; thronged it was e\u2019en then\n With anxious, weeping women and pale men,\n But unto him all faces empty were\n But one, that nowise might he now see there:\n Or ere he passed the great gate back he gazed'\n To where the palace its huge pile upraised\n Unto the fresh and windy morning sky,\n As seeking if he might e\u2019en now espy\n That which he durst not raise his eyes unto\n When \u2019neath its walls he went a while ago.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So through the gate the last man strode, and they\n Who in the city seemed so great a stay\n Unto that people, as the country-side\n About their moving ranks spread bleak and wide,\n Showed like a handful, and the town no less\n Seemed given up to utter helplessness.\nSEVEN days of fear wore by; Philono\u00eb\n Must vex her heart with all that yet might be,\n And oft would curse herself that she it was\n Through whom such death as his should come to pass,\n And weep to think of all her life made lone.\n But on the eighth day, at the stroke of noon,\n A little band of stained and battered men p. 256\n Passed through the gate into the town again,\n And left glad hearts as well as anxious ones\n Behind them, as they clattered o\u2019er the stones\n Unto the palace: there the King they found\n Set on his throne, with ancient lords around,\n And cried to him, \"O King, rejoice! at last\n Raised is thy banner, that ill men had cast\n Unto the ground; as safely mayst thou lie\n Within the city of the Solymi\n As in this house thou buildedst for thy bliss,\n For all things there are thine now, e\u2019en as this.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then the King rose, and filled a cup with wine,\n And said, \"All praise be unto things divine!\n Yet ere I pour, how goes it with our folk?\n Did many die before they laid the yoke\n On these proud necks? when will they come again?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"O King,\" they said, \"though they fell not in vain,\n Yet many fell; but now upon the way\n Our fellows are: I think on the third day\n They will be here, and needs must they be slow,\n Because they have with them a goodly show;\n Wains full of spoil, arms, and most fair attire,\n Wrought gold that seven times o\u2019er has felt the fire;\n And men and women of thy stubborn foes\n E\u2019en as thou wilt their lives to keep or lose.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"What sayst thou next about Bellerophon,\" p. 257\n The King said, \"that this day for me hath won?\n Is he alive yet?\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then the man waxed pale,\n And said, \"He liveth, and of small avail\n Man's weapons are against him; on the wall\n He stood alone, for backward did we fall\n Before the fury of the Solymi,\n Because we deemed ourselves brought there to die,,\n And might not bear it: then it was as though\n A clear bright light about his head did glow\n Amidst the darts and clamour, and he turned\n A face to us that with such glory burned\n That those behind us drave us back again,\n And cried aloud to die there in the pain\n Rather than leave him, and with such a wave\n Of desperate war swept up, they scarce could save\n Their inmost citadel from us that tide,\n Who at the first with mocks had bidden us bide\n A little longer in a freeman's land,\n Until their slaves had got their whips in hand\n To drive us thence.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now as he spake, at first\n The King like one, who heareth of the worst,\n And must not heed it, hearkened, but when he\n Had heard his servant's tale out, suddenly\n The wine he poured, and cried, \"Jove, take thou this\n In token of the greatness of our bliss,\n In earnest of the gifts that thou shalt have,\n Who thus our name, our noble friends didst save.\" p. 258\n So spake he, looking downward, and his heart\n In what his lips said, had perchance, some part,\n However, driven on by long-sworn oath,\n He dealt in things that sore he needs must loathe:\n And he who erst had told him of the thing\n Seemed fain to linger, as if yet the King\n Had something more to say; but no fresh word\n He had for him, but with great man and lord\n Made merry, praising wind and wave\n That brought Bellerophon their fame to save.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But joyous was the town to hear of this,\n For in that place, midst all that men call bliss,\n Cold fear was mingled; such a little band\n They seemed, but clinging to a barbarous land,\n With strange things round about them; if the earth\n Should open not to swallow up their mirth\n And them together, they must deem it good;\n Or if the kennels ran not with their blood,\n While a poor remnant, driven forth with whips,\n Must sit beneath the hatchways of strange ships,\n Of such account as beasts. So there dwelt they,\n Trembling amidst their wealth from day to day,\n Afraid of god and man, and earth and sky.\n Judge, therefore, if they thought not joyously\n Of this one fallen amongst them, who could make\n The rich man risk his life for honour's sake,\n The trembling slave remember what he was,\n The poor man hope for what might come to pass. p. 259\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So when the day carne when the gates were flung\n Back on their hinges, and the people hung\n About the pageant of their folk returned,\n And many an eager face about him burned\n With new and high desires they scarce could name,\n He wondered how such glory on him came,\n And why folk gazed upon him as a god,\n And would have kissed the ground whereon he trod.\n A little thing it seemed to him to fight\n Against hard things, that he might see the light\n A little longer and rejoice therein,\n A little thing that he should strive to win\n More time for love; and even therewithal\n Into a dreamy musing did he fall\n Amidst the shouts and glitter, and scarce knew\n What things they were that he that day did do,\n Only the time seemed long and long and long,\n The noise and many men still seemed to wrong\n The daintiness of his heart-piercing love,\u2014\n As through a world of shadows did he move.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Think then how fared his love Philono\u00eb\n Amid the din of that festivity!\n For if while joy hung betwixt hope and fear\n Life seemed a hateful thing to her and drear,\n And all men hateful; if herself she cursed,\n The hatefullest of all things and the worst;\n If rest had grown a name for something gone\n And not remembered; if herself alone p. 260\n Seemed no more one, but made of many things\n All wretched and at strife; if sudden stings\n Of fresh pain made her start up from her place,\n And set to some strange unknown goal her face,\n And she must stifle wails with bitterest pain\u2014\n If all this was, ought she not now to gain\n A little rest? now, when she heard the voice\n Of triumph and the people's maddening noise\n Round her returning love; still did she bear\n Her grinding dread if with a wearier,\n Yet with a calmer face, than now she bore\n Desire so quickened by that fear past o\u2019er.\n She in her garden wandered through the day,\n And heavy seemed the hours to pass away.\n Her colour came and went, she trembled when\n She heard some louder shout of joyous men;\n She could not hear the things her maidens spake,\n Nor aught could she seem gracious for their sake;\n The sweetest snatch of some familiar song\n She might not hearken; she abode not long\n Within the shadow; weary of the sun\n She grew full soon; the glassy brook did run\n In vain across her feet; the ice-cold well\n Quenched not her thirst; the half-blown roses\u2019 smell\n Was not yet sweet enough: the sun sank low,\n And then she murmured that the day must go\n That should have been so happy: wearily\n She laid her down that night, but nought slept she;\n Yet in the morn the new sun seemed to bring p. 261\n A joy to her, and some unnamed dear thing\n Better than rest or peace; for in her heart\n She knew that he in all her thoughts had part;\n Yea, and she thought how dreamlike he would ride\n Amidst his glory, and how ill abide\n The clamour of the feast; yea, and would not\n That night to him belike be dull and hot,\n And that dawn hopeful?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u2019Neath the wall there was\n A place where dewy was the daisied grass\n E\u2019en nigh the noon; a high tower great and round\n Cast a long shadow o\u2019er that spot of ground,\n And blind it was of window or of door,\n For, wrought by long-dead men of ancient lore,\n No part it was of that stone panoply\n That girt the town; so lilies grew thereby,\n And woodbine, and the odorous virgin's-bower\n Hung in great heaps about that undyked tower,\n And lone and silent was the pleasance there.\n Thither Love led Philono\u00eb the fair,\n And well she knew of him, and still her heart\n At every little sound and sight would start,\n And still her palms were tingling for the touch\n Of other hands, and ever over-much\n Her feet seemed light.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But when the bushes gleamed\n With something more than the low sun that streamed\n Athwart their blossoms, and a clear voice rung\n Above the ousel's; then with terror stung, p. 262\n She leaned her slim and perfect daintiness\n \u2018Gainst the grey tower, and even like distress\n Her great joy seemed. Green clad he was that morn,\n And to his side there hung a glittering horn,\n A mighty unbent bow was in his hand,\n And o\u2019er his shoulders did the feathers stand\n Of his long arrows; in his gleaming eyes\n Such joy there was as he beheld the prize,\n That in that shadow now he seemed to be\n A piece of sunlight fallen down suddenly.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So face to yearning face they stood awhile,\n And every word at first seemed poor and vile,\n None better than another; nor durst they\n Lips upon lips or palm to fingers lay,\n More than if many people stood around,\n With such strange fear and shame doth love abound.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At last she spake: \"Thou comest, then, to say\n How thou wilt now be wise and go away,\n E\u2019en as I bade; the prey has \u2019scaped the net;\n Be wise, the fowler other wiles hath yet!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Yea,\" said he, \"then thy word it was indeed\n That needs must think about me in my need:\n Strange, then, that now thou biddest me begone!\n Belike thou know\u2019st not of folk left alone,\n And what life grows to them: yet art thou kind\u2014\n Thou deemest other friends I yet may find. p. 263\n Alas, life goeth fast; not every day\n Do we behold folk standing in the way\n With outstretched hands to meet us.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Ah,\" she said,\n \"How sweet thou art! Wand yet the dead are dead,\n The absent are but dead a little while.\n Then get thee gone from midst of wrong and guile,\n And we shall meet once more in happier days,\n When death lurks not amidst of rosy ways\u2014\n \u2014Ah, wilt thou slay me, then?\u2014I knew not erst\n How poor a life I had, and how accurst,\n Before I felt thy lips\u2014what thing is this\n That makes me faint amidst of new-born bliss?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Rest in mine arms, O well-beloved,\" said he;\n \"I faint not, neither shall death come on me\n While thus thou art: nay, nay, I think if I,\n Hacked with an hundred swords, should come to lie,\n Yet without thee I should not then depart.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"O love, alas! the sorer is my heart\n The more I love,\" she said, \"we are alone;\n Our loving life is not for any one\n But for our own selves\u2014ah, deem all I said\n Before those lips of thine on mine were laid\n As said again and yet again! Some hate\n Is round thee here, some undeserved strange fate\n Awaits thee here in Lycia\u2014yea, full sure\n The hungry swords here may we twain endure; p. 264\n But what then?\u2014Of the dead what hast thou heard\n That maketh thee so rash and unafeared?\n Can the dead love, or is there any space\n In their long sleep when they lay face to face\n Soft as we do now? can their pale lips plead\n The pleas of love? or can their fixed eyes lead\n Heart unto heart? or hast thou heard that they\n Can wait from weary day to weary day,\n And hope, as I will, while thou gatherest fame?\n Can they have pleasure there e\u2019en in a name,\n A memory? is their pain a pleasure there,\n Are tears sweet, and the longing sobs that wear\n The hours away, where life and hope are gone?\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"How can I any longer be alone?\n Can I forget thee now? the while I live?\n O my beloved, must I strive and strive,\n And move thee not? How sweet thou art to me!\n How dull the coming day that knows not thee!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Fear not,\" he said; \"not yet my days are done!\n When on the deadly wall I stood alone,\n And back the traitors fell from me, I felt\n As though within me such a life there dwelt\n As scarce could end\u2014Lo now, if I depart\n I lack the safeguard of thy faithful heart,\n And meet new dangers that thou know\u2019st not of.\n Yea, listen, nor rebuke me\u2014This our love;\n Hast thou not heard how love may grow a-cold\n Before the lips that called thereon wax old? p. 265\n Ah, listen! seas betwixt us, and great pain,\n And death of days that shall not be again;\n And yearning life within us, and desire\n That changes hearts as fire will quench the fire.\n These are the engines of the Gods, lest we,\n Through constant love, Gods too should come to be.\n A little pain, a little fond regret,\n A little shame, and we are living yet,\n While love that should out-live us lieth dead\u2014\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Ah, my beloved, lift that glorious head\n And look upon me! put away the thought\n Of time and death, and let all things be nought\n But this love of to-day! and think of me\n As if for ever I should seem to thee\n As I am now\u2014I will not go away,\n Nor sow my love, to reap some coming day\n I know not what: be merry, we shall live\n To see our love high o\u2019er all danger thrive.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For now she wept, but, starting midst her tears,\n She stopped and listened like a bird that hears\n A danger on the wind: the round tower's shade\n A lesser patch upon the daisies made,\n And all about the place \u2019gan folk to stir:\n She turned and girt her loosened gown to her,\n And with one sob, and a long faithful look,\n The gathering tears from out her eyes she shook,\n Nor bade farewell, but swiftly gat her gone. p. 266\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But he beneath the tower so left alone\n Stooped down and kissed her foot-prints in the grass,\n And then with swift steps through the place did pass,\n Thinking high things; nor knew he till that hour\n How sweet life was, or love its fruit and flower.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So passed the days, nor often might it be\n That such sweet hours as this the twain might see;\n And they must watch that folk might not surprise\n Their hearts' love through the windows of their eyes\n When midst of folk they met: but glorious days\n Were for Bellerophon, and love and praise\n From all folk, though the great end lingered yet\n When he sweet life, or glorious death, should get.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0NOW on a day was held of most and least\n Unto Diana sacrifice and feast,\n And on that tide the market empty was,\n And through the haven might no dromund pass;\n And then the wont was they should bear about\n The goddess wrought in gold, with song and shout\n And winding of great horns, amidst a band\n Of bare-kneed maidens, bended bow in hand\n And quiver at the back; and these should take,\n As if by force, and for the city's sake, p. 267\n Three damsels chosen by lot for that same end,\n And bind their hands, and with them straightly wend\n Unto the temple of Diana; there\n The priest should lead them to the altar fair\n And midst old songs should raise aloft the knife\n As if to take from each her well-loved life;\n Therewith the King, with a great company,\n Through the great door would come and respite cry,\n And offer ransom: a great golden horn,\n A silver image of a flowering thorn,\n Three white harts with their antlers gilt with gold,\n A silk gown for a huntress, every fold\n Thick wrought with gold and gems; then to and fro\n An ancient song was sung, to bid men know\n That of such things the goddess had no need;\n Yet in the end the maidens all were freed,\n The harts slain in their place, the dainty things\n Hung o\u2019er the altar from fair silver rings,\n And then, midst semblance of festivity\n And joyful songs, the solemn day went by.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0All this they told Bellerophon, and said\n Moreover, that the white-foot well-girt Maid\n These gifts must have, because a merry rout\n Of feasters, knowing neither fear nor doubt,\n With love and riot did her grove defile\n In the old days; and therefore nought more vile\n Than three fair maids\u2019 lives would she have at first,\n And with that burden was the city cursed p. 268\n For many years; \"But in these latter days,\n She to whom we to-morrow give great praise,\n Will take these signs of our humility,\n And let the folk in other wise go free.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So on the morn joyful the city was,\n Nor did men look for aught to come to pass\n More than in other years; but lo, a change!\n For there betid great portents dire and strange.\n For first, when in the car of cedar-wood,\n Decked with green boughs, the golden goddess stood,\n And the white oxen strained at yoke and trace,\n In no wise might they move her from the place,\n Though they had drawn well twenty times that weight.\n So when the priests had come in all their state\n To pray her, and no lighter she would grow,\n They said she did it for that folk might know\n She fain would have a shrine built o\u2019er the way,\n And that all rites should there be wrought that day.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So was it done, and now all things seemed well\n A little space, and nought there was to tell\n Until the King had brought the ransom due,\n And the loosed bonds men from the maidens drew;\n Then fell the third maid down before the King,\n And cried from foaming mouth a shameful thing\n Unmeet for maids; then from the frightened folk\n That filled the street a clamour there outbroke,\n And some cried out to slay the woman there,\n And some to burn her wanton body fair, p. 269\n And some to cast her forth into the sea\n And purge the town of that iniquity.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But when the King had bidden lead her forth,\n And try if she indeed were one of worth,\n Or if her maidenhood were nought and vain,\n The tossing street grew somewhat stilled again,\n And o\u2019er the sinking tumult called a priest:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Abide, let see if she will take the beast\n E\u2019en as her wont is! but if so it be\n That of our old crime she has memory\n And threatens us with something strange and new,\n Yet mid your fear do all in order due,\n Nor make two faults of one, that ye may bear\n A double punishment from year to year.