m A = I^c ^M^ A = ^o HB — ^ = =^^ 3D ^^P^l 3 = ^ ^^B^U 6 m 4 ^ ^1 t;[ty 6 ^ 8 ^ 5 r.i'VJ 8 m — ^ ^^^^^1 3^ ^H ^ 1^ i«»j =3 _,^ (9 THE ORROWS OF HYPSIPYLE. THE SORROWS OF HYPSIPYLE, BY THOMAS ASHE: AUTHOR OF " PICTURES " AND OTHER POEMS. LONDON: BELL AND DALDY, 186, FLEET STREET. 1867. Argonauts. INTERLOCUTORS. HYPSiPYLE Queen of Lemnos. THOAS, Father of Hypsipyle. lASOJf, CASTOR, HERACLES, CAXAIS, ORPHEUS, IDMON, J IPHICLE9, King of Melitis. HELIODORA, ^ ^GLE, y Priestesses of Here. IPHISSA, J AGLAiA, Priestess of Athene. PRIESTESSES- ATTENDANTS. LEMXIAN WOMEN. NURSE. NEREIDS. SCENE : LEMNOS. 807517 PART I. SCENE I. HYPSIPYLE. TTTOULD any child of woman choose to live, If he could have the choice, and could foresee, Before his birth, the ills that should befall ? I know not if to account myself the most Unhappy, as a heaven-anointed queen, Or daughter, or a wife. Like one unskill'd, Who seeks to yoke the untutor'd colt, so I, — Sway'd this way now, now that way, — strive in vain To rule the intractable women : and I am But queen in name : unless ye will to call Me queen of sorrows, which might well be true. And yet, ah ! yet, what yield ye, at the best, WIio crown me, if the sweetly-chanting doves 4 TJie Sorrows of Hypsipyle. Of home-nursed bliss abide not in the halls? And mother's guerdon, and a matron's joys, In dew-fresh, children and her lord's fond eyes? O vainly crown'd ! not even a queen can bid Sorrow to flee, nor bind the cloud-soft Avings Of beauteous Love, sweet Love ! Alas ! my soul ! For all the crod-sent largess of the heavens ! Who in his mind Avould wish for it, or call It evil or well ? For they have given to me A tender heart, but many griefs with it ; And intricate duties, but no iron will. O bitter curse, fallen upon the land ! And unwash'd stain, beside ! wdiich without stint Is expiated, and without a thought Of difference betwixt the innocent ones, And those not so : till some w^ould dare surmise That even the gods, when angry, are scarce just. But who shall fix a term to evil days, When heaven is adverse, and the people sin ? The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. t For Aphrodite's altars were the prey Of guilty desecration ; and the grass Grew in the untrodden courts, and throve at will The blue-neck'd swallows from their clay-built homes, Beneath the entablatures, were scared away : And all her sacred roses wei'c untrimm'd. And at the last the unhappy people set The sharp axe to her hallow'd myrtle-grove. And, in her passionate anger, she would not O'erlook it, nor forgive: but with her art So made the Lemnian women utterly Hateful in their lords' eyes, that these forsook The wives loved tenderly of old : and them. Being overcome with sleep and with the feast. The unhappy women desperately dismiss'd To Hades, in one night, and were avenged. 'Tis not the guilty only, who atone. When evil deeds are done. At least, I share 6 The Sorrows of IlypsipyJe. Tlie punishment, who did not share the guilt. Yet it may be I, too, confederate In their wild oath, persuaded by their words, — Not thinking they would keep the oath, ah, me ! — Have even my fair reward : for to be weak And unresolved, then, when we should be strong, Is well-nigh one with guilty. O ray sire ! — If heaven divines, keen-eyed, the false from true, — Plead for thy child in this, who rescued thee, And led thee thi'ough the unlitten gloom, suspect Of none, to Here's temple, in the bay : Holding to kill thee with an impious hand A thino- niore loathsome than an oath forsworn. "When this ship Argo on the Lemnian shore Touch'd, with its wandering crew, the women found New wedlock. I mvself became the wife The Sorrows of HypsipyJe. * Of world-renown'd lason, their dear lord, — And mine : so pleased the others ; and am call'd Mother by soft child-lips : and I have grown To love him, even to trust him, for the son. And now the entanolino' net of grief afjain Is woven anew, with the sweet bands of love. For we shall be lorn widows ere the god Flash, with bright wheels, a splendour in the dawn. Will he return ? will he return ? O, fear ! How many a night, in sleep, a dreadful doubt Shapes phantoms in my brain ! I seem to watcli One pacing restless a dim shore afar ; Plotting, and full of schemes : who never casts A stray glance seaward, as he would begone. Will he forget this isle, his Lemnian home ? For thoughts of women do not vex him much Mid cares of men. And yet he has not been, Even for an hour, unkind : I well can think 8 The Sorrows of JrJypsiipyle. lason will be true. 'Tis not so wise To trust in every dream, even if it were A strange one, which I had : for fear brings dreams : And subtle love, with secret art, will keep The limbs uneasy on the couch all night. Stir not this fear, lest, like a smouldering fire. Which else would languish, it but flame the more. Yet at the least he is about to tempt An untried, dangerous way. His feet will roam, 'Mong unknown men, upon a venturous quest. Of dangers to be faced, which seems the worst, — Uncivil peoples, or a stormy sea? And at the least this absence will be long. Who can forethink what evil days may break Above the old man, my sire, when friends are gone : Whom foes encompass, and a nameless fear; Here, unprotected, in the lonely isle. With me, me only ? It can ne'er be so. The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 9 Al], will ye tell me, — if, perchance, ye hear My lamentation, strong invisible Ones, — Ah, will ye tell me it can prove indeed So happy a lot, to be a father's all ; And in the long vague years not clasp again My arms about his neck, as I was wont? Seems once to wed, in days not all too bright, A husband, and to look on him, mayhap. No more, to teach my heart his eyes are true. To you a fate so happy, heavenly Ones ? I shall be sick for love, ffo seekin"' love: As, in parch'd Argos, Amymone roam'd. Bearing, on her tired head, the urn in vain. SCEXE II. lASON. T ADY, unwillingly, I come, to say Farewell, for a little season. HYPSIPYLE. All, so soon ! IAS. Is it so soon ? It is the third spring, now. Our hearts have linger'd, love-bewitch'd, among The sea-ring'd Lemnian hills. Now all's aboard. Our loitering bark rocks, restless, in the creek. The new-hewn oars, of trusty Lemnian fir. Are stow'd away. And ere the moon sets low, — As thou, too, knowest, — we sail : we must be gone. HYP. Will ye foredoom the unhappy women thus ? Tlie Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 1 1 IAS. Canst thou not think 'tis better to deceive, Than be deceived of them ? If we betray Their trust, to shield them, 'tis a kindly wrong. Avoiding many a fruitless tear, we go ; And unsuspect of any, save by thee. HYP. Deceit can scarce be noble : heavenly Powers Ne'er chanted this to thee, in oracles. But, son of J^son, is thy heart so glad To leave thy wife ? I would that I were dead. IAS. Shall hard gods ask, and we not yield to them ; Even if they take the things we would withhold? Have they not said ? Yet not so willingly, Lady, we leave thee, as we shall return. When we have grasp'd the glittering prize we seek. 1 2 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. Too long, too long, we have linger'd here, O queen. HYP. Too long ? ah, true ! by Hymen's sleepy eyes ! Or else not long enough ! Is it so fit, Brides of three springs, and mothers of a year. Sit solitary, and weep, upon the hearth ? Lovest thou me? who would believe it true? IAS. Why weepest thou, like a girl? Was it in vain We had such trust in thee ? Should we have told Our secret to the listening waves alone ? Shall I regret we have not stolen away From thee, as from the others ? Then, be still. HYP. I should have known, I should have known, false friend ! Did I not, oft, behind the willowy screen, The Sorroios of Hi/psipyk. 