JUNE

And truly need there was to the old King

For consolation: since the mournful day

Of Psyche’s fate he took no comforting,

But only for a speedy death would pray;

And on his head his hair grew silver-white.

—Such on life’s topmost bough is sorrow’s blight,

When the stout heart is cankering to decay.

Which when his daughters learnt, they both were quick

Comfort and solace to their sire to lend.

But as not seldom they who nurse the sick

Will take the malady from them they tend,

So happ’d it now; for they who fail’d to cheer

Grew sad themselves, and in that palace drear

Increased the evil that they came to mend.

And them the unhappy father sent to seek

Where Psyche had been left, if they might find

What monster held her on the savage peak;

Or if she there had died of hunger pined,

And, by wild eagles stript, her scatter’d bones

Might still be gather’d from the barren stones;

Or if her fate had left no trace behind.

So just upon this time her sisters both

Climb’d on the cliff that hung o’er Psyche’s vale;

And finding there no sign, to leave were loth

Ere well assured she lurk’d not within hail.

So calling loud her name, ‘Psyche!’ they cried,

‘Psyche, O Psyche!’ and when none replied

They sank upon the rocks to weep and wail.

But Psyche heard their voices where she sat,

And summoning the Zephyr bade him fleet

Those mourners down unto the grassy plat

’Midst of her garden, where she had her seat.

Then from the dizzy steep the wondering pair

Came swiftly sinking on his buoyant air,

And stood upon the terrace at her feet.

Upsprang she then, and kiss’d them and embraced,

And said ‘Lo, here am I, I whom ye mourn.

I am not dead, nor tortured, nor disgraced,

But blest above all days since I was born:

Wherefore be glad. Enter my home and see

How little cause has been to grieve for me,

And my desertion on the rocks forlorn.’

So entering by the golden gate, or e’er

The marvel of their hither flight had waned,

Fresh wonder took them now, for everywhere

Their eyes that lit on beauty were enchain’d;

And Psyche’s airy service, as she bade,

Perform’d its magic office, and display’d

The riches of the palace where she reign’d.

And through the perfumed chambers they were led,

And bathed therein; and after, set to sup,

Were upon dreamlike delicacies fed,

And wine more precious than its golden cup.

Till seeing nothing lack’d and naught was theirs,

Their happiness fell from them unawares,

And bitter envy in their hearts sprang up.

At last one said ‘Psyche, since not alone

Thou livest here in joy, as well we wot,

Who is the man who should these wonders own,

Or god, I say, and still appeareth not?

What is his name? What rank and guise hath he,

Whom winds and spirits serve, who honoureth thee

Above all others in thy blissful lot?’

But Psyche when that wistful speech she heard

Was ware of all her spouse had warn’d her of:

And uttering a disingenuous word,

Said ‘A youth yet unbearded is my love;

He goeth hunting on the plains to-day,

And with his dogs hath wander’d far away;

And not till eve can he return above.’

Then fearing to be nearer plied, she rose

And brought her richest jewels one by one,

Bidding them choose and take whate’er they chose;

And beckoning the Zephyr spake anon

That he should waft her sisters to the peak;

The which he did, and, ere they more coud speak,

They rose on high, and in the wind were gone.

Nor till again they came upon the road,

Which from the mountain shoulder o’er the plain

Led to the city of their sire’s abode,

Found they their tongues, though full of high disdain

Their hearts were, but kept silence, till the strength

Of pride and envious hatred burst at length

In voice, and thus the elder gan complain:

‘Cruel and unjust fortune! that of three

Sisters, whose being from one fountain well’d,

Exalts the last so high from her degree,

And leaves the first to be so far excel’d.

My husband is a poor and niggard churl

To him, whoe’er he be, that loves the girl.

Oh! in what godlike state her house is held!’

‘Ay,’ said the other, ‘to a gouty loon

Am I not wedded? Lo! thy hurt is mine:

But never call me woman more, if soon

I cannot lure her from her height divine.

Nay, she shall need her cunning wit to save

The wealth of which so grudgingly she gave;

Wherefore thy hand and heart with me combine.

‘She but received us out of pride, to show

Her state, well deeming that her happiness

Was little worth while there was none to know;

So is our lot uninjured if none guess.

Reveal we nothing therefore, but the while

Together scheme this wanton to beguile,

And bring her boasting godhead to distress.’