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then were the harts brought forth; the first one stood\n Fearless as he were lonely in the wood,\n While to his throat drew nigh the sharp-edged knife,\n Nor did the second strive to keep his life;\n But when the third and biggest drew anigh,\n He tossed his gilded antlers angrily\n And smote his foot against the marble floor,\n While from his throat came forth a low hoarse roar;\n And as the girl whose office was to smite\n His drawn-back throat came forth confused and white,\n And raised a wavering hand aloft, then he\n His branching horns from the priests\u2019 hands shook free,\n And as the affrighted girl fell back, turned round, p. 270\n And gathered up his limbs for one last bound;\n But even therewith a soldier from the band\n That stood about the King raised up his hand,\n And in the beast's heart thrust his well-steeled spear,\n And as he smote, like one who knew no fear,\n He cried aloud:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"O foolish Artemis,\n Men's ways thou knowest not, putting from thee this,\n The gift once offered! think no more of us\n That we will pray with eyes all piteous\n Before thee, or give gifts from trembling hands;\n But get thee gone straightway to other lands,\n Where folk will yet abide thee\u2014for we know\n How long a way it is for thee to go\n From heaven to earth, how far thine arms will reach,\n And no more now thy good-will do beseech!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He stooped, and from the beast his weapon drew,\n Then turned and passed his fear-struck fellows through,\n Or ere the swords from out the scabbards came;\n And so folk say, that no man knew his name\n Or whence he was.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But from the concourse broke\n In pale and murmuring knots the frightened folk;\n And if the priests had heart yet for a word\n Of comfort, neither so had they been heard;\n But they slunk off too, more perchance afraid\n Because they were the nigher to the Maid. p. 271\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now had the morn begun with cloud and sun;\n But, little heeded there of any one\n Mid that beginning of fear's agony,\n Slowly the clouds were swallowing up the sky;\n So ere the sun had wholly sunk in them,\n Great drops fell slowly from a black cloud's hem\n Amid that troubled folk, who felt as though\n They from that place of terror needs must go,\n Yet, going, scarce could feel their unnerved feet;\n Then gleamed a lightning-flash adown the street,\n The clattering thunder, made ten times more loud,\n Because of dread, hushed all the murmuring crowd,\n And brought a many trembling to their knees,\n And some set off a-running toward the quays,\n That they might go they knew not where or why;\n But therewithal such rain fell from the sky,\n As though some river of the upper world\n Had burst his banks, the furious south-wind hurled\n The folk's wet raiment upward as it tore\n Along the ground, and the white rain-spray bore\n Seaward along: yet so it came to pass\n That no more terror from the sky there was;\n The wind grew steady, but from roof of grey\n Fast fell the rain upon the ruined day,\n Till trembling still, and shivering with the cold,\n Home went all folk, and soon the Maid of gold\n Stood lonely in the rain-beat way and drear,\n Amid drenched cloths and garlands, once made fair\n To make the day more joyous.\u2014You had thought p. 272\n That now already had the Maiden brought\n Upon the city all the dreaded ill,\n So lifeless was it grown and lone and still.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But now to tell of Prince Bellerophon;\n Upon that day so chanced it he had gone\n Unto the hills, in chase the hours to spend\n Until the tide of feasting should have end;\n For since he was an alien in that place,\n Beside the King he might not show his face\n Unto the goddess; so that morn he stood\n Upon a hill's top that from out a wood\n Rose bare; thence looking east, he saw the sky\n Grow black and blacker as the rain drew nigh,\n And deemed it good to go, but, as he turned,\n Afar a jagged streak of lightning burned,\n Paling the sunshine that the dark woods lit,\n And rocks about him; through his mind did flit\n Something like fear thereat; and still he gazed\n Out to the east, but not again there blazed\n That fire from out the sky. Now was he come\n To such a place, that thence fair field, and home\n Of toiling men, and wood, and broad bright stream\n Lay down below, and many a thing did gleam\n Beneath the zenith's brightness, brighter yet\n For horror of the far clouds\u2019 stormful threat,\n And clear the air was with the coming rain\u2014\n So then as he would turn his head again,\n Out in the far horizon like a spark p. 273\n Some flame broke out against the storm-clouds dark,\n And seemed to grow beneath his eyes; he stood,\n And, gazing, saw across the day's dark mood\n Another and another, nigh the first;\n Then, as the distant thunder's threatening cursed\n The country-side, and trembling beast and man,\n The spark-like three flames into one thread ran,\n That shot aloft amidst, yet further spread\n At either end; and to himself he said:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Ah, is it so? what tidings then draw near?\n In warlike lands soon should I look to hear\n Of armies marching on through war and wrack;\n Good will it be in haste to get me back\n Unto the foolish folk that trust in me.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then did he mount and ride off hastily\n Adown the slopes; but not so fast withal\n But that upon him did the full storm fall\n In no long time; and so through pelting rain\n And howling wind he reached the gate again;\n And so unto the palace went, to hear\n From pale lips tales of all that day of fear;\n And when about those bale-fires seen afar\n He spake, and bade make ready for some war,\n Folk listened coldly; for they thought to see\n Some strange, portentous sign of misery\n Set in the heavens upon the morrow morn,\n And the old tale of war seemed well outworn. p. 274\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet ere the night beyond its midst was worn,\n Another tale unto their ears was borne\n That cast into their hearts the ancient fear,\n And the Gods\u2019 threatening easier seemed to bear\n Than this that fell on them.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At dead of night\n The grey clouds drew apart, the moon shone bright\n Over a dripping world; and some folk slept\n Wearied by fear, if some their tired limbs kept\n Ready for flight; then clattering horse-hooves came\n To the east gate, and one called out the name\n Of him who had the guard; so said the man\n That forth he went into the moonlight wan,\n And saw nought but the tall black-shadowed trees\n Waving their dripping boughs in the light breeze,\n So went back scared. But in a while again\n The galloping of horse did he hear plain,\n But he and his sat fast and spake no word,\n And scarce fhr fear might they hold spear or sword.\n Nigher the sound came, till it reached the gate;\n Then as the warders did abide their fate,\n Thinking to see the gates burst open wide,\n And death in some strange shape betwixt them ride,\n The gates were smitten on with hasty blows,\n And breathless cries of wild entreaty rose\n Up through the night:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Open, O open, ye\n Who sit in peace, and let in misery!\n Do ye not see the red sky at our backs? p. 275\n And how the earth all quiet places lacks,\n And shakes beneath the myriad hooves of steel?\n Open, ah open, as ye hope for weal!\n For ships lie at your quays with sails all bent\n And oars made ready\u2014Open, we are spent!\n Do ye not hear them? Open, Lycian men!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0With staring eyes still sat the warders when\n That cry they heard, and knew not what should be;\n And the great gates of oak, clenched mightily\n With iron end-long and athwart, seemed fair\n Unto their eyes; but as they cowered there\n A clash of steel again their dull ears heard\n That came from out the town, and more afeard\n They grew, if it might be; then torches came\n Into the place of guard, and mid their flame\n A shining one in arms, with wrathful eyes\n \u2019Neath his bright helm, who cried:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Why in this guise\n Sit ye, O Lycians? Get each to his home!\n For know that yesterday three keels did come\n Laden with spindles and all women's gear,\n And none need lack e\u2019en such a garment here\n As well befits him\u2014lutes the Gods have sent,\n And combs and golden pins, to that intent\n That ye may all be merry\u2014what say I?\n Ye may be turned to women verily,\n Because the Gods are wise, and thriftless deed\n Mislikes them, and forsooth is little need p. 276\n That thews and muscles go with suchlike hearts\n As ye have, while all wise and manly parts\n Are played by girls, weak-handed, soft, and white.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Get to the tower-top, look ye through the night,\n And ye shall see the cleared sky made all red\n And murky \u2019neath the moon with signs of dread;\n Come forth and meet them! What! the Gods ye fear,\n And what they threaten? Life to you is dear?\n Ah, fools, that think not how to all on earth\n The very death is born along with birth;\n That some men are but dying twenty years,\n That some men on this sick-bed of all tears\n Must lie for forty years, for eighty some,\n Or ever they may reach their peaceful home!\n Ah, give to birth the name of death, and wait\n With brave hearts rather for the stroke of fate,\n And hope, since ye gained death when ye were born,\n That ye from death by dying may be torn\u2014\n \u2014Unless ye deem that if this day ye live,\n The next a deathless life to you will give.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Come, then! these few behind me may ye see\n Who think it worse to live on wretchedly\n Than cast the die amidst of noble strife\n For honoured death or fearless glorious life\u2014\n \u2014Yea, yea! and is the foe upon us then?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For even as he spake they heard again p. 277\n The smiting on the door, and as the sword\n Leapt from the exile's sheath with his last word,\n Again the cry, made dim by the thick door,\n Smote on their ears:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Lycians, are ye no more\n Within your guarded town? A voice we heard\n As if of one who bade us not be feared\u2014\n He was a god belike, and no more men\n Dwell in your town: ah, will ye open then?\n Do ye not hear that noise upon the wind,\n And do ye think that ye fair days shall find\n If our red blood shall stain your ancient gate?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then, as if these were maddened by some fate,\n Down rained the blows upon the unyielding oak,\n And the scared guards shrank back behind the folk\n Bellerophon brought with him; therewith he\n Sheathed his bright blade, and shot back mightily\n The weight of iron bolt, and therewithal\n Stepped aside swiftly; back the gates did fall\n Upon their hinges, and a wretched throng\n Stood, horse and foot, the glimmering spears among,\n Cowering and breathless, and with eyes that turned\n Over their shoulders, as though still they yearned\n To see no more the quiet moonlit way\n Beyond the open gates. But now, when they\n Were ordered somewhat, and the gates again\n Shut fast, Bellerophon cried out:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"O men, p. 278\n Full fast ye fled, meseems! and who were these,\n That made you tremble at the wet-leaved trees\n And quivering acres of the bearded rye?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then spake an old man: \"Fair sir, manfully\n Thou speakest, and thy words are full of hope;\n And yet with these no power thou hast to cope,\n Who for each rye-head raise a spear aloft\n Who know as much of fear, or pity soft,\n As do the elm-trees; whom the Gods drive on\n Until the world once happy they have won\n And made it desert, peopled by the ghosts\n Of those who happy died before their hosts;\n Or else lived on in fear and misery\n A little while before God let them die\u2014\n Devils are these; but what scorn shall we get\n When thou hast heard that these are women!\u2014yet\n Keep thou thy scorn till thou art face to face\n With these a minute ere the fearful chase.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Loud laughed Bellerophon, and said, \"See ye,\n O tremblers, what foreknowledge was in me,\n When I said e\u2019en now ye should change your parts\n With women! Throw the gates wide, fearful hearts,\n And let us out, that with a word or two\n All that is needed herein we may do!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The old man said, \"Laugh, then, while yet your eyes\n Are still unblasted with the miseries p. 279\n These days have brought on us!\u2014Lo, if I tell\n Half of the dreadful things that there befell,\n Ye will not listen,\u2014if I tell the shape\n Of these fell monsters, for whom hell doth gape,\n Still will ye say that but my fear it is,\n That speaketh in me,\u2014yea, but hearken this;\n For certainly such foes are on you now\n As, bound together by a dreadful vow,\n Will slay yourselves, and wives, and little ones,\n And build them temples with the blanched bones,\n Unto the nameless One who gives them force.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then cried Bellerophon, in wrath: \"To horse!\n To horse, O Lycians! Ere the moon is down\n The dawn shall come to light us; in the town\n Bide thou, O captain, and guard gate and wall;\n And leave us to what hap from Fate may fall!\n We are enow\u2014and for these cowards-here,\n Let them have yet another death to fear\n Unless they rule their tongues. Tell thou the King\n That, when I come again, full many a thing\n These lips will have to tell him; and meanwhile,\n Since often will the Gods make strong the vile,\n And bring adown the great, let him have care\n That this his city is left nowise bare\n Of men, and food, and arms. More might I say,\n But now methinks the night's face looks towards day.\n The moon sinks fast; so get we speedily\n Unto that redness in the eastern sky, p. 280\n That at the dawn with smoke shall dim the sun.'\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A shout rose when his last clear word was done,\n And at his back went rolling down the way\n Mingled with clash of arms, for, sooth to say,\n Hard had he laboured ere the dark night fell,\n And thus had gathered men who loved him well,\n Stout hearts to whom more fair it seemed to be\n The face of death in stricken field to see\n Than in that place to bide, till Artemis\n Had utterly consumed all hope of bliss\n With some unknown, unheard-of shape of fear.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So now his well-shod steed they brought him there;\n Once more from out its sheath he drew his sword,\n The gates swung backward at his shouted word,\n And forth with eager eyes into the waves\n Of darkness did he ride; the spears and glaives\n Moved like a tossing winter grove behind\n As on he led them, fame or death to find;\n And grey night made the world seem over wide,\n And over empty, in the darkling tide,\n Betwixt the moonset and the dawn of day.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then rose the sun; the fear that last night lay\n Upon that people changed to certain fear\n Well understood, of death that drew anear;\n And now no more the timorous kept their eyes\n Turned unto earth, lest in the sky should rise p. 281\n The dreadful tokens of a changing world;\n No more they thought to see strange things down-hurled\n By Gods as unlike their vain images\n As unto men are hell's flame-branched trees.\n Last night for any war or pestilence,\n Glad had they been to change that crushing sense\n Of helplessness and lies; but now this morn,\n Tormented by the rumour newly born,\n The vague fear seemed the lightest; the Gods\u2019 hands\n Less cruel than the deeds of those fell bands.\u2014\n Uprooted vines, fields trampled into mire,\n The ring of spears around the stead afire,\n Steel or the flame for choice; the torture hour\n When time is gone, and the flesh hath no power\n But to give agony on agony\n Unto the soul that will not let it die,\n So strong it is\u2014the lone despair; the shame\n Of a lost country and dishonoured name;\n These last but little things to bear indeed,\n When e\u2019en the greatest helps not in our need,\n And o\u2019er the earth is risen furious hell.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now, when this terror on the city fell,\n At first went thronging to the clamorous quays\n Rich men, with whatso things their palaces\n Could give, that strong-backed slaves of theirs might bear.\n And to and fro the great lords wandered there,\n Making hard bargains \u2019neath the shipmen's grin, p. 282\n Who had good will a life of ease to win\n With one last voyage; here and there indeed,\n Among the heaps of silver and rich weed\n Piled on the deck, the hard-hand mariners\n Thrust rudely \u2019gainst the wondering infant heirs,\n And delicate white slaves, and proud-eyed wives,\n And grumbled as they wrought to save their lives.\n And here and there a ship was moving out\n With white sails spreading amid oath and shout,\n While her sweeps smote the water heavily,\n And on the prow stood, yearning for the sea\n And other lands beyond, some trembling lord.\n But presently thereof the King had word;\n And when he knew that thus the matter went,\n A trusty captain to the quays he sent,\n And stout men armed, who lined the water-side.\n So there perforce must every man abide,\n For shut and guarded now was every gate.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But if, amid the fear of coming fate,\n You ask how fared the sweet Philono\u00eb,\n With mind a shrinking tortured thing to see,\n How shall you wonder! Tales of dread she heard\n With scornful eyes, and chid with eager word\n Her timorous women; and with bright flushed face\n And glittering eyes, she went from place to place,\n As though foreknowledge of the joy to come\n Pierced through all grief. Of those that saw her, some\n Would say, \"Alas! this ill day makes her mad.\" p. 283\n And some, \"A message certes hath she had\n From the other world, and is foredoomed to die.\"\n But some would gaze upon her wrathfully,\n While sitting with bent head on woe intent,\n They watched her fluttering raiment as she went\n Her daily ways as in fair time of peace.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So did the longest of all days decrease\n Through hours of straining fear; full were the ways\n With homeless country folk, with \u2019wildered gaze\n Fixed on the eager townsmen questioning;\n And carts with this or that poor homely thing,\n And cumbered women worn and desolate,\n Blocked up the road anigh the eastern gate.