13 Mark the unusual bustle on the shore ? Nor see the unwonted hibour, day by day, Secretly expedited, dost thou think ? Nor watch them paint the wave-beat prow anew, Annealing, with soft wax, tlie scarlet glow ? I see thee smile : — ye did suspect me, then ; And made my trust your friend, lest I should set The murderous women on your stealthy work. At least a match for treacherous lords of old. IAS. We meant not to beguile thee ; nor did we : We trusted thee in this. Thine eyes, we knew. Love not so much the blood of gory wounds. We, not so given to sleep, that we should let The bright blades gleam around us, unapprised,- 'Tis better, surely, we should steal away Thus secretly: thou thinkest it, in thine heart. Hypsipyle, dear wife, be not so wioth. 14 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. HYP. Alas, me ! now, I can divine full well The ambiguous oracle, which once was dark ! Thus, — while I laugh'd, a tiny child, they say, — The Delphic priestess sang : " She will not wed A Lemnian, but some stranger : he will come, In his beak'd ship, across the dangerous wave." So much, thou knowest, proved true : but more she sang. For, shuddering, as she chanted, she beheld Their heaven-appointed mother slay his sons : Unpitying, with fierce hate : and they were two. I, grown a woman, heard it; wondering If one such mother lived ; nor dream'd her me. But since thy child was given me, — and I was Most glad for him, — I tremble to behold This treasure, trusted to my hands, unsure : Bewilder'd, pondering line by line again The metric sweetness of the pregnant song. The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 15 To unravel some stranjxe clue : for oracles Are not so clear at all times, and ally Their words to alien senses, which perplex. But now this is most clear, — thou wilt espouse Some other, even to prove their bane, and thine. IAS. O nurses' tales, which still'd thee, when a child ! Thou wilt not murder two, who hast but one. HYP. Ah. now, thou lovest to mock me ! — Him, too, see ! Euneus, thy little son, thou leavest him, Ere he has learn'd to utter thy dear name. And who will teach him, with the eagle-plume To win swift arrows to surprise the mark ? To handle sword or spear ? be brave, like thee ? For here are only women, till his peers. The other orphan'd friendless ones, are grown. 16 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. IAS. Scarce need we doubt the cliildren will be true, Whose mothers are half warriors. But how soon We shall return, thou lovest to forget. Wilt thou be wailing still, as if we went O'er gloomy Styx, to Hades at the least ? HYP. Can I forget the inhospitable lands, The adverse winds, black waves ? for ye will not Avoid all these ! now, ever since I knew Thy will to go, my brain is dark and wild. With nameless terrors and unquiet fears. If winds are changeable, are men less so ? Here, I can well believe, thy love would hold. But absence changes love : new faces please Weak, fickle men the best. I had a dream ; — Three times I dream'd it, and it will not soon Be laugh'd away. I saw upon the shore The wretched Ariadne, piteously, / The Sorrows of Ilijpsipyle. 17 Stretch out vain hands for Theseus, who was gone. And while I watch'd her face, it changed to mine. IAS. Yea, now 'tis clear thou canst not love me much, By thy continual oracles and dreams. For true love is most glad to cast away Unkind suspicion. I would prove to thee, By any deed soever, my fast truth. What canst thou ask of me, I will refuse ? HYP. O stubborn heart ! it is in vain I plead, Thinking to hold thee still ! I'll ask a boon. IAS. A holier trust breaks in thine eyes anew ; Like sunlight through blue mist, or failing rain. What wouldst thou ask of me ? — What would she now ? What will the woman ask ? I was a fool. c 18 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. HYP. Knowesl thou Thoas lives? IAS. Thy sire ! HYP. 'Tis so. IAS. What meanest thou ? can men live, vrhose hearts are dust ; Whose ashes stir not in the sil^iit urn ? Yea, they can live, — in Pluto's gloomy realm. HYP. His heart no urn keeps yet. Now hear me, thou. There is a secret ])assage, which he wrought, With happy forethought, in a prosperous time. Through many a year, beneath the noiseless ground. Like moles they shaped it, from the royal home, To Here's temple in the little creek. The Sorrows of Hypsipylc. 1 9 For he, like thee, had mark'd, with curious eye. The sheltering bay. Through many a dripping gloom, Myself I led him from the evil night. Now Here guards him, by the willowy brook. IAS. The lynx-eyed, crafty Lemnians, — uere they blind ? HYP. Beiievest thou me ? These slender fingers held The flickering torch in air, and lit the pyre, And swiftly-kindling wood ; and poured thereon Sweet-smelling perfumes, and the oil and wine. Uplift to win the useful winds to aid, The:-e hands, thou seest, tlie sad procession led ; And clash'd the glittering cymbals, while the feet Moved to the melancholy chant along, To the ominous left, in sorrow. It were strange, 20 The Sorroics of Hypsipyle. Even if we kill'd, with a revengeful hand, A traitorous King, we should not mourn for him. IAS. O joy ! HYP. 'Twere joy indeed, if he were safe. But now this fear makes evei-y hour move slow,— Lest some stray foot should find him. As thou lovest Hypsipyle, bear the old man with thee : And when thou seest a people, which have learn'd To succour kings unhappy, leave with them This precious burden of a king, true friend. IAS. The queen thinks well : yet how shall it be done ? HYP. When sets the wandering moon ? Thou shalt behold Tlie Sorrows of Ilypsipyle. 2 1 Two women, lingering by the tardy ship. Then know the old man is with them, in tlie gloom. IAS. Thou hast a Lemnian's aptness for a plot. Yet fail not of the hour, Hypsipyle. HYP. Ah, now ihou wilt be gone ! yet once again These eyes will fix thee, when the glimmering dawn Breaks in the East : — most sadly will it break. Once, yet, I shall behold thee ! I will go To comfort the old man, and mourn with him : And part from him, — ah, me ! who will remain ? He shall not fail ! he shall not fail ! believe ! Heaven look on thee, lason. IAS. —Heavenly Gods ! The queen is gone. I would not do her wrong. 22 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. She is most gentle-hearted. Yet she has A hidden strenoth, if she wei-e cross'd too much : A slumbering will, to fear, if one should hurt The trust she lays in him. Ah, subtle wit. Beneath moist tears ! I would remain her friend. The old man will prove a trouble : he shall find A sheltering nook ere long. The old should die ; Whose flickering light grows dark, whose tremb - ling hand Forgets to grasp the glittering oar, or spear. H SCENE III. HYPSIPYLE. ELIODORA, lead me : where is he ? HELIODORA. Within the sacred willow-grove he sits Of golden-sandall'd Here, by the brook ; In the accustom'd spot ; and is not all Unhappy, as some might fancy. HYP. Poor old kino- HEL. But let thy feet pause in the moss-soft grass, And listen ; for I hear him muttering low. This is his way, when busy phantoms weave Their moonlight dances in his darken'd brain. 24 The Sorrows of Hypsipijle. He thinks not any one is near, to catch The worded echoes of his wandering dreams. HYP. What to the babbling water mutters he, And the pure lilies about his feet asway ? HEL. Wilt thou not listen, and we shall hear, O queen. THOAS. If I could not look back, — ah, no ! no ! no ! Look onward ! fallen king ! Then there is much To make life sweet. This sunlight is a boon, With heaven-sent beams pavilioning the world : But when the warm light softens in her eyes. There rains a richer bounty from her look. Since Iphianassa left me, ray true wife, I have borne grief enough : — ah, poor lost friends ! Let me not think on you! — and still the child Has been more help to me than all the woe. The Sorrows of Hypsipijle. 25 Will she not come? — child ? child? the weary steeds Draw down the flaming chariot of the sun ; And haste to plunge beneath the cool sea-wave Their restless feet. Will she not come ? The sound Of her lio-ht foot is sweeter to mine ear Than nisrhtinorales, whose music charms the gloom. HYP. How will he bear this parting ? How shall I Be soothed for it, dear friend ? who shall be left Orphan'd and widow'd ere the stars grow wan. THO. Did I not hear her voice ? HYP. My sire ! my sire ! 