So fresh disordering their dress and hair,

With loud lament they to their sire return,

Telling they found not Psyche anywhere,

And of her sure mischance could nothing learn:

And with that lie the wounded man they slew,

Hiding the saving truth which well they knew;

Nor did his piteous grief their heart concern.

Meanwhile her unknown lover did not cease

To warn poor Psyche how her sisters plan’d

To undermine her love and joy and peace;

And urged how well she might their wiles withstand,

By keeping them from her delight aloof:

For better is security than proof,

And malice held afar than near at hand.

‘And, dearest wife,’ he said, ‘since ’tis not long

Ere one will come to share thy secrecy,

And be thy babe and mine; let nothing wrong

The happy months of thy maternity.

If thou keep trust, then shalt thou see thy child

A god; but if to pry thou be beguiled,

The lot of both is death and misery.’

Then Psyche’s simple heart was fill’d with joy,

And counting to herself the months and days,

Look’d for the time, when she should bear a boy

To be her growing stay and godlike praise.

And ‘O be sure,’ she said, ‘be sure, my pride

Having so rich a promise cannot slide,

Even if my love coud fail which thee obeys.’

And so most happily her life went by,

In thoughts of love dear to her new estate;

Until at length the evil day drew nigh,

When now her sisters, joined in jealous hate,

Set forth again, and plotted by the way

How they might best allure her to betray

Her secret; with what lie their angle bait.

That night her husband spake to her, and said

‘Psyche, thy sisters come: and when they climb

The peak they will not tarry to be sped

Down by the Zephyr, as that other time,

But winging to the wind will cast themselves

Out in the air, and on the rocky shelves

Be dasht, and pay the penalty of crime.

‘So let it be, and so shall we be saved.’

Which meditated vengeance of his fear

When Psyche heard, now for their life she craved,

Whose mere distress erewhile had toucht her near.

Around her lover’s neck her arms she threw,

And pleaded for them by her faith so true,

Although they went on doom in judgment clear.

In terror of bloodguiltiness she now

Forgot all other danger; she adjured;

Or using playfulness deep sobs would plow

Her soft entreaties, not to be endured:

Till he at last was fain once more to grant

The service of the Zephyr, to enchant

That wicked couple from their fate assured.

So ere ’twas noon were noises at the door

Of knocking loud and voices high in glee;

Such as within that vale never before

Had been, and now seem’d most unmeet to be.

And Psyche blush’d, though being alone, and rose

To meet her sisters and herself unclose

The gate that made them of her palace free.

Fondly she kiss’d them, and with kindly cheer

Sought to amuse; and they with outward smile

O’ermask’d their hate, and called her sweet and dear,

Finding affection easy to beguile:

And all was smooth, until at last one said

‘Tell us, I pray, to whom ’tis thou art wed;

’Mong gods or men, what is his rank and style?

‘Thou canst not think to hide the truth from us,

Who knew thy peevish sorrows when a maid,

And see thee now so glad and rapturous,

As changed from what thou wert as light from shade;

Thy jewels, too, the palace of a king,

Nor least the serviceable spiriting,

By everything thy secret is betray’d:

‘And yet thou talkest of thy wondrous man

No more than if his face thou didst not know.’

At which incontinently she began,

Forgetful of her word a month ago,

Answering ‘A merchant rich, of middle age,

My husband is; and o’er his features sage

His temples are already touch’d with snow.

‘But ’gainst his wish since hither ye were brought

’Twere best depart.’ Then her accustom’d spell

Sped them upon the summit quick as thought;

And being alone her doing pleased her well:

So was she vext to find her love at night

More sad than ever, of her sisters’ spite

Speaking as one that coud the end foretell.

‘And ere long,’ said he, ‘they will spy again:

Let them be dash’d upon the rocks and die;

’Tis they must come to death or thou to pain,

To separation, Psyche, thou and I;

Nay, and our babe to ill. I therefore crave

Thou wilt not even once more these vipers save,

Nor to thy love his only boon deny.’

But Psyche would not think her sisters’ crime

So gross and strange, nor coud her danger see;

Since ’twere so easy, if at any time

They show’d the venom of their hearts, that she

Should fan them off upon the willing gust.

So she refused, and claiming truer trust,

Would in no wise unto their death agree.