\n Thronged with pale faces were the walls that day\n Of folk so scared they could not go away,\n But still must watch until the horror came,\n Or watch at least that smoke above the flame\n Till sundown lit the sky with dreadful light;\n And still the tales of horror and affright\n Grew greater, and the cumbered city still\n Weighed down with wealth could summon up no will\n To fight or flee, or with closed lips to wait\n Amidst her gold the evil day of fate.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Night came at last, a night of all unrest:\n Upon the armed men now the people pressed\n At gate and quay, until they needs must yield,\n And many a bark o\u2019erladen slowly reeled\n Beneath the moonlight o\u2019er the harbour green; p. 284\n While as the breathing of the night wind keen\n Sang down the creek, great sounds of fear it bore,\n And redder was the sky than heretofore.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A fearful night, when some at last must think\n That they of no more horror now might drink\n Than they had drank; wherefore, with stress of fear\n Made brave, some men must catch up shield and spear,\n And leaderless go forth unto the flame\n All eyes were turned to; but when daylight came,\n With its grey light came naked death again,\n And honourless did all things seem and vain\n That man might do; the gates were left ajar,\n And through the streets helpless in weed of war\n The warders went: nought worth the King was made,\n When by each man the truth of all was weighed,\n And all seemed wanting: help there was in none.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Yet when \u2019mid these things nigh the day was done,\n And the foe came not, once more hope was born\n Within men's hearts too wearied and outworn\n To gather fresh fear; then the walls seemed good,\n The great gates more than iron and oaken wood,\n And with returning hope there came back shame;\n And they, bethinking them of their old name,\n \u2019Gan deem that spear to spear was no ill play,\n What wrath of goddesses soever lay\n Upon the city; and withal indeed,\n There came fresh rumours to their honour's need, p. 285\n And they bethought them of the godlike one\n Who in their midst so great a deed had done,\n And who erewhile rode forth so carelessly\n Their very terror with his eyes to see.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So at the sunset into ordered bands\n Once more the men were gathered; women's hands\n Bore stones up to the ramparts that no more\n That crowd of pale and anxious faces bore,\n But helms and spear-heads; and the King came forth\n Amidst his lords, and now of greater worth\n Than common folk he seemed once more to be.\n And in some order, if still timorously\n The Lycians waited through the night; the sky\n Showed lesser tokens of the foe anigh,\n So still hope grew.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At dawn of day the King\n Bade folk unto Diana's image bring\n Things precious and burnt-offerings; and the smoke\n Curled o\u2019er the bowed heads of the praying folk\n There in the streets, and though nought came to pass\n To tell that well appeased the goddess was,\n And though they durst not strive to move her thence,\n Yet did there fall on men a growing sense\n That now the worst was over: and at noon,\n Just as the King amid the trumpets\u2019 tune\n Went to his house, a messenger pierced through\n The wondering crowd, and toward Jobates drew,\n Nor did him reverence, nor spake aught before\n He gave unto the King the scroll he bore. p. 286\n Then from his saddle heavily down-leapt,\n Stiffened, as one who not for long has slept,\n While the King read the scroll; then those anigh\n Amid the expectant silence heard him cry,\n \"Praise to the Gods, who are not angry long!\n Hearken, all ye, how they have quenched our wrong.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Good health and good-hap to the Lycian King\n And all his folk, and every wished-for thing\n Wisheth hereby Bellerophon, and saith:\n From out the valley of the shade of death\n Late am I come again to make you glad,\n Because no evil journey have we had.\n And now the land is cleansed of such a pest\n As has not been before; be glad and rest,\n And look to see us back in seven days\u2019 space,\n For yet awhile must we abide to chase\n The remnant of the women that ye feared.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Silence a moment followed that last word,\n Then such a joyous shout, as good it is\n That those can know not who still dwell in bliss;\n Then turning here and there, with varied noise\n The people through all places did rejoice,\n Till pleasure failed for weariness; but still\n Did old and young, and men and women fill\n The temples with their praises; till, when earth\n Had fallen into twilight mid their mirth, p. 287\n With prayers and hymns they brought the great-eyed, white,\n Slow-going oxen through the gathering night,\n And yoked them to Diana's car again;\n Nor this time were they yoked thereto in vain,\n Down went the horned heads, beam and axle-tree\n Creaked as they drew, and folk cried out to see\n The wheels go round; heart opened unto heart\n With unhoped joy, and hate was set apart,\n Envy and malice waited for some day\n More common, as the goddess took her way\n Amid the torch-lit, flower-strewn, joyous street,\n Unto the house made ready for her feet.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But mid the noise of great festivity\n That filled the night, slept on Philono\u00eb,\n Amid that sea of love past hope and fear,\n And woke at sunrise no more sound to hear\n Than singing of the birds in thick-leaved trees\n Ere yet the sun might silence them; like these\n Did she rejoice, nor strange to her it was\n That all these things her love should bring to pass.\n Rising, she said, \"To-day thou workest this,\n And unto many givest life and bliss;\n To-morrow comes: therewith perchance for me\n A time when thou my faithful heart mayst see.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then she alone her fair attire did on,\n And mid the sleepers went her way alone\n Into the garden, and from flower to flower p. 288\n Passed, making sweeter even that sweet hour;\n And as by soft folds of her fluttering gown\n Her body's fairness was both hid and shown,\n E\u2019en so in simpleness her soul indeed\n Lay, not drawn back, but veiled beneath the weed\n Of earthly beauty that the Gods had lent\n Till they through years should work out their intent.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O\u2019er the freed city passed the time away,\n Until it drew unto the promised day\n Of their return who all that peace had won.\n And now the loved name of Bellerophon\n Rang ever in the maiden's ears; and she,\n As in the middle of a dream, did see\n The city made all ready for that hour,\n When in a fair-hung townward-looking bower,\n Pale now, amid her maidens she was set,\n New pain of longing for her heart to get.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Some dream there was of hurrying messengers\n Bright with a glory that was nowise theirs,\n And strains of music bearing back again\n The heart to vague years long since lived in vain;\n Then still a moving dream\u2014of robes of gold,\n Armour unsullied by the bloody mold\n That bought this peace; a dream of noble maid\n And longing youth in snowy robes arrayed;\n Of tinkling harps and twinkling jewelled hands,\n And gold-shod feet to meet the war-worn bands, p. 289\n That few and weary, flower-crowned, made the dream\n Less real amid the dainty people seem\u2014\n A wild dream of strange weapons heaped on wains,\n And rude wrought raiment vile with rents and stains,\n And dream-like figures by the axle-trees\u2014\n \u2014Women or beasts? and in the hands of these\n Trumpets of wood, and conch-shells, and withal\n Clamour of blast and horrid rallying call,\n And such a storm of strange discordant cries,\n As stilled the townsfolk mid their braveries,\n For therewith came the prisoners of the fight.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A dreadful dream!\u2014with blood-stained hair and white,\n Clad in most strange habiliment of war,\n Sat an old woman on a brazen car;\n White stared her eyes from a brown puckered face\n Upon the longed-for dainties of that place,\n But wrath and fear no more in them were left,\n For death seemed creeping on her; an axe-heft\n Her chained hands held yet; and a monstrous crown,\n Of heavy gold, \u2019twixt her thin feet and brown\n Was laid as she had cast it off in fight,\n When she was fain amidst her hurried flight\n To hide all signs of her fell royalty.\n An unreal dream\u2014about her seemed to be,\n Figures of women, clad in warlike guise,\n In scales of brass, beasts\u2019 skins, and cloths of dyes,\n Uncouth and coarse, made vile with earth and blood. p. 290\n A dream of horror! nought that men deem good\n Was seen in them, were they or young or old:\n Great-limbed were some and mighty to behold,\n With long black hair and beast-like brows, and low;\n Bald-headed, old, and wizened did some go,\n Yet all adorned with gold; this, in rich gown\n Of some slain woman, went with eyes cast down;\n That yelling walked, with armour scantly clad,\n And at her belt a Lycian's head yet had\n Hung by the flaxen hair; this old and bent\n From bushy eyebrows grey, strange glances sent,\n Grinning as from their limbs the people shrank;\n But most the cup of pain and terror drank,\n That they had given to drink so oft ere now\n If any sign thereof their eyes might show,\n And whatso mercy they of men might have,\n No hope for them their gross hearts now did save.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A dreadful dream! Philono\u00eb's slim hands\n Shut from her eyes the sight of those strange bands;\n Yet dreamlike must her heart behold them still,\n Amid new thoughts of God, and good and ill,\n And her eyes filled with tears. But what was this\n That smote her yearning heart with sudden bliss,\n Yet left it yearning? her fair head she raised,\n And with wide eyes down on the street she gazed,\n Yet cried not out; though all cry had been drowned\n Amid those joyous shouts, as, laurel-crowned,\n And sword in hand, and in his battered gear p. 291\n On his black horse he came, and raised to her\n Eyes that her heart knew. Nay, she moved not aught,\n Nor reached her arms abroad, as he was brought\n Beneath her place, too soon to go away;\n And open still her hands before her lay\n As down the street passed on the joyous cries,\n Nor were there any tears in her soft eyes;\n Only her lips moved softly, as she cast\n One look upon the people going past,\n Struggling and slow behind the last bright spears,\n Whose steady points had so thrust back their fears.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But amid silence \u2019neath the eyes of men,\n Another time that day they met again;\n And that was at the feast in the great hall,\n For thither must the King's folk, one and all,\n Women as men, give welcome unto him\n Through whom they throve. Belike all things grew dim\n Before the hero's eyes but her alone,\n Belike a strange light in the maid's eyes shone,\n Made bright with pain; but yet hand met not hand,\n Though each to each so close the twain must stand,\n And though the hall was hushed to hear her say\n Words that she heeded not of that fair day.\n But when her clear and tender speech had end,\n And mouths of men a mighty shout did send\n Betwixt the pillars, still her lips did move,\n As though they two were lone, with words of love p. 292\n Unheard, but felt by him.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So passed the day,\n And other days and nights fell fast away;\n But now when this great trouble had gone by,\n And things again seemed no more now to lie\n Within his mighty hands, she \u2019gan to fear\n Her father's wiles again; the days grew drear,\n The nights too long, nor might she see his face,\n Nor might they speak in any lonely place;\n And hope at whiles waxed dim, and whiles she saw\n The fate her heart so dreaded on them draw,\n While she must sit aside with folded hands,\n While for her sake he shunned the peaceful lands.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And all the while there must at last be borne\n That darkest hour that brings about the morn.\nNOW as the days passed, to his treasury\n Would the King go, King Pr\u0153tus\u2019 gift to see,\n And stand with knitted brows to gaze on it,\n While many thoughts about his heart would flit.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And on a day he said, \"Time yet there is\n To slay the man who saved our life and bliss.\n Once did I cast him unto death, and he\n Must win nought thence but utter victory;\n And when the Gods helped me with ruin and fear p. 293\n Another time, yet that brought nowise near\n The end this binds me to; yet once again\n Shall it be tried before I call it vain,\n And strive no more, but bear the punishment\n That on oath-breakers and weak fools is sent.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then gat he to the doom-hall of the town,\n And midst his lords and wise men sat him down\n And judged the people; if at whiles to him\n The clamour of the jarring folk waxed dim\n Amid the thoughts of his own life that rose\n Within him and about his heart did close,\n Yet none the less a great King there he seemed;\n As of a god's his heart the people deemed.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now in good peace and joy the summer wore,\n Nor did folk mind how it was told of yore\n That in the days to come great dangers three,\n Within the bounds of Lycia should there be;\n For fear of ill was grown an empty name.\n Into fair autumn slipped the summer's flame\n More fruitful than its wont, and barn and garth\n Ran over with the good things of the earth.\n Crowded the quays were, but no merchandise,\n No bale of fair-wrought cloth or odorous spice,\n Bore pestilence within it at that tide;\n In peace and health the folk dwelt far and wide.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But when the way's dust easier now was seen p. 294\n Upon the bordering grape-bunches, whose green\n Was passing slow through red to heavy black,\n And the ploughed land all standing crop did lack,\n Though yet the share the fallow troubled not;\n Now, when the nights were cool, and noons still hot,\n And in the windless woods the acorn fell,\n More tidings were there of that land to tell.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For on a day as in the doom-hall sat\n Jobates, and gave word on this and that,\n A clamour by the outer door he heard\n Of new-come folk, mixed with the answering word\n Of those his guards, who at the door did stand;\n So when his say was said, he gave command\n To bring in one of those about the door;\n Then was a country carle brought forth before\n The ivory seat, and scared he seemed to be;\n And sodden was his face for misery,\n As on the King he stared with open eyes.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"What wilt thou?\" said Jobates. \"What thing lies\n Upon thee that my power can take away?\n For in mine house the Gods are good to-day.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Twice did the man's lips open as to speak,\n But no sound came; the third time did outbreak\n A husky, trembling sound from them, but nought\n To tell the wondering folk what thing he sought. p. 295\n Then said the King, \"The man is mazed with fear;\n Go ye and bring him wine; we needs must hear\n What new thing now has happed beneath the sun.\n Take heart! for thou art safe!\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So was it done:\n The man raised up the bowl with trembling hand,\n And drank, and then a while he yet did stand\n Silent amid the silence; then began\n In a weak voice:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"A poor and toiling man\n I am indeed; therefore a little thing,\n My woe may seem to thee; yet note, O King,\n That the world changes; unimagined ill\n Is born therein, and shall grow greater still.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"In early summer I was well enow\n Among such men as still have need to sow\n Before they reap, to reap before they eat,\n Nor did I think too much of any threat\n Time had for me; but therewith came the tide\n When those fell women harried far and wide;\n I saved myself, my wife, and little ones,\n And with nought else lay on this city's stones\n Until peace came; then went I to the west\n Where dwelt my brother in good peace and rest,\n And there the four of us must eat our bread\n From hands that grudged not mayhap, with small dread\n And plenteous toil. A vineyard hath he there,\n Whose blossoming in March was full and fair,\n And May's frost touched it not, and July's hail p. 296\n Against its bunches green might not prevail;\n Up a fair hill it stretched; exceeding good\n Its sunny south-turned slopes are; a thin wood\n Of oak-trees crowns the hill indeed, wherein\n Do harbour beasts most fain a feast to win\n At hands of us and Bacchus; but a wall\n Well built of stones guardeth the garth from all\n On three sides, and at bottom of the hill\n A full stream runs, that dealeth with a mill,\n My brother's too, whose floury duskiness\n Our hungry souls with many a hope did bless;\n Within the mill-head there the perch feed fat,\n And on the other side are meadows flat,\n And fruitful; shorn now, and the rooting swine\n Beneath the hedge-row oak-trees grunt and whine,\n And close within the long grass lies the quail,\n While circling overhead the kite doth sail,\n And long the partridge hath forgot the mowers.\n A close of pot-herbs and of garland flowers\n Goes up the hill-side from the green-banked stream,\n And a house built of clay and oaken beam\n Stands at its upper end, whose hillward side\n Is midst the vines, that half its beams do hide.\u2014\n \u2014Nay, King, I wander not, I mind me well\n The tale from end to end I have to tell,\n Have patience!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Fair that house was yesterday,\n When lusty youth and slim light-handed may\n Were gathered from the hamlets thereabout; p. 297\n From the stream-side came laughing scream and shout,\n As up the bank the nets our maidens drew,\n And o\u2019er their bare feet washed with morning dew\n Floundered the cold fish; for grape-gathering tide\n It was that morn, and folk from far and wide\n Came to our help, and we must feast them there,\n And give them all we had of good and fair.\n \"King, do I babble? thou for all thy crown\n And robes of gold hadst gladly sat thee down\n At the long table \u2019neath the apple-trees-\n And now\u2014go find the bones of one of these,\n And be called wise henceforth!