26 The Sorroics of Uypsipyle. THO. Child, art thou near me ? wherefore weepest thou ? HYP. Will not this bindweed, see ! be withering soon, Whose clinging stem some priestess has untwined ? THO. Yea, child : but why these tears ? why cling to me. As bindweeds do to friendly bough or vine ? HYP. Ever again, ah me ! again, ah me ! Shall I fast hold thee, as I hold to-night ? THO. Ha ! wilt thou leave me, then? why now, why now, These strange words, wandering, and this look so wild? The Sorrows of Hypslpyle. 27 HYP. It is not I, but thou that goest : ah, me ! THO. Believe it not. Who hath belied me, child ? HYP. Be still ! be still ! speak not vain words ! Be still ! What if the Lemnians find thee ? knowest thou well Athene shields lason? and thy way, In the long ship, leads to a sheltering land. THO. lason ? whither will he lead me, then ? Goeth lason, and not thou, not thou ? HYP. Ay me ! Ay me ! 28 The Sorroics of Hyj^sipyle. THO. All, will she die, poor queen ? Wounded with heart-deep sorrows wonderfully ? HYP. He goeth : lason goeth : and they all : Athene wills it : but they will return. THO. Wilt thou believe them ? Yet I go not, I. Whom wouldst thou have to love, if I were o-one ? And whom to live for? even a greater care. HYP. Wilt thou not yield ? It must be : yea ! say, yea ! Thou wilt not cross rae thus 1 should I crave so, If no need were, to weep alone, forlorn? THO. Canst thou believe that any more my soul Keeps wish to mingle with the harmful world ? Tlie Sorrows of Ht^psipyle. 29 With little-minded men, whose eyes are blind ? The strife, the wrangling, for poor shreds of power ; The wild ambition for a thorny seat Of chiefdom, mid deform'd and motley fools : — I have seen enough ; I would not be a king, Or wear a crown, again. Now thy dear heart Beguiles thee, with its restless succouring love, To think I am not happy : yet I am. Ah, thinkest thou I could sit, brow-crown'd, to rule Some new strange people ? could I bear to see Their love, their service ? thinking, — all too much For any peace, — of mine of old ; lost ! lost ! My warriors, eagles, comrades in the hunt; Wise-hearted, brave ones, princely revellers ; Would come, disconsolate, with unquiet eyes. About my court, and chide me, from their tombs. Let me feel sure still here, — how much remains. Have I not thee ? and if I held not thee. This sacred shelter, with its heavenly flowers ; 30 The Sorroios of Hypsipyle. Its willowy shade ; its ever-grateful sun; O'er which the holy goddess keeps her watch From morn to eve, from eve to morn ; the breeze, Which spares, — made mild and supple to her will,— Rudely to stir one leaf: these were enough To wing the hours of an old man, my child. Whither should I go sail, dethroned, half-blind. To breast the waves of sorrowing days anew ? Nay, child ! nay, child! as soon my lost recross Black Acheron, to prop these faltering feet. The strength, and will, and heartening hopes of youth. Have perish'd and gone, and will not be again. HYP. Wilt thou not go ? so, listen ! I pray no more. Thou wilt be found, and this will prove the end Of two lives, — thine and mine. Could I behold These white and fluttering locks, with many a stain The Sorrov)s of Ilyvsipyle. 31 Of blood and blackening dust? But this goes well. For I shall never see it, but die before. Lovest thou me? and thinkest thou my brief teim. Of life were worth a breath, if thou wert found ? And now I know some prying eye will come, And catch thee wandering in the grove. Long since This thought has been a haunting fear: for this I have suffer'd pangs ere now ; but there was once The fair protection of the friendly band, 'Twas much : 'twas all : and ere the sun again Shall round the headland of the lonely bay, They will be gone. Then T shall yield my life, A vain, but willing gift, for thy dear good. And what wilt thou do then, wilt thou do then ? THO. Thy life, thou sayest ?— I go.— Thy life, my child? Where is he ? lead me. 32 The Sorroivs of Hi/psipyle. HYP. O stay ! not yet ! not yet ! Not till the moon dips seaward tempteth he The waves, ah, me ! Sit here, sit here, awhile ; Playing with my loosed tresses, as of old ! THO. Even the pitying fates have left me still One little hour, in which to hold my joy. It is too much, ye powers ! — Is this your art. To draw me, darkling, to the dizzy edge Of some supreme despair? — But round my neck Lay thy soft arms, while on the bench we sit. Not for my kingdom back, and many a year Of sweet life with it, would I yield this hour. HEL. What breast shall prop the weary head, what arms Wreathe him thus gently, in the years to be ? The Sorroios of Hypsipyle. 33 Fondling the old man in her grief, she seems A simple child again. Yet not the child Whom I loved once :— O, sadder ! I think we had Less rueful looks, when we were used to play, In life's fresh morning, on the sunny hill. D 34 The Sorroivs of Hypsijjyle. SCENE IV. ^GLE. TPHISSA, once again I watch with you The light die off Mosychlus' misty brow. How oft, beneath this green pomegranate tree, We have heard the shrill cicada ! Listen, now ! I love the sound : and yet 'tis almost harsh. rPHISSA. Here we see well the willowy grove below. And every hill beyond. ^GL. Unmark'd by us No foot can steal on them. Thou wast most wise To choose this spot. Now who would deem we two The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 35 Were sentinels ; stretcli'd on so smooth a turf, And lingering, it must seem, but for delight ? IPH. Sweet -^gle, wherefore hast thou wreathed thy brow With down-soft leaves of sacred dittany ? The goddess, whom we serve, Iphissa best, Loveth the snow-pale flowers. rPH. Nay, ^gle, now : Thine eyes betray thy soul. Wilt thou speak true. ^GL. Thou knowest, thou knowest, Iphissa. IPH. No, child : no. 36 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. For is not this the eve I came to you ? This hour crowns me vow'd priestess, like the rest. Grapes have been trodden, with the dancing feet Of laughing maidens; vines are green again, — Since I came here, — on fruitful Thasos' shore. My native planes still droop, still seem to watch Their slumbering reflex in the amber bays. But none shall find me in the dells I loved, Nor praise mine eyes, again : and this brings tears. And yet, in truth, ye have been kind, most kind. IPH. Well I remember when thou earnest at first ; Bringing the little image of heaven's queen, Carved of sweet olive root: and we were pleased. The Sorroivs of Hypsipyle. 37 So I remember the bewildering dance Ye wreathed around it. O the rhythmic chant, — Strange to mine ear, — ye sang ! while, from the cup, Heliodora, like a bacchanal, Pour'd out the clear ambrosia, honey-sweet ; Wreathing the silver lip with yellow wool. Then thou, the kindliest of them all, I think, Spakest to me, — such soft words, that I wept. IPH. 1 loved thee, from the first, my little one : Because thou wert a child. Thou hadst no art. Nor subtlety : but with such simple trust Didst make a solemn vow. That night we watch'd. Beneath this very stone, here at my foot, The lizard glide away. Sweet, I know well 38 Tlte Sorrows of Hypsijjyle. Thou longest to ask this secret, which we hid ; Fostering thy strength a year ; not of mistrust. Gentle Iphissa, now I will not ask. IPH. But I will tell thee. Thou hast heard the tale Of that strange hate : when Lemnian women slew Their unsuspecting lords ; and reap'd a curse ; And made their guilt a proverb in the world. Thou thinkest the king fell victim, with the rest : But hear, he lived. — Why lookest thou so, my child? Hypsipyle, the queen, — their queen is named Hypsipyle ? — his daughter, kept him safe. But he stands not the kingly tower he was ; But fallen, and changed. Dead is the king ! yea, true ! This king was like the eagle, which — look, now ! Sweeps, from yon hidden eyrie on the crag, The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 39 Swift down blue glens beyond. But he, who lives, Is like some dove, which wheels a homely flight Round low-built cot, and settles on the ground. Thy face is lit, thine eyes flash brightly with, Thy lips are parted in, a wild surprise. He is the king ! She is the queen, his child ! Ah, poor lost king ! rpH. Thou speak not of him so. He was heaven-born. Him Ariadne bore, In snow-capp'd Naxos, to her comforter, Sleep-giving Dionysus, -^gle, sweet. He had a noble heart. Even in grave age. Sinewy and strong he throve. He was a king, Subtle to judge, right generous to forgive ; Wise to convict, yet wary to condemn ; Well-skill'd to rule, where ruling was most hard. But after that wild night ; confused ; o'erwhelm'd 40 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. With strange, bewildering brooding on grim fate ; With ghastly fancying of the doom of friends ; With all trust turn'd to doubt, all sweet to gall ; His hair grew white, his strong limbs reeds. And when, At last, he seem'd himself, he was a child : No more himself: — ah ! never think, that one. The glory, and strong bulwark, of this land ! Now, nought, but gentleness, grown feebleness, Sweet love, turn'd doating, hints what he was once. Alas ! cross'd heart ! our unbefriended queen ! She has borne all ! Good sooth, her face is sad : Which was of old like some fresh rose for bloom. Heaven keep her, now ! IPH. Love, she stays late to-night. The snows on Athos' hazy peak grow dark. Soft in the lull'd ^gean floats a star. I fear, I fear, new trouble skulks afoot. The Sorroius of Hypsipyle. 41 SCENE V. lASON. OONS of the gods, illustrious, is there one, Of all our crew, who is not here, aboard ? CASTOE. None, son of ^Eson : all are here. IAS. 'Tis well. CAS. The glimmering morn breaks fair : the oars are set : Tiphys, expectant, waiteth by the helm. IAS. Hypsipyle delayeth. It is strange. 42 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. HEBACLES. By Zeus, I would the bloody Lemnians Had slain the old man, too ! Would he were laid, A shell-encrusted skeleton, weed-crown'd. In glittering grottoes of the white-foot nymphs, 'Neath rock and ripple of the briny wave ! Still must we linger here ; while yon pale beams Are brightening in the region of the dawn ? IDMON, Vex'd is the heart of Heracles. 'Tis well It should be vex'd, — I lying here, alone. Three wasted lingering springs, in sun and rain ; Stretch'd like a weed upon a tide-left strand, Guarding the ship, and eating out ray heart I would not set a foot upon the shore, To be mad women's laughter, and their thrall. The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 43 CAS. In this most wise wast thou : forsooth, too much Their theme for laughter in the days of okL ID. Vex not the hero with vain words, my son. CALAIS. lason, leader of a kingly band, Shall we unloose the deftly-twisted rope ? The old man will prove a trouble, ere the end. 'And this slow lingering in the creek is ill. 0EPHEI7S. Worse ill the bond of honourable men Should be dishonour'd, for a paltry gain : If it be gain, to be dishonourable. 'Twere better watch the morning star grow pale. Than sun-bright honour, and truth's sacred light. ID. Now, by the Muse Calliope's clear eyes. Which with their speckless truth Apollo won, 44 Tlie Sorrows of Hypsipyle, 'Twas well and nobly spoken. To begin The long strange voyage with a treacherous deed ; With lying lips, ),vhieh are alike the scorn Of noble men and of the heavenly gods ; Were but cross'd omen of a sure return. He comes, behold ! with weak and tottering: feet. CAS. The temple's shadowy gloom obscures them still : I see their white robes move alons: the dark. With eyes bent toward the ground, the wanderer rests One hand on each smooth shoulder, as they come. IAS. Rise, sons of gods, bareheaded : he is old. O daughter of the noble Thoas, say. Why hast thou linger'd till the dawn grows bright ? HYPSIPYLE. Is it the dawn so soon, with hurrying beams ? The Sorroics of Hypsipyle. 45 But lead ye, friends, along the treacherous plank, His faltering foot with care, with care, I pray. ORPH. How venerable is the old man's look ! His glittering eyes are bright as wave-wet gems : His locks are soft and silken as a child's. THOAS. Adventurous wanderers on the windy sea, Because ye stoop to yield, with willing hands, An old man aid, your expedition find A prosperous end. ALL. We thank thee, noble king. IAS. Why comes yon hurrying priestess hitherward ? 46 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. HEL. She brings some news, perchance. Speak ! ^gle, speak ! O lady, on the hills, o'er whose broad ridge, Beyond our ken, the slumbering city lurks, We have beheld a glittering light of spears. HER. Draw in the plank in haste : delay ye still ? »■- CAS. Comrades, the himt is up : the game are we. Unwilling were their hearts to trust too much The heaven-sent strangers. IAS. We are safe, my friends. HEE. Unloose the rope : push off: let us be gone. Awake the fresh foam with the plunging oar. The Sorroios of Hypsipyle. 47 HYP. Entreat the old man kindly. Ah, me ! see ! The wandering tears upon his cheek are wet. He sees me not: his weary eyes grow dim. HELIODOBA. lason waves his glittering spear, O queen. HYP. The light goes with them. Is it morn, dear friend ? I think it is the night, till their true prow Shall touch again the rugged Lemnian strand. O sweet hope dies away ! gone with the sound Of their bright oars, which o'er the wave grows faint ! HEL. Grieve not, heart's sister, queen Hypsipyle, Before the time. HYP. How sayest thou " before " ? lason, when the Asian goal is won, 48 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. Will think upon the boy, and steei' again The lofty-provv'd ship hitherward: — 'twill be A long time first. But the old man is gone. He has few years to live : shall I behold His sorrowing eyes again? And who will keep His feet like me, who am his child, his child ? HEL. Ha ! hearest thou the baffled women's cry ? Now have they seen them, as they swerved away To seaward, past the rocky western cliff. The rout is near ! the rout is near, queen ! Then haste with me : for would it be so well Their troop should find us loitering in the bay ? HYP. That, surely, were not well : we will be gone. I would have gladly watch'd the vessel sail Beyond the dim line, where the deep is mix'd With heaven's clear blue. See, Heliodora, see ! The bright morn flashes on the oars, brass-bound ! SCENE VI. NEREIDS. TTTHO is the woman, stealing away Noiselessly, from the quiet bay ; By the slippery path the goat's hoof has Worn at will in the mountain grass ? Combing the briny foam From our locks on the yellow sand, By the cliffs we mark'd her come, By the rock we saw her stand. Crouch'd like a leopard ere her spring. She eyed the queen and the white-hair'd king. Ship Argo, ship, from a land divine, Whose lusty ribs of native pine The fast-succeeding waves, in vain, Lash with the wandering brine ; — Sailing away o'er the deep again ; E 50 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. Say, earnest thou before Unhappily, or happily, To this sad Lemnian shore ; With leaf of olive crown'd : And bringing o'er the windy sea The heroes world-renown'd ? Yet the irresistible will Of the unerring Ones, Throned on the Olympian hill On everlasting thrones, Bade you bend your course to the rocky shore Who brought, no doubt, to the husbandless Women, in their bitterness, Joy at the first, though it remains no more. Ye are happy, whom the gods Have kept safe, against such odds : Ye whom no ill-hap has found. Even on this ill-omen'd ground. The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 51 The history recount to me, O pale-eyed sisters of the sea, — Each chapleted with lilies, while she sings, — How in long days agone, Through sunny cycles olden, On woody Pelion, In Thessaly the golden, Were added, year by year, the stealthy rings, To many a windy pine : How oozing, glutinous