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"The last guest came,\n The last shout died away that hailed his name,\n The ring of men about the homestead door\n Began to move; the damsels hung no more\n Over the fish-tubs, but their arms shook dry\n And shod their feet, and came up daintily\n To mingle with the girls new-come thereto,\n And take their baskets and the edge-tools due;\n The good wife from the white well-scalded press\n Brushed off the last wasp; while her mate did bless\n The Gods, and Bacchus chiefly, as he poured\n Upon the threshold ancient wine long stored\n Under the earth; and then broke forth the song\n As to the vineyard gate we moved along.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Hearken, O King! call me not mad, or say\n Some evil god-sent dream upon me lay;\n Else could I tell thee thus how all things fell?\u2014 p. 298\n Nay, speak not, or the end I may not tell.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Yea, am I safe here? will he hear of it\n And come to fetch me, even if I sit\n Deep underground, deep underneath the sea,\n In places thou hast built for misery\n Of those that hate thee; yet for safeguard now\n Of me perchance? O King, abide not thou\n Until my tale is done, but bid them go\n Strengthen thy strong gates\u2014deem thy high walls low\n While yet the sun they hide not!\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At that word\n He turned and listened as a man who heard\n A doubtful noise afar, but still the King\n Sat quiet midst his fear of some great thing,\n And spake not, lest he yet should lose the tale.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then said the man: \"How much may now avail\n Thy power and walls I know not, for I thought\n Upon the wind a certain noise was brought\u2014\n But now I hear it not, and I will speak\n What said I?\u2014From all mouths there did outbreak\n A plaintive song made in the olden time,\n Long sung by men of the wine-bearing clime;\n Not long it was, and ere the end was o\u2019er\n In midst the laden vine-rows did we pour,\n And fell to work as glad as if we played;\n And merrier grew the laugh of man and maid\n As the thin baskets filled upon that morn; p. 299\n And how should fear or thought of death be born\n In such a concourse! Now mid all this, I\n Unto the upper end had drawn anigh,\n And somewhat lonely was I, when I heard\n A noise that seemed the cry of such a bird\n As is a corncrake; well, I listened not,\n But worked away whereas was set my lot,\n Midst many thoughts; yet louder \u2019gan to grow\n That noise, and not so like a bird seemed now\n As a great spring of steel loosed suddenly.\n I put my basket down, and turned to see\n The other folk, nor did they heed the noise,\n And still amid their labour did rejoice;\n But louder still it seemed, as there I stood\n Trembling a while, then turned, and saw the wood\n Like and unlike what I had known it erst;\n And as I gazed the whole sky grew accurst\n As with a greenish vapour, and I turned\n Wild eyes adown the hill to see what burned;\n There did my fellows \u2019twixt the vine-rows pass\n Still singing; smitten then I thought I was\n By sudden sickness or strange coming death;\n But even therewith in drawing of a breath\n A dreadful shriek rose from them, find mine eyes\n Saw such a shape above the wall arise\n As drove all manhood from me, and I fell\n Grovelling adown; nor have I words to tell\n What thing it was I saw; only I know p. 300\n That from my feet the firm earth seemed to go,\n And like a dream showed that fair country-side,\n And, grown a mockery, needs must still abide,\n An unchanged picture \u2019gainst the life of fear\n So fallen upon me. The sweet autumn air\n With a faint sickening vapour now was filled,\n And all sounds else but that sound were clean stilled,\n Yea, even the voice of folk by death afeard,\n That in the void that horror might be heard,\n And nought be heeded else.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Hearken, O King,\n The while I try to tell thee of the thing\n What like it was\u2014well, lionlike, say I?\n Yea, as to one who sees the teeth draw nigh\n His own neck\u2014like a horror of the wood,\n Goatlike, as unto him who in drear mood\n Sees monsters of the night bemock his love,\n And cannot hide his eyes or turn to move\u2014\n Or serpent-like, e\u2019en as to such an one\n A serpent is, who floating all alone\n In some untroubled sea all void and dim\n Beholds the hoary-headed sea-worm swim,\n Circling about him, ere he rise to strike\u2014\n Nay, rather, say the world hath not its like\u2014\n A changer of man's life, a swallowing dread,\n A curse made manifest in devil-head.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Long lay I there, meseems; no thought I had\n Either of death, or yet of being made glad p. 301\n In time to come, for all had turned to pain,\n Nor might I think of aught to call a gain\u2014\n Right wondrous is the life of man, O King!\n So strong to bear so many a fearful thing,\n So weak of will\u2014See now, I live, who lay\n How long I know not, on that wretched day,\n As helpless as a dead man, but for this,\n That pain still grew with memory of what bliss\n Passed life had been to me; until, God wot,\n So was I helped, that memory now was not,\n And all was blank.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Well, once more did I wake,\n Empty at first, till stirred the sickening ache\n Of that great fear; then softly did I rise,\n And gazed about the garth with half-dead eyes,\n A heart whence everything but fear was gone.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He stopped a while and hung his head adown,\n As if remembering somewhat; then he drew\n Nigher the King, and said: \"This thing is true,\n Though thou believe it not\u2014that I was glad\n Within the hour that yet my life I had,\n Though this I saw\u2014the garth made waste and bare,\n Burnt as with fire, and for the homestead fair\n The last flames dying o\u2019er an ash-heap grey\u2014\n Gone was the mill, the freed stream took its way\n In unchecked shallows o\u2019er a sandy bed.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"I knew not if my kin were slain or fled,\n Yet was I glad awhile that nought was there p. 302\n But me alone, till sense and dread \u2019gan stir\n Within my heart; then slowly I began\n To move about, and saw no child of man\u2014\n Unless maybe those ash-heaps here and there\n I durst not go anigh, my fellows were.\n Could I but flee away now! down I gat\n Unto the stream, yet on the bank I sat\n A long while yet, bewildered; till at last\n I gathered heart, and through the stream ran fast,\n And on and on, and cried, 'Are all men gone?\n Is there none left on earth but I alone,\n And have I nought to tell my tale unto?'\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"So did I run, until at last I knew\n That among men I was, who, full of fear,\n Were striving somewhat of the words to hear\n My heart spake, but my lips would utter not;\n And food and drink from them perchance I got,\n Perchance at last I told the story there;\n I know not, but I know I felt the air\n And seemed to move\u2014they must have brought me then\n To thee, O King\u2014but these are not the men,\n These round about\u2014there is no more to say.\n Meseems I cannot sleep or go away,\n Yet am I weary.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Slowly came from him\n The last words, and his eyes, all glazed and dim,\n Began to close; he tottered, and at last p. 303\n Sank on the ground, and into deep sleep passed,\n Nor might men rouse him; so they bore him thence,\n Till death should reach him or returning sense.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So next of those who brought him thereunto\n Was question made what of those things they knew;\n Who answered e\u2019en as for their fear they might;\n For some had seen a fire the late-past night,\n And some the morn before a yellow smoke;\n And one had heard the cries of burning folk;\n And one had seen a man stark naked fly\n Adown the stream-side, and as he went by\n Saw that he bled, and thought that on his flesh\n Were dreadful marks, that were as done afresh\n By branding irons. One, too, said he saw\n A dreadful serpent by the moonlight draw\n His dry folds o\u2019er the summer-parched way\n Unto a pool that \u2019neath the hill-side lay.\n And men there were who said that they had heard\n The sound of lions roaring, and, afeard,\n Had watched all-armed, with barred doors, through the night.\n Then as men's faces paled with sore affright,\n Unto the doom-hall came more folk, and more,\n And tales of such-like things they still told o\u2019er,\n Of fresh deaths and of burnings, and still nought\n They had to tell of what this fear had wrought.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now ye shall know that Prince Bellerophon p. 304\n In a swift ship had sailed a while agone\n \u2019Gainst a Tyrrhenian water-thief, who then\n Wrought great scathe on the peaceful merchantmen\n That sought those waters; so the King sent forth\n Another captain that he held of worth,\n And eighty men with him in company,\n Well armed, the truth of all these things to see.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At sunset from the town did they depart,\n And none among them seemed to lack good heart,\n And wise they were in war; but ere the sun\n Through all the hours of the next day had run,\n One ancient brave man only of the band\n Came back again, no weapon in his hand,\n No shield upon his neck\u2014but carrying now\n His son's dead body on his saddle-bow,\n A lad of eighteen winters, fair and strong;\n But when men asked what thing had wrought that wrong,\n Nought might he answer, but with bowed-down head\n Still sat beside the armed body dead,\n As one who had no memory; but when folk\n Searched the youth's body for the deadly stroke,\n No wound at all might they find anywhere;\n So still the old man sat with hopeless stare,\n And though he seemed right hale and sound of limb,\n And ate and drank what things were brought to him,\n Yet speechless did he live for three more days,\n Then to the silent land he went his ways. p. 305\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now a great terror on the city fell,\n Even as that whereof we had to tell\n In the past summer; day by day there came\n Folk fleeing to the gates, who thought no shame\n To tell how dreams had scared them, or some sign\n In earth, or sky, or milk, or bread, or wine,\n Or in some beast late given unto a god;\n And on the beaten ways once more there trod\n The feet of homeless folk; the country-side\n Grew waste and bare of men-folk far and wide;\n And whatso arm\u00e8d men the King did send,\n But little space upon their way did wend\n Ere they turned back in terror; nigher drew\n The belt of desolation, yet none knew\n What thing of ill it was that wrought this woe,\n More than the man who first the tale did show.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Meanwhile men's eyes unto the sea were turned\n Watching, until the Sea-hawk's image burned\n Upon the prow Bellerophon that bore,\n And his folk cast the hawser to the shore,\n And long it seemed to them did he delay.\n Yet since all things have end, upon a day\n The Sea-hawk's great sweeps beat the water green,\n And her long pennon down the wind was seen,\n As nigh the noontide toward the quays she passed,\n With sound of horns and singing; on the mast\n Hung the sea-robbers' fair shields, lip to lip,\n And high above the clamour of the ship, p. 306\n Out from the topmast, a great pennoned spear\n The terror of the seas aloft did bear,\n The head of him who made the chapmen quake.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0New hope did that triumphant music wake\n Within men's hearts, as now with joyous shout\n The bay-crowned shipmen shot the gangway out\n Unto the shore, and once more as a god\n The wise Bellerophon among them trod,\n As to the Father's house he took his way,\n The tenth of all the spoil therein to lay.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But when he came into the greatest square\n Where was the temple, a great throng was there,\n And on the high steps of the doom-hall's door,\n A clear-voiced, gold-clad herald stood, before\n A row of spears; and now he cried aloud,\n Over the raised heads of the listening crowd:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Hearken, O Lycians! King Jobates saith;\n Upon us lies the shadow of a death\n I may not deal with; old now am I grown,\n And at the best am but one man alone;\n But since such men there are, as yet may hope\n With this vague unseen death of man to cope,\n He whereby such a happy end is wrought\n Shall nowise labour utterly for nought\n As at my hands; lest to the gods we seem\n To hold too fast to wealth, lest all men deem\n We are base-born and vile: so know hereby, p. 307\n That to the man who ends this woe will I\n Give my fair daughter named Philono\u00eb,\n And this land's rule and wealth to share with me.\n And if it be so that he may not take\n The maiden, let him give her for my sake\n To whom he will; or if that may not be,\n A noble ransom shall he have of me\n And be content.\u2014May the gods save us yet,\n And in fair peace these fears may we forget!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He ended, and the folk about the place,\n Seeing the shipmen come, on these did gaze,\n And in their eyes were mingled hope and doubt;\n But at the last the shadow of a shout\n They raised for Prince Bellerophon; and he\n Stood at the door one moment silently,\n And wondered; for he knew nought of the things\n That there had fallen while the robber-kings\n He chased o\u2019er ridge and furrow of the sea;\n Because folk deemed ill-omened it would be\n To tell thereof ere all things due were paid\n Unto the Father, and the fair tenth laid\n Before his altar. Yet he could not fail\n To see that in some wise the folk must ail;\n Such haggard eyes, such feverish faces were\n About him; yea, the clamour and the cheer\n That greeted him were eager with the pain\n Of men who needs must hope yet once again\n Before they fall into the jaws of death. p. 308\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So as the herald spake, he held his breath,\n His heart beat fast, and in his eyes there burned\n The light of coming triumph, as he turned\n Unto a street that led from out the place,\n And up the steep way saw the changeless grace\n Of the King's palace, and the sun thereon,\n That calmly o\u2019er its walls of marble shone,\n For all the feverish fears of men who die:\n One moment thus he stood, and smiled, then high\n Lifted his sword, and led the spear-wood through\n The temple-door and toward the altar drew.\nBUT when all rites to Jove were duly done,\n Unto the King went up Bellerophon,\n To tell him of his fare upon the sea;\n So in the chamber named of porphyry\n He found Jobates pacing to and fro,\n As on the day when first he bade him go\n And win the Solymi.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"O King,\" he said,\n \"All hail to thee! the water-thief is dead,\n His keel makes sport for children of the sea.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"And I, Bellerophon, have news for thee,\n And see thou to it! The gods love so well p. 309\n The fair wide world, that fear and death and hell\n In this small land will they shut up for aye.\n And thou\u2014when thou hadst luck to get away,\n Why must thou needs come back here, to abide\n In very hell? I say the world is wide,\n And thou art young; far better had it been,\n When o\u2019er the sea-thief's bulwarks first were seen\n Men's wrathful eyes, the war-shout to have stayed;\n Then might ye twain, strong in each other's aid,\n Have won some fair town and good peace therein:\n For here with us stout heart but death shall win.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Now on a table nigh the King's right hand\n Bellerophon beheld a casket stand\n That well he knew; thereby a letter lay,\n Whose face he had not seen before that day,\n And as he noted it a half-smile came\n Across his face, for a look like to shame\n Was in the King's eyes as they met his own.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Cheerly he spake: \"O King, I have been thrown\n Into thine hands, and with this city fair\n Both weal and woe have I good will to share.\n Young am I certes, yet have ever heard\n That whether men live careless or afeard\n Death reaches them; of endless heaven and hell\n Strange stories oft have I heard people tell;\n Yet knew I no man yet that knows the road\n Which leadeth either to the blest abode p. 310\n Or to the land of pain. Not overmuch\n I fear or hope the gates of these to touch\u2014\n Unless we twain be such men verily\n As on the earth make heaven and hell to be;\n And if these countries are upon the earth,\n Then death shall end the land of heaven and mirth,\n And death shall end the land of hell and pain.\n Yea, and say all these tales be not in vain,\n Within mine hand do I hold hope\u2014within\n This gold-wrought scabbard\u2014such a life to win\n As will not let hope fall off utterly,\n Until such time is come that I must die\n And no more need it. But the time goes fast;\n Into mine ears a tale the townsmen cast\n With eager words, almost before my feet\n The common earth without Jove's fane could meet;\n I heard thy herald too say mighty things\u2014\n How sayest thou about the oaths of kings?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The King's eyes glistened: \"O Corinthian,\"\n He said, \"if there be such a twice-cursed man\n As rules the foolish folk and punisheth,\n And yet must breathe out lies with every breath,\n Let him be thrice cursed, let the Gods make nought\n Of all his prayers when he in need is caught!\"\n \"What sayest thou,\" then said Bellerophon,\n \"If a man sweareth first to such an one,\n And then to such another, and the twain p. 311\n Cannot be kept, but one still maketh vain\n The other?\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then the King cast down his eyes:\n \"What sayest thou, my son? What mysteries\n Lie in these words of thine? Go forth and break\n This chain of ours, and then return to take\n Thy due reward\u2014oft meseems so it is\n That these our woes are forged to make thy bliss.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then laughed Bellerophon aloud, and said,\n \"The Gods are kind to mortals, by my head!\n But so much do they love me certainly\n That more than once I shall not have to die;\n And I myself do love myself so well\n That each night still a pleasant tale shall tell\n Of the bright morn to come to me. But thou,\n Think of thy first vow and thy second vow!\n For so it is that I may come again\n Despite of all: and what wilt thou do then?\n Ponder meanwhile if from ill deeds can come\n Good hap to bless thee and thy kingly home!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And even with that last word was he gone,\n And the King, left bewildered and alone,\n Sat down, and strove to think, and said at last:\n \"Good were it if the next three months were passed;\n I should be merrier, nigher though I were\n Unto that end of all that all men fear.