juices Fitted for noble uses Each comrade of the brine. Then the son of ^son bent The strong wood to his great intent. He fashion'd many a fan-like oar : And, toiling with a lusty heart. He built, complete in every part. His vessel, on the shore. Like a winged dragon lay 52 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. The wonder, in the lonely bay. He cover'd every plank with tough, Well-temper'd hides, the storms to rough And he remember'd to anneal, 'Gainst brine and Avorm, the oaken keel. Then he proclaim'd Athene's will Throughout the listenino; land : From citadel on crowned hill, From seaport ring'd with sand, He call'd the heroes, in the name Of murder'd Phrixus ; and they came. He sang a grave Pelasgian chant Of noble valour militant. He sang of seas, whose billows roU'd On Colchian shores, with anirrv swell ; And of the fleece, like veined gold. Or bright Narcissus in the dell. Stout-heartedly and joyfully They shouted, and were glad : The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 53 For wild adventure on the sea A ready will tbey bad. With helmets in the heat aflame, The twins of swan-white Leda came; Obedient to the call : The sons of Boreas, too, were there ; Idmon, the seer, Apollo's son ; The sad Alcmena's paragon ; And Orpheus, the sweet lute-player : And fifty came, in all. lason, on the lofty poop, Pray'd to their sires divine ; And from the flashing golden cup Pour'd forth the brighter wine : And call'd on Father Zeus to aid, And Winds, and Days, and Nights ; While the propitious lightnings play'd Around, with forked lights. And thus they sail'd that day : To Orpheus' song tbey row'd along. Upon their royal way. 54 The Sorroios of Hypsipyle. O ship, thou shalt be safe, though storms may lower : Of whom Athene made the plan : Who taught at first inventive man To build sea-crossing barks ; and gave the power To tame the unruly waves, and bend The billows to a noble end. Thy keel the willing goddess gave, Of Dodonsean oak renown'd : From oak-groves, where the dove-notes have A deep oracular sound. From the dense foliage, where they brood, — Those birds, oracular, — The bark she cut, the wood she hew'd, By light of mystic star. And from Olympus' height Zeus look'd, and smiled Propitious, as they went, By wondrous charm beguiled Of that strange track : and Cheiron sent Great echoes from his rocks, to see; And Pelion's nymphs gazed wonderingly. The Sorroics of Hijpsipyle. 55 They shall sail unhurt : their course A prosperous one shall be, By narrow Bosporus, And Euxine's brackish sea. The sacred anchor, from the stern, They shall never need to cast : But when the wandering rocks are pass'd. And for the end their spirits yearn ; Then the heights of stainless snow. Beyond the cities where they go, Shall lure them in the eve, and burn Like watchfires, with the sunset glow. Yet woe, for Heracles, sailing in vain : Great-hearted, but unbless'd by fate : Seeking, over the Mysian plain, The beautiful Hylas, disconsolate. Y SCENE VII. 1st woman. E widow'd women of the Lemnian isle, Whither away so fast ? 2nd w. Why speakest thou Of widows, Lemnian ? Thou, too, hast beheld Yon dreamlike phantom of a ship we knew, Cleaving the misty deep with flying oars. Canst thou reveal the secret of their flight ? For we divined some mystery, when we found The sharp-tooth'd hounds, uncoupled, in their place. 1st w. This is no mystery, — that the men are gone. 3llD w. Will they return ? Speak ! What is it thou knowest ? The Sorrows of Hypsipylc. 57 Where is it thy feet have been ? Why lookest thou So scared, as if grim Phito once again Had risen, as erst in Enna ? 4th w. Was it well Thou didst not warn us ? Did they speak to thee Of their design ? 1st w. I could not warn ye, friends. But will ye listen ? Why will ye delay The message which I bring ye, wildering me ; Asking so many questions in a breath ? 3rd w. Hast thou betray'd us ? Ha ! But thou wilt rue This treachery, wretched woman ! 1st w. Ye have been Betray'd, no doubt, but not of me : now, hear. 58 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. But speak good words, I pray : am I not, too, A sufferer, with you all ? There fell to me A pleasant prize, in Tiphys, my good lord. Went he not with the crew ? I heard him laugh. By no means mournfully, when he beheld The sharp prow fret the baffled waves to foam. 2nd w. Women of Lemnos, ye awhile be still. And let us listen what she has to tell. 4th w. Say what thou knowest : speak, then. 2nd w. Will ye be still. 1st w. The heroes, first, deceived us, craftily. With pretext of a hunt. The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 59' 3rd w. Thus much we knew. 4th w. Hast thou no more ? 2>T) w. Thou cease thv babblins^ talk. 1st av. But I, who saw them whispering in the gloom, Suspected some new plot : nor did my lord Converse of it, as was his wont, erewhile. When they design'd some exploit with the dawn. At night he would not sleep, but lay awake ; And yet he feign'd to sleep : and I, too, feign'd ; Alert for what should hap. And when the first Pale glimmer of the weak awakening light Broke soft athwart the chamber, noiselessly My lord arose j and put his armour on j 60 The Sorroios of Hyjysipyle. And took the dog-skin helmet, and his spear, And lion-painted shield : and so stole out. Thus much I could distinguish, with keen ears; Yet durst not look, nor open my shut eyes. But quickly following, ere he could be lost, I watch'd him wandering in the doubtful gleam; Until, with unstay'd feet, he reach'd at last The fast-moor'd vessel in the quiet creek. ALL. Ha! Ha! 3ed w. And then ? 1st w. Then, near as it were wise. Crept I along by shadows of the cliff. And hid behind a jutting brow of rock, To watch what he would do. And he, my friends, Waited. And as I watch'd, I yearn'd to run, The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 61 To unbosom all I knew : but fear withheld. For one by one, with helmet, and with shield, The rest came, noiselessly, as he had come : And it was clear this was arranged before, ALL. Ha ! Ha ! And then ? 1st w. And I, if I had left The night-black shadow of the beetling hill : Or breathed too loud, or shriek'd ; should have been like Some easy prey the hunters, while their band Effectually enrings it, close upon. 3ed w. We ask not for thine history, Lemnian : Wilt thou omit what touches but thyself. 1st w. And when the last was come, and each beside 62 The Sorrows of IlypsipyLe. His oar lean'd glad, and Tiphys by the helm ; They launch'd not yet the craft, and only spoke A little, and that not loudly. 4th -w. Ah, me ! now ! What will she tell ? 2nd \v. Thou interrupt her not. But didst thou find what held them, linfrerina: thus? 1st w. I saw Hypsipyle come silently From Here's shrine upon the grassy hill. ALL. The queen ? The queen ? 3e,d w. But did she go with them ? Sawest thou ? The Sorrows of Hrjpsipyle, 63 1st w. She went not with them in the ship ; Nor (lid the priestess Heliodora go, Her father's brother's child, who came, beside. 3rd w. Him I, with joy, dismiss'd to Pluto's land. Why lurk'd the traitorous sisters by the bark ? Didst thou mark that, friend ? 1st w. Yea : they led with them An old frail man, with glittering locks of snow. 3ed w. Ha ! Ha ! Couldst thou think whom ? 1st w. I think it was Thoas, of old the king.— Why smile ye so ? 64 . The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. Is it so wondrous strange one foot should 'scape The crafty treacherous pit we dug for all ? And yet I know 'twas he. Sue w. Hear ! Lemnians ! Will ye forget ? Will ye forget ? 2nd w. Say on, Woman ; if there is more. 1st w. Receiving him With willing reverence, from the women's hands. They placed him in the ship. And these, awhile,— The women, — linger' d, weeping, as they watch'd The ship receding from the quiet shore. For now the morn grew bright. But I, forlorn, Clomb up the slippery cliff, to find you, friends. The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 65 Sue -sv. Away ! Away ! Snatch up the glittering axe ! Set the wild torch aflame ! Let us be gone ! 2nd w. Whither, alas ! unhappy ! will ye go ? There is enough blood spilt, to be avenged Upon the isle : even now the doom is come. Where will ye go ? Ah, spare the queen, just Heaven ! Who has been thus false to us, because too true ! SCENE VIII. ATTENDANTS. /^ QUEEN, what news comes now, of what ill- hap? We see the old nurse hastening hitherward, With a bewilder'd look and hair unbound. HYPSIPYLE. Bring-s she the child with her ? ATT. We think, not so. HYP. — It is not yet near noon : is there more loss ? Can one morn hold more sorrow ? But she brings News of the ship, mayhap. — Nurse, ah, me ! now ? NURSE. Handmaidens, lead me to the queen, I pray. The Sorroios of Hypsipyle. 67 See, here am I : but wherefore hiest thou, nurse, With such strange haste, and with a cheek so pale ? And is my child, the little Euneus, safe ? NUK. Ah, me ! HYP. Canst thou not speak? What harms the boy / Doest thou so well to leave the child alone ? Wilt thou not speak ? See, quickly, handmaidens, Sustain the unhappy nurse, for she will faint. O my poor heart, why dost thou cease to beat, As with some strange foreknowledge? — Who are ye, Pressing, with such rude haste, unmannerly, Within the chamber of a royal queen ? OTHEB ATT. O noble lady, Hypsipyle, beside The porphyry fountain, by the outer gate. 68 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. The Leinnians, wildly shrieking, seized the nurse. And she, with struggling terror, snatch'd away The remnant of her life : but him they took : And, — ah, me, woe ! who could behold the sight ?- But he is dead, O queen : the child is dead. HYP. Ye would betray me, friends : why would ye do ? What have I done, ye should deceive me thus ? What Lemnians, shrieking wildly, stand without ? The women would not hurt the prince they love. The child? the child? the little Euneus? dead? OTH. ATT. O queen, this is heaven's truth ! HYP. Do ye believe This tale, handmaidens ? Think ye, I could stand. And hear it, and not weep, if it were true ? The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 69 OTHER ATT, The gates, we barr'd in haste, they cleave away With many a glittering axe ; and all the roof Flames in the wind ; and we are doom'd. — O flee ! HYP. What means this rout ?— Now, think that I am dead. Upon the seat his mother held, erewhile, There sits the child. He is not weak, — he, friends. He nods with his bright head, and they will come, And they will go ; and do what he will bid ; And never fret, nor rise up in revolt : But he can rule them with a look, — my son. ATT, Hear ye the shouts approaching ? Flee, O queen ! HYP. Is it the night? Mark I not even one star ? Joy, like the sun at noon, shone once ! and then — 70 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. Declined, declined ! till but a flickering haze Of twilight linger'd. Can this be deep night ? What is this sudden fear, which scares ye all ? Flee ye, then, faithful ones : for why should ye Die, too ? I will go weep. ATT. Alas ! poor queen ! She knows not what she does : she will be lost. There is no help for her but these slow tears. The baffled hind so weeps, whose wound is death. Let us not go with her. 3ed woman. What do ye here*? Have ye conceal'd her, with your guilty looks? Will ye not answer? Will ye die with her? Speak ! speak ! or ye shall tend her soul, — by heaven ! — On its sweet journey to the blessed fields ! The Sorroics of Hypsipyle. 71 ATT. Alas ! alas ! she is within ! 3rd w. Away ! Haste we to find her, Lemnians, true hearts, Avengers of her guilt, through fire, through smoke. ATT. Now they are gone within : her end is come. The torches, brandish'd in such murdering hands, Flash'd with less fierce a light than their wild eyes. O handmaidens, Megaera would have blush'd, Abash'd, beholding them. Let us be gone. Like hell the fierce flames hiss : it is too late. Without the gates, O sisters ; lest we die. 3rd w. Ye gods, we breathe again ! Yet it is much We 'scaped, — O huddled troop, that cower without. 72 The borrows of Hypsipyle. Like sheep whose fold the hungry wolf has found ! For ere we reach'd her secret sanctuary, The blazing roofs crash'd ruin down, and fell. Then we fled fast away. And some have lost, In this just cause, their life. But she is doom'd. Now will she need no funeral pyre, I think. ATT. How had she sinn'd, that ye, with such mad haste, Have, in an hour, wrought what slow years should do? ' 4th w. Long since she took the oath : and if the king Had died, it had been well : then she had lived. But she was false, and hid him treacherously : And with the priestesses of Here's shrine, In secret harbour, since the baleful day, He has been safe. How could she lead him, friends, Unmark'd by us ? Now he is past our i each. The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 73 For he is wandering with the crafty guests, Who, — as ye knew ? Knew ye not this ? — are fled. Toward Melitis, and Imbros' beetling cliffs, Their strong oars cleave the unregarding wave. 3rd w. Whom may the grim sea-dragons, without ruth, With net-like slippery feet, whose blood is cold, Drag deep to some rock fastness, and devour. But her a fit fate took, who leagued with them. ATT. O Aphrodite, bitter cause of all ! Wilt thou be glad for this ?— See, 'tis thy work. PART 11. SCENE I. KEKEIDS. 1. '^yEATH sea-wet tresses our bosoms wholly Heave for pity and melancholy. For those who suffer, for those who die :— NEB. 2. Mystic dances and music fashion ; A song for sorrow, and mortal passion ; O'erroof d with billows, that sigh and sigh. NER. 1. O bright Apollo, their lorn eyes folloAv Thy fiery way o'er hill and hollow : Their night is sadder than day's a gain :— NEE. 2. In every urn the partial Hours 78 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. Mingle blossoms of poison-flowers ; And some for pleasure, but more for pain. NER. 1. Their youth is sunny : it dwells with laughter : But who can fathom the sorrows after ? Young rills are merry, but sea-ward flow : — NER. 2. O love's a wonder, like fruit-tree shaken : But fruits are gather'd, and hearts forsaken : Their now is bitter for long ago. NER. 1. Ah, weep for smiling, if tears stay longer ! Ah, weep for loving, if hate is stronger ! For eyes that glisten, if eyelids fall ! — NEE. 2. And friendship sickens if kisses sever ; And life is little, and death for ever : Their trust's a dreaming, their hope is gall. The Sorrows of Hrjpsipyle. 79 NEE. 1. Wrinkled brows for a queenly palace : Wolfsbane wreath for a festal chalice : Tears for pearls for a breast's snow-white :— NER. 2. Husband's love, for a boon to sadden : Mother's milk for a drink to madden : Widow's wail for a bridal night. NER. 1. Who would blossoms, if fruit is rotten ? Their lips are bitter with bloom forgotten: Their hearts are sullen for joys unborn : — NER. 2. Their sunbeams dazzle but at sunsetting : And gods are niggard, or else forgetting The men they fashion' d, to leave forlorn. SCENE II. HELTODORA. Til T'E saw thee launch the little venturous boat, Aglaia, by the far-off promontory ; Sitting upon the temple steps at dusk, To catch the waning splendour of the sun : We watch'd thee glide, a tiny speck at first, Nearer and nearer, coasting by the shore : We knew that it was thou, and we were glad. AGLAIA. I could not tame my restless will to let The favouring hour go by. The gentle sea Scarce rippled. The mild air, the glimmering light. And heavenly stillness, tempted me to come, To greet yon, Heliodora. And I long The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 81 To hear the truth of the ill-starr'd reports, Touching the old king Thoas, and the queen. HEL. Our white-hair'd guest, as thou hast heard with truth, — So rumour, doubtless, trumpets in thine ear, — Is fled this many a day. And we can tell, No more than thou canst, whither he is gone. But this we know, — 'twas with a friendly crew. But she, by hapless fortune, as they