\" p. 312\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then sent he for his captain of the guard,\n And said to him, \"Now must thou e\u2019en keep ward\n Closer than heretofore upon the gates,\n Because we know not now what thing awaits\n The city, and Bellerophon will go\n The truth of all these wondrous things to know:\n So let none pass unquestioned; nay, bring here\n Whatever man bears tales of woe or fear\n Into the city; fain would I know all\u2014\n Nay, speak, what thinkest thou is like to fall?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Belike,\" the man said, \"he will come again,\n And with my ancient master o\u2019er us reign;\n E\u2019en as I came in did he pass me by,\n And nowise seemed he one about to die.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Nay,\" said the King, \"thou speak\u2019st but of a man;\n Shall he prevail o\u2019er what made corpses wan\n Of many a stout war-hardened company?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Methinks, O King, that such might even be,\"\n The captain said; \"he is not of our blood;\n He goes to meet the beast in other mood\n Than has been seen among us, nor know I\n Whether to name him mere man that shall die,\n Or half a god; for death he feareth not,\n Yet in his heart desire of life is hot;\n Life he scorns not, yet will his laughter rise p. 313\n At hearkening to our timorous miseries,\n And all the self-wrought woes of restless men.\"\n\"Ah,\" said the King, \"belike thou lov\u2019st him then?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Nay, for I fear him, King,\" the captain said,\n \"And easier should I live if he were dead;\n Besides, it seems to me our woes began\n When down our streets first passed this godlike man,\n And all our fears are puppets unto him;\n That he may brighter show by our being dim,\n The Gods have wrought them as it seems to me.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"What wouldst thou do then that the man might be\n A glorious memory to the Lycian folk,\n A god who from their shoulders raised a yoke\n Dreadful to bear; then, as he came, so went,\n When he had fully wrought out his intent?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Nay, King, what say\u2019st thou? Hast thou then forgot\n Whereto he goes this eve? Nay, hear\u2019st thou not\n His horse-hooves\u2019 ring e\u2019en now upon the street?\n Look out! look out! thine eyes his eyes shall meet,\n And see the sun upon his armour bright!\n Yet the gold sunset brings about the night,\n And the red dawn is quenched in dull grey rain.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then swiftly did the King a window gain,\n And down below beheld Bellerophon, p. 314\n And certes round about his head there shone\n A glory from the west. Then the King cried:\n \"O great Corinthian, happy mayst thou ride,\n And bring us back our peace!\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The hero turned,\n And through his gold hair still the sunset burned,\n But half his shaded face was grey. He stayed\n His eager horse, and round his mouth there played\n A strange smile as he gazed up at the King,\n And his bright hauberk tinkled ring by ring.\n But as the King shrank back before his gaze,\n With his left hand his great sword did he raise\n A little way, then back into the sheath\n He dropped it clattering, and cried:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Life or death,\n But never death in life for me, O King!\"\n Therewith he turned once more; with sooty wing\n The shrill swifts down the street before him swept,\n And from a doorway a tired wanderer leapt\n Up to his feet, with wondering look to gaze\n Upon that golden hope of better days.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then back the King turned; silent for awhile\n He sat beneath his captain's curious smile,\n Thinking o\u2019er all the years gone by in vain.\n At last he said:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Yea, certes, I were fain\n If I my life and honour so might save\n That he not half alone, but all should have.\" p. 315\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Yea,\" said the captain, \"good the game were then,\n For thou shouldst be the least of outcast men;\n So talk no more of honour; what say I,\u2014\n Thou shouldst be slain in short time certainly,\n Who hast been nigh a god before to-day!\n Be merry, for much lieth in the way\n \u2019Twixt him and life: and, to unsay the word\n I said before, be not too much afeard\n That he will come again. The Gods belike\n Have no great will such things as us to strike,\n But will grow weary of afflicting us;\n Because with bowed heads, and eyes piteous,\n We take their strokes. When thou sitt\u2019st down to hear\n A minstrel's tale, with nothing great or dear\n Wouldst thou reward him, if he thought it well\n Of wretched folk and mean a tale to tell;\n But when the godlike man is midst the swords\n He cannot \u2019scape; or when the bitter words,\n That chide the Gods who made the world and life,\n Fall from the wise man worsted in the strife;\n Or when some fairest one whose fervent love\n Seems strong the world from out its curse to move,\n Sits with cold breast and empty hands before\n The hollow dreams that play about death's door\u2014\n When these things pierce thine ears, how art thou moved!\n Though in such wise thou lov\u2019st not nor art loved,\n Though with weak heart thou lettest day wear day\n As bough rubs bough; though on thy feeble way p. 316\n Thou hast no eye to see what things are great,\n What things are small, that by the hand of fate\n Are laid before thee. Shall we marvel then,\n If the Gods, like in other things to men,\n (For so we deem them) think no scorn to sit\n To see the play, and weep and laugh at it,\n And will not have poor hearts and bodies vile\n With unmelodious sorrow to beguile\n The long\u00a0long days of heaven\u2014but these, in peace,\n Trouble or joy, or waxing, or decrease,\n Shall have no heed from them\u2014ah, well am I\n To be amongst them! never will I cry\n Unto the Gods to set me high aloft;\n For earth beneath my feet is sweet and soft,\n And, falling, scarce I fall.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Behold, O King,\n Beasts weep not ever, and a short-lived thing\n Their fear is, and their generations go\n Untold-of past; and I who dwell alow,\n Somewhat with them I feel, and deem nought ill\n That my few days with more of joy may fill;\n Therefore swift rede I take with all things here,\n And short, if sharp, is all my woe and fear.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Now happier were I if Bellerophon,\n This god on earth, from out our land were gone,\n And well I hope he will not soon return\n Who knows? but if for some cause thou dost yearn\n For quiet life without him, such am I\n As, risking great things for great things, would try p. 317\n To deal with him, if back again he comes\n To make a new world of our peaceful homes.\n Yet, King, it might well be that I should ask\n Some earthly joy to pay me for the task;\n And if Bellerophon returns again\n And lives, with thee he presently will reign,\n And soon alone in thy place will he sit;\n Yea, even, and if he hath no will for it.\n His share I ask then, yet am not so bold\n As yet to hope within mine arms to fold\n Philono\u00eb thy daughter, any more\n Than her, who on the green Sicilian shore\n Plucked flowers, and dreamed no whit of such a mate\n As holds the keys of life, and death, and fate\u2014\n \u2014Though that indeed I may ask, as in time,\n The royal bed's air seem no outland clime\n To me, whose sire, a rugged mountaineer,\n Knew what the winter meant, and pinching cheer.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Into the twinkling crafty eyes of him\n The King looked long, until his own waxed dim\n For thinking, and unto himself he said:\n \"To such as fear is trouble ever dead,\n How oft soe\u2019er the troublous man we slay?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0At last he spake aloud: \"Quick fails the day;\n These things are ill to speak of in the night;\n Now let me rest, but with to-morrow's light\n Come thou to me, and take my word for all.\" p. 318\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The mask of reverence he had erst let fall\n The Captain brought again across his face,\n And smiling left the lone King in his place.\n Who when all day had gone, sat hearkening how\n Without, his gathering serving-men spake low,\n And through the door-chinks saw the tapers gleam.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But now while thus they talked, and yet the stream\n Of golden sunsetting lit up the world,\n Ere yet the swift her long dusk wings had furled\n In the grey cranny, fair Philono\u00eb went\n Amid her maids with face to earth down-bent\n Across the palace-yard, oppressed with thought\n Of what those latter days to her had brought;\n Daring, unlike a maid's sweet tranquil mind,\n And hushed surprise, so strange a world to find\n Within her and around her: life once dear,\n Despised yet clung to; fear and scorn of fear;\n A pain she might not strive to cast away,\n Lest in the heart of it all life's joy lay;\n Joy now and ever. Toward the door she came\n Of the great hall; the sunset burned like flame\n Behind her back, and going ponderingly\n She noted her grey shadow slim to see\n Rise up and darken the bright marble wall;\n Then slower on the grass her feet did fall\n Till scarce she moved; then from within she heard\n A voice well loved cry out some hurried word.\n She raised her face, and in the door she seemed p. 319\n To see a star new fallen, therefrom there gleamed\n Such splendour, but although her dazzled eyes\n Saw nought, her heart, fulfilled of glad surprise,\n Knew that his face was nigh ere she beheld\n The noble brow as wise as grief-taught eld,\n As fair as a god's early unstained youth.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A little while they stood thus, with new ruth\n Gathering in either's heart for the other's pain,\n And fear of days yet to be passed in vain,\n And wonder at the death they knew so nigh\n And disbelief in parting, should they die,\n And joy that still they stood together thus.\n Then, in a voice that love made piteous\n Through common words and few, she spake and said:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"What dost thou, Prince, with helmet on thine head\n And sword girt to thee, this fair autumn eve?\n Is it not yet a day too soon to leave\n The place thou tamest to this very noon?\"\n He said, \"No Lycian man can have too soon\n His armour on his back in this our need,\n Yea, steel perchance shall come to be meet weed\n For such as thou art, lady. Who knows whence\n We next may hear tales of this pestilence?\n Fair is this house: yet maybe, or today\n The autumn evening wind has borne away\n From its smooth chambers sound of woe and tears, p. 320\n And shall do yet again. Death slayeth fears,\n Now I go seek if Death too slayeth love.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0A little toward him did one slim hand move,\n Then fell again mid folds of her fair gown;\n She spake:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Farewell, a great man art thou grown;\n Thou know\u2019st not fear or lies; so fare thou forth:\n If the Gods keep not what is most of worth\n Here in the world, its memory bides behind;\n And we perchance in other days may find\n The end of hollow dreams we once have dreamed,\n Waking from which such hopeless anguish seemed.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Pale was her face when these words were begun,\n But she flushed red or ere the end was done\n With more than sunset. But he spake and said:\n \"Farewell, farewell, God grant thee hardihead,\n And growing pleasure on from day to day!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then toward the open gate he took his way,\n Nor looked aback, nor yet long did she turn\n Her eyes on him, though sore her heart did yearn\n To have some little earthly bliss of love\n Before the end.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But right and left did move\n Her damsels as he passed them, e\u2019en as trees\n Move one by one when the light fickle breeze p. 321\n Touches their tops in going toward the sea;\n And their eyes turned upon him wonderingly\n That such a man could live, such deeds be done;\n But now his steed's hooves smote upon the stone,\n He swung into his saddle, and once more\n Cast round a swift glance at the great hall door\n And saw her not; alone she stood within,\n Striving to think what hope of things to win\n Had left her life; her maidens' prattling speech\n Within the porch her wildered ears did reach,\n But not the hard hooves' clatter as he rode\n Along the white wall of that fair abode,\n Nor yet the shout that he cast back again\n Unto the King; dark grew each window-pane,\n She seemed to think her maids were talking there,\n She doubted that some answer came from her;\n She knew she moved thence, that a glare of light\n Smote on her eyes, that old things came in sight\n She knew full well; that on her bed she lay,\n And through long hours was waiting for the day;\n But knew not what she thought of; life seemed gone,\n And she had fought with Gods, and they had won. p. 322\nNEXT morn, the captain, as it was to be,\n Held speech with King Jobates privily.\n And when he came from out the royal place\n A smile of triumph was there on his face,\n As though the game were won; but as he went\n Unto the great gate on his luck intent,\n A woeful sound there smote upon his ear,\n And crossed his happy mood with sudden fear;\n For now five women went adown the street,\n That e\u2019en the curious townsmen durst not meet,\n Though they turned round to look with wild scared eyes,\n And listened trembling to those doleful cries;\n Because for Pallas\u2019 sacred maids they knew\n Those wild-eyed wailing ones that closer drew\n Scant rags about them, as with feet that bled\n And failing limbs they tottered blind with dread,\n Past house and hall. Now such-like had been these,\n And guarded as the precious images\n That hold a city's safety in their hands,\n And dainty things from many distant lands\n Were gathered round them in the house that stood,\n Fair above all, within the hallowed wood,\n Ten leagues from out the city; wondrous lore,\n Folk deemed, within that house they pondered o\u2019er,\n And had been goddesses, but that they too\n The hope of death if not its terror knew. p. 323\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0White grew the captain's face these folk to see,\n Yet midst his fear he muttered: \"Well be ye,\n O Gods, who have no care to guard your own!\n Perchance ye too weary of good are grown;\n Look then on me, I shall not weary you\u2014\n I who once longed great things and high to do\n If ye would have it so;\u2014come, bless me then,\n Since ye are grown aweary of good men!\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So to his folk he turned, and bade them take\n The holy women for the goddess\u2019 sake,\n And give them into some kind matron's care.\n So did they, and when bathed and clad they were,\n He strove in vain to know their tale; for they\n Had clean forgot all things before that day,\n And only knew that they by some great curse\n Had late been smitten, and mid fear of worse\n Were leaving life behind. So when he knew\n That with these woful women he might do\n Nought else, because their hearts were dead before\n Their bodies, midst the fear and tumult sore\n He went unto the gate, and waited there\n If he perchance some other news might hear;\n But nought befell that day to tell about,\n And tidingless night came, and dark died out.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But just before the rising of the sun\n The gate was smitten on, and there sat one\n On a grey horse, and in bright armour clad.\n Young was he, and strong built; his face seemed glad p. 324\n Amidst of weariness, and though he seemed\n Even as one who of past marvels dreamed.\n Now turned the captain to him hastily,\n And said: \"Fair fellow, needs thou must with me,\n Nor speak thou good or bad before the King\n Has heard thee;\" therewith, scarcely wondering,\n He rode beside the captain, and the twain\n In no long time the palace gate did gain,\n Which opened at a word the captain spake,\n And past the warders standing half awake\n They came unto the King: sleeping he lay,\n While o\u2019er his gold bed crept the daylight grey;\n But softly thereunto the captain went,\n And to his sleeping head his own down bent\n And whispered; then as one who has just heard\n Right in his ears the whisper of death's word,\n He started up with eyes that, open wide,\n Still saw not what the strange new light might hide;\n Upright he sat, and panting for a while,\n Till heeding at the last the captain's smile,\n And low and humble words, he smiled and said:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Well be ye! for I dreamed that I was dead\n Before ye came, and waking thought that I\n Was dead indeed, and that such things were nigh\n As willingly men name not. What wouldst thou?\n What new thing must the Lycians suffer now?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"King,\" said the captain, \"here I have with me\n A man-at-arms who joyful seems to be; p. 325\n Therefore I deem somewhat has come to pass,\n Since for these many days no face here has\n Made e\u2019en a show of gladness, or of more\n Than thinking good it were if all were o\u2019er,\u2014\n The slow tormenting hope\u2014the heavy fear.\n Speak thou, good friend! the King is fain to hear\n The tale thou hast to tell.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then spake the man:\n \"Good hap to me, indeed, that thus I can\n Make glad the Lycian folk, and thee, O King!\n But nowise have I wrought the happy thing,\n But some immortal as meseems\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Now I\n With other two made up my mind to try\n The chance of death or glorious life herein,\n In good hope either rest from fear to win\n Or many days of pleasure; so I armed\n In this my father's gear, that had been charmed\n Years long agone by spells, well worn I doubt\n To nothing now, if one might clean tell out\n The truth of all; then in Diana's fane\n Anigh our house I met the other twain,\n And forth we went at dawn, two days ago.\n Not hard it was our rightful road to know,\n For hour by hour of dreadful deaths we heard,\n And still met fleeing folk, so sore afeard\n That they must scowl upon us questioning.\n And so at last we deemed the dreadful thing,\n What death soever he dealt otherwhere p. 326\n From time to time, must have his chiefest lair\n Within Minerva's consecrated lands,\n That stretch from where her mighty temple stands\n Midst its wild olive-groves, until they meet\n The rugged mountain's bare unwooded feet.\n Thither we turned, and at the end of day\n We reached the temple, and with no delay\n Sought out the priests and told them of our rede.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"They answered us that heavy was their need,\n That day by day they dreaded death would come\n And take them from the midst of that fair home,\n And shortly, that when midnight was passed o\u2019er,\n Their lives in that house they would risk no more,\n But get them gone. 'All things are done,' said they,\n 'The sacred maids, who have not seen the day,\n But in these precincts, count the minutes now\n Until the midnight moon the way shall show;\n Ten horse-loads of the precious things we have,\n That somewhat of our past lives we may save\n To bring us o\u2019er the sea. So sorry cheer,\n Fair sons, of meat or lodging get ye here,\n For all is bare and blank as some hill-side;\n Nor, if ye love your lives, will ye abide\n Another minute here: for us, indeed,\n One answer more from Pallas do we need;\n And, that being got at, nothing stays us then.'\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Worn were the faces of these holy men,\n And their eyes wandered even as they spake, p. 327\n And scarcely did they move as men awake\n About that place, whose mighty walls of stone\n Seemed waiting for the time when all was gone,\n Except the presence of the Dreadful Maid,\n Careless of who was glad and who afraid.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Shortly we answered; we would bide and see\n What thing within the precinct there might be\n Until the morn, and if we lived till then,\n Further afield would seek this death of men.\n They heard us wondering, or with scorn, but gave\n Such cheer to us as yet they chanced to have;\n And we, being weary, fell asleep withal\n Within a chamber nigh the northern wall\n Of the great temple. Such a dream I had,\n As that I thought fair folk, in order glad,\n Sang songs throughout a place I knew to be\n A town whereof had tales been told to me\n When I was but a youngling: years agone\n Had I forgot it all, and now alone\n The nameless place had come to me.\u2014O King,\n I dreamed, I say, I heard much people sing\n In happy wise; but even therewithal\n Amidst my dream a great voice did there call,\n But in a tongue I knew not; and each face\n Was changed to utter horror in that place;\n And yet the song rose higher, until all tune\n Was strangled in it, and to shrill shrieks soon\n It changed, and I sat upright in my bed, p. 328\n Waked in an instant, open-mouthed with dread.\n I know not why\u2014though all about I heard\n Shrill screams indeed, as though of folk afeard,\n Mixed with a roar like white flame that doth break\n From out a furnace-mouth: the earth did shake\n Beneath my bed, and when my eyes I turned\n Without the window, such a light there burned\n As would have made the noon-tide sunshine grey.\n There on the floor one of my fellows lay,\n Half-armed and groaning like a wounded man;\n And circling round about the other ran,\n With foaming lips as one driven mad with fear.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Then I, who knew not what thing drew anear,\n And scarce could think amid my dread, sat still\n Trembling a little space of time, until\n To me from out the jaws of death was born,\n Without a hope it seemed, a sudden scorn\n Of death and fear; for all the worst I knew,\n And many a thing seemed false that had been true,\n And many a thing now seemed of little worth\n That once had made the mean and sordid earth\n All glorious.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"So with fixed and steady face\n I armed myself; and turned to leave the place,\n And passed from out it into the great hall\n Of the very temple, where from wall to wall\n There rolled a cloud of white and sulphurous smoke;\n And there the remnant of the temple folk,\n That had not heart enow to flee away, p. 329\n Like dying folk upon the pavement lay,\n And some seemed dead indeed. High o\u2019er that gear\n Stood golden Pallas, with her burnished spear\n Glittering from out the smoke-cloud in that light,\n That made strange day and ghastly of the night;\n And her unmoved calm face that knew no smile\n Cast no look down, as though she deemed too vile\n The writhing tortured limbs, the sickening sound\n Of dying groans of those that lay around,\n Or to the pillars clung in agonies\n Past telling of; but now I turned mine eyes,\n Grown used to death within a little space,\n Unto the other end of that fair place,\n Where black the wood of polished pillars showed\n Against the dreadful light, that throbbed and glowed,\n Changing, and changing back to what it was.\n So, through their rows did I begin to pass,\n And heavier grew the smoke-cloud as I went;\n But I, upon the face of death intent,\n And what should come thereafter, made no stay\n Until two fathom of white pavement lay\n Betwixt me and the grass: the lit-up trees\n Sparkled like quick-fire in the light night breeze,\n And turned the sky black, and their stems between\n The black depths of the inner wood were seen;\n Like liquid flame a brook leapt out from them,\n And, turning, ran along the forest hem:\n \u2019Twixt that and me \u2014How shall I tell thereof,\n And hope to \u2019scape hard word and bitter scoff? p. 330\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Let me say first that, changing horribly\n That noise went on and seemed a part of me,\n E\u2019en as the light; unless by death I won\n Quiet again; earth's peace seemed long years gone,\n And all its hopes poor toys of little worth.\n Therefore I turned not, nor fell down to earth,\n And still within my hand I held my sword,\n And saw it all as I see thee, fair lord.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"And this I saw: a mass, from whence there came\n That fearful light, as from a heart of flame;\n But black amid its radiance was that mass,\n And black and claw-like things therefrom did pass,\n Lengthening and shortening, and grey flocks of hair\n Seemed moving on it with some inward air\n The light bore with it; but in front of me\n An upreared changing dark bulk did I see,\n That my heart told me was the monster's head,\n The seat of all the will that wrought our dread;\n And midst thereof two orbs of red flame shone\n When first I came, and then again were gone,\n Then came again, like lights on a dark sea\n As the thing turned. And now it seemed to me,\n Moreover, that, despite the dreadful sound\n That filled my very heart and shook the ground,\n Mute was the horror's head, as the great shade\n That sometimes, as in deep sleep we are laid\n Seems ready to roll over us, and crush\n Our souls to nought amidst its shadowy hush: p. 331\n Nor might I know how that dread noise was wrought.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"But, when unto the place I first was brought\n Where now I stayed, and stared, I knew not well\n If the thing moved; but deemed that I might tell\n Ten fathoms o\u2019er betwixt us, and midway\n \u2019Twixt me and it a temple-priest there lay,\n Face foremost, armed, and in his hand a spear;\n And as with fixed eyes I stood moveless there,\n Striving to think how I should meet the thing,\n Amidst that noise I heard his armour ring\n As smitten by some stroke; and then I saw\n Unto that hideous bulk the body draw,\n And yet saw not what drew it; till at last\n Into the huge dark mass it slowly passed.\n Nor did the monster change; unless, methought\n A little nigher thereto I was brought\n And still my eyes were fixed on it; with hand\n Upon my drawn-back sword I still did stand,\n Mid thoughts of folk who meet dread things alone\n In dreadful lands, and slowly turn to stone.\n So stood I: quicker grew my fevered breath,\n Long, long, the time seemed betwixt life and death,\n And I began to waver therewithal,\n And at the last I opened lips to call\n Aloud, and made no sound; then fell my brand\n Clanging adown from out my feeble hand,\n And rest seemed sweet again; one step I made\n Aback, to gain a huge pier's deep black shade, p. 332\n Then at my fallen sword in vain I stared,\n And could not stoop to it\u2014\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"And then there blared\n A new sound forth, I deemed a trumpet-blast,\n And o\u2019er mine eyes a dull thick veil seemed cast,\n And my knees bent beneath me, and I fell\n A dead heap to the earth, with death and hell\n Once more a pain, and terrible once more,\n Teaching me dreadful things of hidden lore,\n Showing strange pictures to my soul forlorn\n That cursed the wretched day when I was born.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"There lay I, as it seemed, a weary tide,\n Nor knew I if I lived yet, or had died,\n E\u2019en as the other folk, of utter fear,\n When in mine ears a new voice did I hear,\n Nor knew at first what words it said to me;\n Till my eyes opened, and I seemed to see,\n Grown grey and soft, the marble pillars there,\n And \u2019twixt their shafts afar the woodland fair,\n As if through clear green water; then I heard\n Close by my very head a kindly word:\n 'Be of good cheer! the earth is earth again,\n And thou hadst heart enow to face the bane\n Of Lycia, though the Gods would not that thou\n Shouldst slay him utterly: but rise up now\n If so thou mayst, and help me, for I bleed,\n And of some leech-craft have I speedy need,\n Though no life-blood it is that flows from me.' p. 333\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Then clearer grew mine eyes, and I could see\n An armed man standing over me, and I\n Rose up therewith and stood unsteadily,\n And gazed around, and saw that the fell light\n Had vanished utterly; fast waned the night\n And a cold wind blew, as the young dawn strove\n With the low moon and the faint stars above,\n And all was quiet. But that new-come man,\n Standing beside me in the twilight wan,\n Seemed like a god, come down to make again\n Another earth all free from death and pain.\n Tall was he, fair he seemed unto me then\n Beyond the beauty of the sons of men:\n But as our eyes met, and mine, shamed and weak,\n Dropped before his, once more he \u2019gan to speak:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"'Be not ashamed,' he said, 'but look around,\n And thou shalt see thy fear lie on the ground,\n No more divine or dreadful.'\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Then I saw\n A tangled mass of hair, and scale, and claw,\n Lie wallowing on the grey down-trodden grass;\n Huge was it certes, but nought like the mass\n Of horror mid the light my fear still told\n My shuddering heart of, nor could I behold\n Clearly the monster's shape in that dim light;\n Yet gladly did I turn me from the sight\n Unto my fellow, and I said:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"'Hast thou p. 334\n Some other shape unto mine eyes to show?\n And is this part of the grim mockery\n Whereto the Gods have driven me forth to die?\n Or art thou such a dream as meets the dead\n When first they die?'\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"I am a man,' he said,\n 'E\u2019en as thou art; thou livest, if I live;\n And some god unto me such strength did give,\n That this my father's\u00a0father's sword hath wrought\n Deliverance for the Lycians, and made nought\n This divine dread\u2014but let us come again\n When day is grown; and I have eased the pain\n Of burning thirst that chokes me, and thine hands\n Have swathed my hurts here with fair linen bands,\n For somewhat faint I grow.'\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"So then we passed\n Betwixt the pillars till we reached at last\n The chamber where I erst had slept, and there\n We drank, and then his hurts with water fair\n I bathed, and swathed them; and by then the day\n Showed how my fellows on the pavement lay\n Dead, yet without a wound it seemed; and when\n Into the pillared hall we came again,\n From one unto the other did we go\n That lay about the place, and even so\n It was with them; then the new-corner sighed\n And said: 'Belike it was of fear they died,\n Yet wish them not alive again, for they\n Had found death fearful on another day; p. 335\n But gladly had I never seen this sight,\n For I shall think thereof at whiles by night,\n And wonder if all life is worth such woe\u2014\n But now unto the quarry let us go.'\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"So forth we went, but when we came whereas\n The beast lay, slantwise o\u2019er the wind-swept grass\n Shone the low sun on what was left of him,\n For all about the trodden earth did swim\n In horrible corruption of black blood,\n And in the midst thereof his carcase stood,\n E\u2019en like a keel beat down and castaway\n At dead ebb high up in a sandy bay.\n But when I gathered heart close up to go\n And touch that master of all horror, lo,\n How had he changed! for nothing now was there\n But skin, beset with scale and dreadful hair\n Drawn tight about the bones: flesh, muscle strong,\n And all that helped the life of that great wrong,\n Had ebbed away with life; his head, deep cleft\n By the fair hero's sword-edge, yet had left\n Three teeth like spears within it; on the ground\n The rest had fallen, and now lay around\n Half hidden in the marsh his blood had made;\n Hollow his sides did sound when, still afraid\n Of what he had been, with my clenched hand\n I smote him. So a minute did we stand\n Wondering, until my fellow said to me:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"In the past night didst thou do valiantly, p. 336\n So smite the head from off him, and then go\n This finished work unto the King to show,\n And tell him by that token that I come,\n Who heretofore have had no quiet home\n Either in Corinth or the Argive land.\n Here till to-morrow bide I, to withstand\n What new thing yet may come; for strange to me\n Are all these things, nor know I if I be\n Waking or sleeping yet, although methinks\n My soul some foretaste of a great bliss drinks.\n So get thee to the work, and then go forth;\n These coming days in sooth will show the worth\n Of what my hand hath wrought!'\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Weary he seemed\n And spake, indeed, well-nigh as one who dreamed;\n But yet his word I durst not disobey;\n With no great pain I smote the head away\n From off the trunk, and humbly bade farewell\n Unto my godlike saviour from deep hell;\n I gat my horse, and to the saddle bound\n The monster's head, whose long mane swept the ground,\n Whose weight e\u2019en now was no light pack-horse load,\n And so with merry heart went on my road,\n And made on toward the city, where I thought\n A little after nightfall to be brought;\n But so it was, that ere I had gone through\n The wasted country and now well-nigh drew\n Unto the lands where people yet did dwell, p. 337\n So dull a humour on my spirit fell,\n That at the last I might not go nor stand;\n So, holding still the reins in my right hand,\n I laid me down upon the sunburnt grass\n Of the road-side, and just high noon it was.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"But moonrise was it when I woke again;\n My horse grazed close beside with dangling rein;\n But when I called him, and he turned to me,\n No burden on his back I now might see,\n And wondered; for right firmly had I bound\n The thing unto him; then I searched around\n Lest he perchance had rolled, and in such wise\n Had rid him of that weight; and as mine eyes\n Grew used to the grey moonlight, I could trace\n A line of greyish ashes, as from place\n To greener place, the wandering beast had fed;\n But nothing more I saw of that grim head.\n Then much I wondered, and my fear waxed great,\n And I \u2019gan doubt if there I should not wait\n The coming of that glorious mighty one,\n Who for the world so great a deed had done.\n But at the last I thought it good to go\n Unto the town e\u2019en as he bade me do,\n Because his words constrained me. Nought befell\n Upon the road whereof is need to tell,\n And so my tale is done; and though it be\n That I no token have to show to thee,\n Yet doubt not, King Jobates, that no more\n The Gods will vex the land as heretofore p. 338\n With this fell torment. Furthermore, if he\n Who wrought this deed is no divinity\n He will be here soon; so must thou devise,\n O Lycian King, in whatso greatest wise\n Thou wilt reward him\u2014but for me, I pray\n That thou wilt give me to him from to-day,\n That serving him, and in his company,\n Not wholly base I too become to be.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0The King and captain for a little while\n Gazed each at each; an ugly covert smile\n Lurked round the captain's mouth, but the King stared\n Blankly upon him, e\u2019en as though he heard\n A doom go forth against him; and again\n The man who brought the news stared at the twain\n With knitted brows, as greatly marvelling\n Why they spake nought, until at last the King\n Turned eyes upon him, and the captain spake:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Certes, O King, brightly the day doth break\n If this man sayeth sooth; nor know I one\n To do this deed except Bellerophon;\n And so much certes hast thou honoured him\n That nothing now thy glory can wax dim\n Because of his; and though indeed the earth\n Hold nought within it of such wondrous worth\n As that which thou wilt give him in reward,\n Not overmuch it is for such a sword,\n And such a heart, the people's very friend.\" p. 339\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So spake he, and before his speech had end\n His wonted face at last the King had got,\n And spake unto the man:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"We doubt thee not;\n Thy tale seems true, nor dost thou glorify\n Thyself herein\u2014certes thou wouldst abye\n A heavy fate if thou shouldst lie herein\u2014\n So here shalt thou abide till sight we win\n Of him who wrought this deed; then shalt thou have\n A good reward, as one both true and brave\n As for a son of man, for he, meseems,\n Who made an end of our so fearful dreams\n Is scarcely man, though friend to me a man\u2014\n But now this tale of thine, that well began\n And went on clearly, clearly has not told\n The very shape of what thou didst behold.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"No,\" said the man, \"when I stood therebeside\n Methought its likeness ever would abide\n Within my mind! but now, what shall I say\u2014\n Hast thou not heard, O King, before to-day,\n That it was three-formed? So men said to me,\n Before its very body I did see\n That, lion-like, the beast's shape was before,\n And that its goat-like hairy middle bore\n A dragon's scaly folds across the waste\n Itself had made. But I, who oft have faced\n The yellow beast, and driven goats afield,\n And shaken the black viper from my shield, p. 340\n Can liken it to these things in no whit.\n Nay, as I try e\u2019en now to think of it,\n Meseems that when I woke in the past night,\n E\u2019en like a dream dissolved by morning light,\n Its memory had gone from me; though, indeed,\n Nought I forgot of all my dreadful need.\n Content thee, King, with what I erst have told;\n For when I try his image to behold\n Faint grows my heart again, mine eyes wax dim,\n Nor can I set forth what I deemed of him\n When he lay dead.\u2014Hearken,\u2014what thing draws nigh?