say, Unpitied, unbefriended, is undone ; Oerwhelm'd 'neath blazing rafters, in the house Which blcss'd her once, when youth with hope iaucfh'd crown'd. AGL. Alas ! alas ! the unhappy child ! ah, me ! She has borne infinite sorrows, more than fall To unblest women's lot ; though they must bear G 82 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. Much sorrow, and hard to utter, in this world. Child, queen, wife, mother, — and, in each, forlorn. HEL. The immortals, on their everlasting thrones, Have order'dall thinfjs well: thou knovvest: thou knowest. AGL. I know it, — but with half-knowledge : it is hard To read the riddles of the heavenly Ones. Dark and inscrutable to me are their ways. Strong, as the solemn hills, their judgments stand ; Yet, like the unfathom'd deep, them none can sound. HEL. But wilt thou come within ; the air grows chill ; And thou shalt look upon a sight for tears. AGL. Lurks here more grief behind ? Will sorrow take Some new strange fashion yet? Shall we no more The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 83 Find ease from weeping? Is it not enough, Heliodora, is it not enough, To have seen, — ah, me, the day ! — her wretched end ? HEL. Aglaia, sweet heart's-sister, wilt thou come ? AGL. Thou leadest me, with hush'd feet, to the moon-stil[ White chambers of the virgins. Thy deft hand Draws stealthily the hiding veil away, 'Neath which none pass but Here's holy ones. HEL. 'Tis here: 'tis here: seest thou? AGL. What is it I see ? What woman, on the unruffled couch, asleep. Lies here, beneath the snow-white coverlet? Her smooth locks touch her feet, in hue and gloss 84 The Sorrows of H7jpsipyle. Like tide-left reaches of the amber sand ; And her sad cheeks are lean, and colourless As faded rose-leaves are ; which Autumn takes, In melancholy pity, with a touch. And all the soft flesh is consumed and shrunk. And weird blue shadows hover sorrowfully Around her eyes, where weary eyelids lie. HEL. She has drunk deeply, as thou niayest believe, Of sorrow's poison'd cup. But is she not Beautiful, slumbering in the quiet gloom ? AGL. Even as a twilight cloud, which broods above The pale-hued sea, when o'erspent storms are still Or sun-kiss'd snow upon Olympus' brow. Even when the gold is faded, and 'tis white. But who is she, who is she, gathering here Her wings together, like a weary dove. The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 85 Heliodora ? For this is to me A wonder. Beauteous stranger, fi'om what land Bringeth she hither the long golden hair ? Has some ship left her sick, which pass'd our coast ; On its return to look for her again ? HEL. Whom thinkest thou ? Whom ? Aglaia ? Fanciest thou That this can be Hypsipyle, our queen ? AGL. Is she not dead ? Does she not wander now In the elysian meadows, and at peace. Mid asphodels ? Can sorrow reach her still ? HEL. If this be she,— and, as I think, 'tis she, — She lives, Aglaia. Mark, her bosom heaves Evenly, with the life that moves within. 86 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. AGL. Resolve me, Heliodora, this surprise. HEL. She, on the ill-fated day, from room to room Goaded by dizzying grief and wild-eyed fear, 'Scaped the involving flames and crashing fall Of carven beams, and many a gilded roof; And did not perish, as her foes surmised : And, hurrying frantically, did not lose Her clearer reason wholly : for she bent Her will and strength to prove the escape she knew. And gain'd the wandering passage underground. By this she led the unfriended king of old. And so her feet, along the blinding dark, Groped hitherward, and found us. She would heed No questioning words, nor know us, nor be ruled ; But rush'd, — like lo, ere her happier change, When Zeus restored the woman her first grace^ — The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 87 Hither and thither, frenzied with her woe : Calling on lost lason, and her sire ; But most of all, — ah, pity ! — upon the child. Then, — picturing quick the little quivering limbs, The innocent hands, crush'd feet, — with a wild cry, She pray'd the avenging Furies to o'erwhelm' The unhappy perpetrators of the deed : And seem'd a fury, and unlike the queen. Then she would fiercely pluck, and twist, and knot. Her wandering hair, dishevell'd with her haste ; And rend her beautiful white breasts of snow; And bite the swan-clear flesh of her two arms ; Until the red blood oozed from them, and dropp'd Upon the marble floor, a ghastly dream : Then, ever in extremes, sob like a child. Crouching, in huddled misery, on the ground. And we, bewilder'd, could but weep with her ; Availing nought to check her : till her strength Fail'd, like a dying storm, when winds grow mild. Then mostly still she lay, on her sick couch, 88 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. Long days of tedious fever. But at times, With hurt cry, shuddering, like a wounded bird, She would be restless with the haunting flight Of trailing clouds of woe, in her dark mind ; Struggling with us, who held her. She has lain, — The dangerous crisis of the fever pass'd, — Three days, recovering, as we trust. She keeps This eve a healthier sleep ; and, hour by hour. We watch, hope-buoy'd, praying she may be heal'd. But sister, kind Aglaia, let us leave The slumberer now; lest the still wings of sleep Be flutter'd, even with whispers, though so low. AGL. O sight, unhappy, and happy ! My cheek burns To touch, my lip to kiss, the unclouded brow. Reluctantly I yield, I yield, my friend ; Loving to ponder the sweet face awhile ; Wondering at, and wishing to behold. The unearthly light beneath the pale lids seal'd. The Sorroios of Hypsipyle. 89 SCENE III. AGLAIA. T HE queen awakes : sisters, awhile be still. HTPSIPYXE. 7 Is the night spent, and is it day so soon I was most sick and weary : I have slept A long time, Heliodora: the bright sun Peers with a taunting face into my room. HELIODOEA. She knows me ! see ! she knows me ! — You awake Out of a long sleep, lady Hypsipyle. HYP. But who is this, who leans beside my couch, 90 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. With braided black locks, like the raven's plume ? I seem not to remember her, dear friends. HEL. Still is she, O queen, a stranger : she is named Aglaia, amid our maiden sisterhood. HYP. Heliodora, I have had sweet dreams. For I was sitting at the feet of her That bore me, — Iphianassa,-^as she watch'd The chattering maidens busy at the loom : And then my father, entering from the hunt, Kiss'd me, and set me up upon his knee. And bending o'er their toil, he wonder'd at The richly-work'd embroidery, where they wrought His mother, Ariadne, who was dead. Upon the couch she lay, as lilies lie On some still lake, or cloud upon the hill. The Sorrows of Hyjjsipyle. 91 Her white breasts, bared to the soft winds of heaven, Heaved peacefully in sleep ; without a guess That love, once clasp'd, could treacherously take wing : While Theseus softly from the chamber stole, On tip-toe, glancing back. — What is it I hear ? HEL. We hear no sound, but the meandering brook, Babbling beneath the willows, in the grove : Unless thou catch the sacred cuckoo's note, That chants her love-chant on the hidden bough. HYP. Why should I dream, Aglaia, — for my heart Trusts you already for the fondling hand. Laid intertwined with mine, — why should I dream Of Iphianassa ? For I know she waits Lonely, in pale Persephone's dull realm. 92 The Sorrows of Hijpsipyle. And Thoas sail'd but yestermorn away, In the long ship. lason, too, is gone. I were alone, had they not left to me The little Euneus, and your love, dear friends. HEL. Wouldst thou be glad to look upon the child ? HYP. If he is sleeping, do not wake him yet. And bid the crazy nurse rebind her hair With trustier knots, which wanders loose and wild. AGL. Her eyes are closing : she will sleep again. HEL. And 'tis most well : lest reason dawn too soon. The Sorroics of Hypsipjle. 