\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0For from outside there rang a joyous cry,\n That grew, still coming nearer, till they heard\n From out the midst thereof a well-known word,\n The name Bellerophon: then from his bed\n The King arose, and clad himself, and said:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Go, captain, set the King Bellerophon\n Without delay upon the royal throne,\n And tell him that I come to make my prayer,\n That, since for a long time I have sat there,\n And know no other trade than this of King,\n He of his bounty yet will add a thing\n To all that he hath given, and let me reign\n Along with him. Send here my chamberlain,\n That I may clothe me in right fitting guise\n To do him honour in all goodly wise.\" p. 341\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So spake his lips, but his eyes seemed to say;\n 'Long is it to the ending of the day,\n And many a thing may hap ere eventide;\n And well is he who longest may abide.'\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So from the presence did the captain pass,\n When now the autumn morn in glory was,\n And when he reached the palace court, he found\n The eager people flocking all around\n The door of the great hall, and variously\n Men showed their joyance at that victory.\n But in the hall there stood Bellerophon\n Anigh the da\u00efs, and the young sun shone\n On his bright arms, and round from man to man\n In eager notes the hurried question ran,\n And, smiling still, he answered each; but yet\n Small share that circle of his tale did get,\n Because distraught he was, and seemed to be\n As he who looks the face of one to see\n Who long delays; but when the captain's staff\n Cleft through the people's eager word and laugh,\n And, after that, his fellow of the night\n Bellerophon beheld, his face grew bright\n As one who sees the end. Withal he said\n As they drew nigh:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Has the King seen the head,\n Knows he what it betokens? For, behold!\n Before the sun of that day grew acold\n Whereon thou left\u2019st me, all that heap was gone p. 342\n Thou sawest there, both hair and flesh and bone;\n So when this dawn I mounted my good steed,\n I looked to thee to show forth that my deed,\n Lest all should seem a feigned tale or a dream.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Master,\" the other said, \"thou well mayst deem,\n That what thy will loosed, my will might not hold;\n E\u2019en as thy tale, so must my tale be told,\n And nought is left to show of that dread thing.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0E\u2019en as he spake did folk cry on the King,\n And now to right and left fell back the crowd,\n And down the lane of folk gold raiment glowed,\n And blare of silver trumpets smote the roof.\n Then said the captain:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Certes, no more proof\n The King will ask, to show that thou hast done\n The glorious deed that was for thee alone;\n Be glad, thy day is come, and all is well!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But on his sword the hero's left hand fell,\n And he looked down and muttered \u2019neath his breath,\n \"Trust slayeth many a man, the wise man saith;\n Yet must I trust perforce.\" He stood and heard\n The joyful people's many-voic\u00e8d word\n Change into a glad shout; the feet of those\n Who drew anear came closer and more close,\n Till their sound ceased, and silence filled the hall; p. 343\n And then a soft voice on his ears did fall,\n That seemed the echo to his yearning thought:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Look up, look up! the change of days hath brought\n Sweet end to our desires, and made thee mine!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He raised his eyes, and saw gold raiment shine\n Before him in the low sun; but a face\n Above it made the murmuring crowded place\n Silent and lone; for there she stood, indeed,\n His troublous scarce-kept life's last crown and meed\n Her sweet lips trembled, her dear eyes \u2019gan swim\n In tears that fell not, as she reached to him\n One hand in greeting, while a little raised\n And restless was the other, as she gazed\n Into his eyes, and lowly was her mien;\n But yet a little forward did she lean,\n As though she looked for sudden close embrace,\n Yet feared it \u2019neath the strange eyes of that place.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But though his heart was melted utterly\n Within him, he but drew a little nigh,\n And took her hand, and said:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"What hour is this\n That brings so fair a thing to crown my bliss?\n What land far off from that which first I knew?\n How shall I know that such a thing is true, p. 344\n Unless some pain yet falls on thee and me?\n Rather this hour is called eternity,\n This land the land of heaven, and we have died\n That thus at last we might go side by side\n For ever, in the flower-strewn happy place.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then closer to her drew his bright flushed face;\n Well-nigh their lips met, when Jobates cried:\n \"Good hap, Corinthian! for thou hast not died;\n The pale land holds no joy like thou wilt have\n If yet awhile the Gods thy dear life save.\n Yet mayst thou fear, indeed, for such thou art,\n That yet the Gods will have thee play thy part\n In heaven and not on earth\u2014But come on now,\n And see if this my throne be all too low\n For thy great heart; sit here with me to-day,\n And in the shrines of the Immortals pray,\n With many offerings, lest they envy thee,\n And on the morrow wed Philono\u00eb,\n And live thy life thereafter.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So he spake,\n Smiling, and yet a troubled look did break\n Across the would-be frankness of his smile.\n But still the hero stood a little while\n And watched Philono\u00eb, as she turned and went\n Adown the hall, and then a sigh he sent\n From out his heart, and turned unto the King\n As one who had no thought that anything\n Of guile clung round him, and said: p. 345\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Deem thou not,\n O King, that ruin from me thou hast got,\n Although I take from thee my due reward;\n For still for thee my hand shall hold the sword,\n Nor will I claim more than thou givest me,\n And great is that, though a king's son I be.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So on the throne was set Bellerophon,\n And on his head was laid the royal crown\n Instead of helm; and just as safe he felt\n As though mid half-fed savage beasts he dwelt.\n Yet when he went out through the crowded street,\n Shouting because of him, when blossoms sweet\n Faint with the autumn fell upon his head,\n When his feet touched the silken carpet spread\n Over the temple-steps; when the priests' hymn\n Rang round him in the inner temple dim,\n He smiled for pleasure once or twice, and said:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"So many dangers, yet I am not dead;\n So many fears, yet sweet is longing grown,\n Because to-morrow morn I gain my own!\n So much desire, and but a night there is\n Betwixt me and the perfecting of bliss!\" p. 346\nSO fell the noisy day to feastful night,\n For sleep was slow to hush the new delight\n Of the freed folk; and in the royal house\n Loud did the revellers grow, and clamorous,\n And yet that too must have an end at last,\n And to their sleeping-places all folk passed\n Not long before the shepherds' sleep grew thin.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But listening to the changing of the din,\n Philono\u00eb lay long upon her bed,\n Nor would sweet sleep come down to bless her head,\n No, not when all was still again; for she,\n Oppressed with her new-found felicity,\n Had fallen to thoughts of life and death and change,\n And through strange lands her wearied heart did range,\n And knew no peace; therefore at last she rose\n When all was utter stillness and stood close\n Unto the window. Such a night it was\n That a thin wind swept o\u2019er the garden-grass\n And loosened the sick leaves upon the trees;\n Promise of rain there was within the breeze,\n Yet was the sky not wholly overcast,\n But o\u2019er the moon yet high the grey drift passed,\n And with a watery gleam at whiles she shone,\n And cast strange wavering shadows down upon\n The trembling beds of autumn blossoms tall,\n And made the dusk of the white garden wall\n Gleam like another land against the sky. p. 347\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0She turned her from the window presently,\n And went unto her dainty bed once more;\n But as she touched its silk a change came o\u2019er\n Her anxious heart, and listening there she stood,\n Counting the eager throbbing of her blood;\n But nought she heard except the night's dim noise;\n Then did she whisper (and her faint, soft voice\n Seemed hoarse and loud to her)\u2014\"Yet will I go\n To Pallas' shrine, for fain I am to know\n If all things even yet may go aright,\n For my heart fails me.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0To the blind dusk night\n She showed her loveliness awhile half-veiled,\n When she had spoke, as though her purpose failed;\n Then softly did she turn and take to her\n A dusky cloak, and hid her beauty rare\n In its dark folds, and turned unto the door;\n But ere she passed its marble threshold o\u2019er\n Stayed pondering, and she said:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Alas, alas!\n To-morrow must I say that all this was\n And is not\u2014this sweet longing?\u2014what say men\u2014\n It cometh once and cometh not again,\n This first love for another? holds the earth\n Within its circle aught that is of worth\n When it is dead?\u2014and this is part of it,\n This measureless sweet longing that doth flit,\n Never to come again, when all is won.\n And is our first desire so soon foredone, p. 348\n Like to the rose-bud, that through day and night\n In early summer strives to meet the light,\n And in some noon-tide of the June, bursts sheath,\n And ere the eve is past away in death?\n Belike love dies then like the rest of life?\n \u2014Or fails asleep until it mix with strife\n And fear and grief?\u2014and then we call it pain,\n And curse it for its labour lost in vain.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Sweet pain! be kind to me and leave me not!\n Leave me not cold, with all my grief forgot,\n And all the joy consumed I thought should fill\n My changing troubled days of life, until\n Death turned all measuring of the days to nought!\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"And thou, O death, when thou my life hast caught\n Within thy net, what wilt thou with my love,\n That now I deem no lapse of time can move?\n O death, maybe that though I seem to pass\n And come to nought, with all that once I was,\n Yet love shall live I called a part of me,\n And hold me in his heart despite of thee,\n And call me part of him, when I am dead\n As the world talks of dying.\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So she said,\n But scarcely heard her voice, and through the door\n Of her own chamber passed; light on the floor\n Her white feet fell, her soft clothes rustled nought,\n As slowly, wrapped in many a changing thought,\n Unto the Maiden's shrine she took her way\n That midmost of the palace precincts lay; p. 349\n But in a chamber that was hard thereby,\n Although she knew it not, that night did lie\n Her love that was, her lord that was to be.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Through the dark pillared precinct, silently\n She went now, pausing every now and then\n To listen, but heard little sound of men;\n Though far off in the hill-side homesteads crowed\n The waking fowl, or restless milch-kine lowed\n In the fair pastures that her love had saved;\n And from the haven, as the shipmen heaved\n Their sail aloft, a mingled strange voice came.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So as she went, across her flitted shame\n Of her own loneliness, and eager love\n That shut the world out so, and she \u2019gan move\n With quicker steps unto the temple-stead,\n Scarce knowing what her soft feet thither led.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within an open space the temple was,\n And dark-stemmed olives rose up from the grass\n About it, but a marble path passed o\u2019er\n The space betwixt the cloister and its door\n Of some ten yards; there on its brink she stayed,\n And from the cloister watched the black trees swayed\n In the night breeze. E\u2019en as a bather might\n Shrink from the water, from the naked night\n She shrank a little\u2014the wind wailed within p. 350\n The cloister walls, the clouds were gotten thin\n About the moon, and the night \u2019gan to wane\u2014\n Then, even as she raised her skirts again\n And put her foot forth, did she hear arms clash,\n And fear and shame her heart did so abash,\n She shrank behind a pillar; then the sound\n Of footsteps smote upon the hardened ground,\n And \u2019gainst the white steps of the shrine she saw\n From out the trees a tall dark figure draw\n Unto the holy place: the moon withal\n Ran from a cloud now, and her light did fall\n Upon a bright steel helm: she trembled then,\n But her first thought was not of sons of men;\n Of the armed goddess, rather, did she think,\n And closer in her hiding-place did shrink.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then though the moon grew dull again, yet she\n Ten shapes of armed men at the last could see\n Steal up the steps and vanish from the night,\n And a sharp pang shot through her; but affright\n She felt not now of gods: she murmured low;\n \"What do these men-at-arms in such guise now\n Amidst the feast? God help me, we are caught\n Within a brazen net!\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0And with that thought\n No more delay she made but girt her gown\n Unto her, and with swift feet went adown\n The marble steps, and so from tree to tree,\n Through all the darkest shadow, silently p. 351\n Gained the dark side of the brass temple door;\n And through its chink she saw the marble floor\n Just feebly lit by some small spark of light\n She saw not, and the gleam of armour white,\n And knew that she unto the men was close.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0E\u2019en as some sound that loud and louder grows\n Within our dreams and yet is nought at all\n She heard her heart, as clinging to the wall\n She strove to listen vainly; but at last\n All feebleness from out her did she cast\n With thought of love\u2014and death that drew anear-\n And therewithal a low voice did she hear,\n She thought she knew.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Milo the Colchian?\"\n It said as asking, and another man\n Said \"Here\" in a hoarse voice and low; once more\n The first voice said; \"The Clearer of the Shore,\n Known by no other name the people say,\n Art thou here too?\" a new voice muttered \"Yea.\"\n And then again the first:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"My tale told o\u2019er\n And none found wanting\u2014since ye know wherefore\n We here are met, few words are best to-night:\n Within the ivory chamber, called the White,\n Lies the ill monster's bane, asleep belike,\n Or, at the worst without a sword to strike,\n Or shield to ward withal; his wont it is\n To have few by him; on this night of bliss p. 352\n Those few of night-cropped herbs enow have drunk,\n And deep in slumber like short death are sunk:\n So light our work is; yet let those who lack\n Heart thereunto e\u2019en at this hour go back;\n Though\u2014let these take good heed that whatsoe\u2019er\n We risk hereafter they in likewise share,\n Except the risk of dying by his sword.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He ceased awhile, and a low muttered word\n Seemed to say, \"We are ready:\" then he said:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"When he is slain, then shall ye bear his bed\n Into this shrine, and burn what burned may be\n In little space; but into the deep sea\n Thou Clearer of the Shore, with thy two men\n Shalt bear him forth.\u2014Fellows, what say we then,\n When on the morn the city wakes to find\n Its saviour gone? This:\u2014'Men are fools and blind,\n And the Gods all-wise; this man born on earth\n By some strange chance, yet was of too great worth\n To live, and go as common men may go;\n Therefore the Gods, who set him work to do,\n When that was done, had no more will to see\n His head grow white; or with man's frailty\n Burn out his heart; they might not hear him curse\n His latter days, as unto worse and worse\n He fell at last; therefore they took him hence\n To make him sharer in omnipotence,\n And crown him with their immortality, p. 353\n Nor may ye hope his body more to see.\n These ashes of the web wherein last lay\n His godlike limbs that took your fear away,\n (Limbs now a very god's), this fire-stained gold\n That, unharmed, very god might nowise hold,\n Are left for certain signs\u2014so shall ye rear\n A temple to him nigh the gate; and bear\n Gifts of good things unto the one who wrought\n Deliverance for you, when ye e\u2019en were brought\n Unto the very gate of death and hell.'\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Fellows, spread vaguely this tale that I tell!\n But thou, O Chremes, when the work is done\n Get straight unto the forest all alone,\n And with some slaughtered beast come back again\n Ere noon, as though of hearers thou wert fain;\n Folk know thee for a wanderer through the wood,\n So make thy tale up as thou deemest good\n Of voices heard by thee at dead of night;\n So shall our words live and all things be right.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Come, then; the night is changing; good it were\n That dawn's first glimmer did not find us here!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So spake he, and then opened wide the door,\n And all seemed lonely there as heretofore;\n So one by one adown the steps they stole,\n Setting their anxious faces to the goal\n Of the White Chamber.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But Philono\u00eb,\n Fair-footed, tender-limbed, and where was she? p. 354\n Her sick heart did but note the name and place\n They spoke of, ere she moved her woe-worn face\n From the cold brass, and stayed to hear no more,\n But stole away as silent as before,\n Keeping love back till all were lost or won;\n Nor knew she what she set her feet upon\n Till, panting, through his chamber-door she passed;\n There through the dusk a quick glance round she cast\n And saw his men asleep, nor knew if they\n Were dead, or if in sleep indeed they lay;\n Then with such haste as a spent man, borne down\n A swift stream, catches at some bare bough brown,\n From off the wall she took sword, shield, and spear,\n Hauberk and helm, and drew his bed anear,\n And stayed not now, nor thought, but on his breast,\n Laid bare before her, a light hand she pressed,\n And as he started upright in the bed\n Beneath her touch, bowed down to him and said:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Speak not, but listen to Philono\u00eb,\n Thy love, and save thy life for thee and me!\n Thy foes are on thee! make no more delay\n As thou art wise!\u2014needs must I go away;\n I do my part\u2014one minute more shall show,\n If love in death or life we are to know.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His lips yet trembled, yet his heart did ache\n With longing, ere he felt he was awake\n And knew that she was gone, and knew not where: p. 355\n So driving back desire he armed him there\n Over his nakedness, and hastily\n Caught up his weapons, and turned round to see\n What help was nigh: and when he saw his men\n Lie on the floor as dead, well deemed he then\n His hour was come; and yet he felt as though\n He scarce might tell if it were hard to go,\n So short all life seemed that must end at last;\n But therewith nowise hope from him he cast,\n But on the golden bed he took his stand,\n And poised the well-steeled spear in his right hand,\n And waited listening.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Mid the fallen leaves\u2019 sound,\n Driven by the autumn wind along the ground,\n Footfalls of stealthy men he seemed to hear;\n Yet nowise might that minute teach him fear,\n Who life-long had not learned to speak the name;\n Calm to his lips his steady breath still came,\n Well-nigh he smiled; wide open were his eyes,\n As though they looked to see life's mysteries\n Unfolded soon before them; as he gazed\n Through the dusk room, he heard the light latch raised\n And saw the door move.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Even therewithal\n A gleam of bright light from the sky did fall,\n As from a fleecy cloud the white moon ran,\n And smiling, stern, unlike the face of man,\n His helmed head high o\u2019er the black-shadowed floor p. 356\n Showed strange and dreadful, as the ivory door\n Swung back on well-oiled hinges silently.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Silence a little space yet,\u2014then a cry\n Burst from his lips, and through the chamber rang\n A shriek of fear therewith, and a great clang\n Of falling arms, and the bright glittering brand\n Instead of the long spear was in his hand.\n But for his foes, across the threshold lay\n Their leader slain, and those his fellows, they\n Hung wavering by the door, and feared the night,\n And feared the godlike man, who in his might\n Seemed changed indeed according to the tale\n They were to tell: but as with faces pale\n And huddled spears they hung there, in their doubt\n If he were God or man, a mighty shout\n Came from his lips again, and there was cast\n Across the windy night a huge horn's blast,\n Hoarse, loud, and long-enduring; and they fled\n This way and that, pursued by nought but dread.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But strange tales of that night of fear they told\n In after days. Some said they did behold,\n As through the mighty outer door they ran,\n A woman greater than a child of man,\n All armed and helmed: some told of a bright flame\n Glowing about the hero, when they came\n Unto the door, and said that his one word\n Had slain their leader swifter than a sword. p. 357\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But for Bellerophon, awhile he stood\n Nigh to the door until his wrathful mood\n Changed into scorn; and then the moonlight wan\n With kindled light he helped, and then the man\n His spear had reached in strong arms he upraised;\n But when he saw the eyes that on him gazed\n With dead stare, then he knew the captain's face.\n \"Fool,\" said he, \"fear hath brought thee to this case,\n Long hadst thou lived for me\u2014but is this all?\n Will not the voice of Sthenob\u0153a call\n O\u2019er the green waves to ghosts of lovers dead,\n Ere yet the bridal wreath is on my head?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0E\u2019en as he spake he heard the horn once more,\n And then a sound as if on a low shore\n The sea were breaking, then a swelling shout\n That louder grew, till his own name leapt out\n From midst of it, and then he smiled and cried:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Pr\u0153tus, thy casket held a goodly bride,\n A noble realm for me! O love, I come;\n Surely thine heart has won me a fair home,\n Instead of that straight house I should have had\n If these eyes had not made thy dear heart glad.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Therewith he sheathed his sword, and stepping o\u2019er\n His cumbered threshold, made for the great door,\n Whither the wakened house now thronging ran: p. 358\n Men armed and unarmed, child and ancient man;\n For death it was to wind that mighty horn,\n But when in dangerous battle it was borne\n By the king's, hand. Now nigher as he drew\n Unto the door he \u2019gan to see therethrough\n The points of steel tossing amid the light\n Of torches, and the wind of waning night\n Bore sound of many men on it; but dim\n The pillared hall was yet. Then close to him\n A slim close-mantled woman came and said:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Go forth and speak\u2014we twain are not yet dead.\n I think we shall not die at all, dear heart;\n Farewell!\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0His soul and body seemed to part,\n As swiftly, shadow-like, she passed him by,\n And toward her chamber went: unwittingly\n He gained the great door's platform, and looked down\n Upon the tumult of the gathering town.\n While at his back a dark mass clustered now,\n With helmet on the head, and spear and how;\n So, gathering earthly thoughts, he stood and cried:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"What will ye, good men, that ye make this tide\n More noisy than the day? What will ye do?\n Speak out, that we may rest, some one of you!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then stood a man forth, clad in armour bright, p. 359\n And cried aloud: \"O, well betide the night\n That hides thee not from us, Bellerophon!\n Surely we deemed some horror had been done,\n And deemed the Gods had ta\u2019en thee from our hands;\n Because the horn, the terror of far lands,\n The gift of Neptune, did we seem to hear.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then said the hero: \"Ah, then all the fear\n The beast divine brought with it is not gone\n Masters, ye dreamed belike\u2014nor dreamed alone\n Strange dreams; for I dreamed too,\u2014that all-armed men\n Beset my door to take my life; and when\n I went therefrom e\u2019en now, why yet I dreamed\n E\u2019en as I went upright\u2014because meseemed\n Over my threshold lay a man new slain.\n Be merry, O my masters; go again\n Unto your well-hung beds; to-morrow comes,\n Whereon ye praise the Gods for your saved homes\n With great rejoicings, and raise hands for me\n And my beloved midst your festivity.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0He ceased, and a great shout the twilight rent,\n And one by one unto their homes they went.\n Then turned the Prince unto the palace band,\n And saw a certain one on his right hand,\n Making as he would speak, and knew him straight\n To be the man who had the heart to wait\n The beast now slain. Smiling on him, he said: p. 360\n \"What, hast thou dreamed the monster was not dead?\n Good is it that the grain is gathered in,\n Else should men dream that they the crop did win\n Last week, and let it stand afield to rot!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Nay,\" said the man, \"O master, I dreamed not;\n But from yon flanking tower, waking, I saw\n A shadowy figure toward the great horn draw,\n And blow a blast thereon, then vanish quite,\n Not like a mortal thing, into the night.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then spake a grey old man: \"Yea, think thereon\n As of a portent, O Bellerophon,\n Of wondrous things to come, that thou shalt see,\n As showing forth how great thy days shall be;\n For doubt not this was Pallas, who would show\n How great a gift she gives the city now.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Again from these there rang a joyous shout;\n But the Prince hung his head, as if in doubt\n Of the new time with hidden lies begun.\n At last he said:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Go, friends, ere yet the sun\n Has slain the stars outright; what things soe\u2019er\n May hap, the Gods will have of me good care,\n This night at least!\"\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So through the house they went\n Each to his place, when nigh the night was spent. p. 361\n But when to his own door Bellerophon\n Was come, the captain's body was clean gone,\n And the drugged men were waking. Then he thought,\n \"Was it a dream, indeed, that these things brought\n Before mine eyes? Nay, my lips tremble yet\n With that sweet touch. My breast may more forget\n This hauberk's weight, than that sweet clinging hand.\n I dreamed not, and this haunted Lycian land\n Holds for me good and evil infinite.\n So be it, and the new returning light\n Shall bring new rede to guard my troubled ways.\n May the Gods give beginning of good days!\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then on the bed he sat to think of her,\n But ere the end of the grey time was there\n His head had fallen aside; sleeping he lay,\n And let the bright sun bring about the day.\nHE woke at last, and fresh and joyous felt,\n As forth he went; no sword within his belt\n He set that morn; he bore no biting spear;\n But clad he was in gold and royal gear,\n Such as a King might bear in Saturn's reign;\n And in such wise the great hall did he gain,\n And on the ivory throne he sat him down, p. 362\n And felt the golden circle of the crown,\n But light as yet, upon his unused head.\n Then to his presence were strange people led;\n Hunters from far-off corners of the realm,\n Shipmen with hands well hardened by the helm,\n Merchants who in strange tongues must bid him thrive,\n And dainty cherished things unto him give\n And still he wearied, and their words forgot,\n And wondered why the other King came not.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But yet, before the ending of the morn,\n The casket that his own hands once had borne,\n Was brought unto him by a man, who spake\n In this wise:\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"King Jobates bids thee take,\n O King Bellerophon, what lies herein,\n And saith that since thine office doth begin\n This day, right good it were to judge of this\u2014\n If the man did so utterly amiss\n To strive to keep his oath. He bids thee say\n Withal if thou wilt have what yesterday\n He gave unto thine hands\u2014and, taking it,\n Forget wild dreams that o\u2019er the year did flit.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Then King Bellerophon looked down, and drew\n A letter from that casket that he knew,\n And opened it and read; and in such wise\n It gave the key to half-deemed mysteries. p. 363\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0King Pr\u0153tus to Jobates, King of men,\n Sends goodly greeting.\u2014Dost thou mind thee when\n I saved thee from the lions? then I had\n One gift from thee which has not made me glad,\n Thy daughter; though a goddess, all men said,\n Had scarce been fairer at my board and bed.\u2014\n Another thing thou gav\u2019st me then,\u2014an oath\n To do my bidding once, if lieve or loath\n It were to thee. Now bring all to an end,\n And slay the man who bears this\u2014once my friend,\n And still too close unto my memory,\n That on my skirts his treacherous blood should lie.\n Take heed, though, that I say, myself, at whiles,\n \"The Gods are full of lies and luring smiles,\n And know no faith.\" And this Bellerophon\n May be a god; being even such an one\n As seemeth kind beyond the wont of men,\n Just and far-seeing, brave in those times when\n Men's hearts grow sick with fear. Lo, such is he,\n And yet a monster! He shall dwell with thee\n Life-long, perchance; and once or twice Desire\n Shall burn up all these things, as with a fire;\n And he shall tread his kindness under foot,\n And turn a liar e\u2019en from his heart's root,\n And turn a wretched fool. Yea, what say I?\n Turn a mere trembling coward, loth to die,\n Rather than be all this. So take him, then,\n While yet thou deem\u2019st him first of mortal men,\n And in forefront of battle let him fall; p. 364\n Or, lonely, on some foeman's spear-swept wall,\n If it may be;\u2014that he may leave behind\n A savour, sweet in some men's mouths, nor find\n That he has fallen to hell while yet he lives.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Such counsel to thee, friend, King Pr\u0153tus gives\u2014\n A hapless man. But happy mayst thou dwell,\n As thou shalt keep thy faith. Live hale and well!\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Not clear he saw these latter words of it,\n For many a memory through his heart did flit,\n Blinding his eyes belike: at last his head\n He raised, and to the messenger he said:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"Say to Jobates that I deem the man\n Did even with his oath as such men can,\n Who fear the Gods so much they may not tell\n What gifts men give them. Say that all is well,\n That I will take the gift he gave to me,\n And long right sore that World's Desire to see.\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So the man went, and left Bellerophon\n Pensive, and pondering on the days long gone\n That brought him unto this: his happy love\n The heart within him did to pity move;\n He thought, \"Alas! and can it ever be\n That one can say, 'Thou art enough for me\u2014\n And I, and I\u2014wilt thou not suffer it,\n That I, at least, before thy feet may sit p. 365\n Until perchance I grow enough for thee?'\n Alas, alas! and can it ever be\n That thus a heart shall plead and plead, in vain?\"\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0So did he murmur; but withal a strain\n Of merry music made him lift his head\n Slaying all thought of suffering folk or dead;\n And even as a man new made a god,\n When first he sets his foot upon the sod\n Of Paradise, and like a living flame\n Joy wraps him round, he felt, as now she came,\n Clear won at last, the thing of all the earth\n That made his fleeting life a little worth.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0My heart faints now, my lips that tell the tale\n Falter to think that such a life should fail;\n That use, and long days dropping one by one,\n As the wan water frets away the stone,\n Should change desires of men, and what they bring,\n E'er while their hearts with sickening longing cling\n Unto the thought that they are still the same,\n When all they were is grown an empty name.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0O Death-in-life, O sure pursuer, Change,\n Be kind, be kind, and touch me not, till strange,\n Changed too, thy face shows, when thy fellow Death\n Delays no more to freeze my faltering breath! p. 366\nTHE dull day long had faded into night\n Ere all was done; taper and fire-light\n Cast on the wall's fair painted images\n Shadows confused of some, amidst of these,\n The old men on the dais; down below\n Amid the youths was stir and murmur now;\n Some said they fain had known a little more\n Of that Bellerophon ere all was o\u2019er;\n Some said, that if the man lived, sure it was\n That happiness of his would soon o\u2019erpass,\n Because he kept back something of the stake:\n Some said the story back their thoughts did take\n To Argos, and the deeds there, and the end\n Whereto the feet of Sthenob\u0153a did wend\n So surely from the first, not without praise\n Of some, they said: some wondered of the days\n That Pr\u0153tus had, and if the godlike man\n And he, who clung to joy as cowards can,\n E'er met again, and what things they forgat\n And what remembered, if it came to that.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0But one youth who had sat alone and sad,\n While others friends and loves beside them had,\n Rose up amid their talk, and slowly turned\n To where the many lights that thereby burned\n Scarce reached, and in that dimness walked awhile; p. 367\n And when he came back, with a quivering smile\n On his sad face, gazed at the elders there,\n As though he deemed his place among them were,\n Who had nigh done with life; and one or two\n Among the youths looked up, as if they knew\n The pain that ailed him.\n \u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Many-peopled earth!\n In foolish anger and in foolish mirth,\n In causeless wars that never had an aim,\n In worshipping the kings that bring thee shame,\n In spreading lies that hide wrath in their breast,\n In breaking up the short-lived days of rest,\u2014\n \u2014In all thy folk care nought for, how they cling\n Each unto each, fostering the foolish thing,\n Nought worth, grown out of nought, that lightly lies\n \u2019Twixt throat and lips, and yet works miseries!\n While in this love that touches every one,\n Still wilt thou let each man abide alone,\n Unholpen, with his pain unnameable!\n Is it, perchance, lest men should come to tell\n Each unto other what a pain it is,\n How little balanced by the sullied bliss\n They win for some few minutes of their life,\u2014\n Lest they die out and leave thee void of strife,\n Empty of all their yearning and their fear,\n \u2019Twixt storm and sunshine of thy changing year? p. 368\nLATE February days; and now, at last,\n Might you have thought that winter's woe was past;\n So fair the sky was, and so soft the air.\n The happy birds were hurrying here and there,\n As something soon would happen. Reddened now\n The hedges, and in gardens many a bough\n Was overbold of buds. Sweet days, indeed,\n Although past road and bridge, through wood and mead,\n Swift ran the brown stream, swirling by the grass,\n And in the hill-side hollows snow yet was.\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0Within sound of the city, yet amid\n Patches of woodland that its white walls hid,\n The house was, where the elders sat this tide,\n The young folk with them; by the highway-side\n The first starred yellow blossoms of the spring\n Some held in hand; some came in, hurrying\n From deeper in the woods, and now in fold\n Of skirt and gown its treasures did they hold;\n And soon to garland-making youth and maid\n Were sat down: then the Swabian smiled, and said:\n\u00a0\u00a0\u00a0\"However it be that I, so old and grey,\n A priest too, yet again must have to say p. 369\n More words of Venus, judge ye, maids: in sooth,\n I, wandering once in long-past days of youth,\n Came to the place my tale shall tell of now.\n Vague tales, wherein I was well fain to trow,\n Being dreamy and a youth, I oft had heard\n Thereof, yet somewhat I did grow afeard\n Before that cavern, although not alone\n I was there, and the morn was such an one\n As this fair morn has been: my fellow there\n Was an old forester with thin white hair\u2014\n Lo you, like mine now!\u2014but his deep-set eyes,\n Bright mid his wrinkles, made him seem right wise\u2014\n \u2014As I would fain seem, maidens.\u2014Ye may wot\n That many a tale of that place had he got,\n Because nearby, child boy and man, had he\n Dwelt ever: so on a felled oaken tree\n We sat beside the cave's mouth there of old,\n While he this story, that I looked for, told.","title":"The Earthly Paradise (December-February): February: Bellerophon in Lycia","type":"page"}