93 SCENE IV. "13 OUND one crag still, then we have gain'd the glen ; Sweetest of glens in Lemnos : here the brook Widens awhile, and runs more gently on. There !— 'Neath yon poplars, where the grass grows long, Hide daffodils. Iphissa, tire not yet. IPHISSA. Sweet ^gle, well : then, you must rest content. What heart once hoped our gentle queen could live ? IPH. Yet death long since has skulk'd from her sick couch : <'i 94 TJie Sorrows of Hypsipyle. Rose tints will paint her hueless cheek again. While oft she sits, beneath the porch, at noon, Watching the smooth-wing'd swallows go and come; Hearing the waves' soft rippling, vague and strange ; Those two kind fostering leeches, sun and wind, Bring her sweet health ; and soon she will be strong. I love to please this whim she takes for flowers. IPH. Dost thou recall, dear child ? She used to have Grief-clouded looks, sad melancholy brows : But now she notes quaint leaves, a weed, some worm ; A beetle travelling up red myrtle spray ; Faint cicale-chirp : her sense is grown so quick. ^GL. Now she forgets the unlovely days outworn. Tlte Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 95 —Soft ! soft ! Iphissa ! lest vour light foot crush These violets : — O sweet scent ! — Dull sickness smoothes Past griefs' keen edge, as mists the sharp hill-tops. Thus oft you mark grey evening vapour curl, Wreath after wreath, in some grim-cloven ravine ; Till you could fancy it a quiet bay. Can she forget ? — See ! I have stolen them all ! These, blue as her soft eyes ; these, virgin Avhite ; These, purple like the rocks the last light paints. I would we roam'd green Thasos : I should find Sweet-scented rushes, and low galingale, And creeping lotus, which the bees love well. Does she forget, thou thinkest ? — her sire ? her child ? Nay, nay: scarce so. Vague-shaped, bewildering •thoutrhts Rise, like frail vapours in a storm's grim van : 96 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. Yet quickly melt, and pass. I have beheld Her eyes fix absently, her lean cheek flush : — There goes a stray white halcyon from the sea ! — Then, if one speak, the unbidden guests are gone. Rest here awhile, by this clear spring, which wells Up, through soft moss, the cypress' shade makes cool; While I entwine into a wreath for her These golden-hearted lilies, moist and white. The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 97 SCENE V. HTPSrPYLE. ^T^HE keen air makes me faint : and yet, I think, 'Tis sweet to wander on the glittering shore. Here, after sad sick days, to breathe anew Tlie odorous air ; and welcome once again, On face, and fluttering bosom, and lean hands, The softly-fanning wind and genial sun ; Beguiles ray weak heart with a strange delight. Sweet from the slopes comes perfume of wild thyme : Shore-loving myrtles stretch green hands to me ; And humming bees drone music in mine ear. It makes the past seem like a dream, and all The hopeless longings and unheal'd regrets Are soothed to gentle memories for a while. H 98 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. And all the hovering sorrows, that will come Like vultures, when they settle, seem far off. I am almost happy, I ! How can it be ? NEREIDS. O snake of grief, laid slumbering Among the lilies of her breast's snow, Awake not yet, awake not yet, The gentlest tremor of regret; But let the innocent hurt thing In joy a little while forget The griefs of long ago. HYP. Where can the old man be ? In some bright isle, Where danger lurks not, sitting in the sun : Mid flickering shadows of the vines, which make A happier harbour than our rocky shore. With tenderest love, and pity for his woes. The new-found friends, I think it, shield him well. The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 99 lason, in the long-beak'd ship, has sail'd By many a shore and windy sea ere now. NEE. She sees not the black ship afar, Sailinof toward this Lone isle, pitied by sun and star, From Thracian Melitis. Nor, if she saw it, would she surmise Who comes, dra vn hither by her sweet eyes. HYP. Will he come ever again ? Do I but dream ? Or will he seek me, in some strange disguise? Surely he will be sad to look on me. His lorn, lost child! Him I would clasp again With these weak arms, — ah, me ! — before I die ! For I believe that I shall die ere long. At least disguises will not me deceive, For I shall know him underneath them all. 100 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle, But may the gods forbid the treacherous news Of me should reach him in his sheltering home. Then he would pine with unconsoled despair ; And welcome death's quick foot ; and never think His poor child waited, with wet eyes, in vain. NER. Will she look on the tiny cloud, The little cloud the sailors fear, Blowing hither, as dark as night : Which trails its blackness like a shroud, And creeps, with stealthy movement, near ; And blots the sultry light ? HYP. But thou, kind heaven, in this leave me forlorn : And never, hearkening to his prayer, restore lason. Blushing red, for shame, could I, — Remembering that wild oracle of old, — Listen, and hear him asking for his child. The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 101 To look upon him with a father's eyes ? And who would shield the unhappy women then From his fierce anjier and a wretched end? Why am I here ? Why am I here ? Ah, woe ! NEE. Nereus' children, Doris bore, In pale sea-caves, in the motionless Deep, with coral-paven floor, Is she not a noble heart, The hapless Lemnians to bless ; Pitying, whom she might have cursed ? Whom, no doubt, despair, in part, Fiercely madden'd at the first. Wind-wild sisters, whose bright locks Float like weeds on wave-beat rocks, What is this, — can ye descry Doubtful trouble in her eye ? HYP. He will return ! He will return ! Ah, me ! Ah, kind sea, hide me, 'neath your waves, away ! 102 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. NER. See, how a sudden thought Makes, with a little strain. Strange discord in her brain, That has been overwrought. HYP. What if his ship have touch'd the Colchian land, And they have stow'd away the glittering prize ? What if, already, on the homeward track, The quivering oars row glad ; their longing eyes Wide-strain'd toward Lemnos ? Whither shall I flee? At least, at least, he must not find me here ! NEK. Nereids, lily-wristed, With lilies round your brow. Mid wave-green leaflets twisted, What would the child do now ? The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 103 HYP. What ship comes steering hither, — and will it sail To westward of the isle, and hear me call ? Would it would hear, would it would mark me now, And snatch me, with its rescuing arms, away I NER. White-foot sisters, look with me How she rushes along the sands ; Wetting her feet in the heedless sea ! She is beautiful, as she stands, Stretching in vain, in her eagerness, White arms made to clasp and to bless, And fleshless trembling hands. What would she ? What would she now ? She can see the waves break round The motion of the far-off prow ; But she cannot hear their sound. 104 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. See ye, see ye, she has found The tiny boat, on the pebbled beach ! Surely it is a wild mad hope, For some succour, out of reach ! She unfastens the little rope ! Ah, me, woe ! ah, me, woe ! O'er the billow will she go ? Like a river underground. Hears she not the winds grow loud ? How they mutter, sisters, — hark !- With a vague mysterious sound ! With the elemental strife Red light quivers in the cloud ; While the heavens are still and dark. She has trusted her sweet life Madly to so frail a bark. She is drifting, away, away ! They will not see her ! — woe, the day ! The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 105 Foam-born sisters, whose green hair Shines with many an amber gem ; She was true as she was fair : Mortals took of her no care ; — Made too exquisite for them. She will weep and sigh no more. Lay the body on the brink Of their brook ; and they will think, While their breasts with anguish bleed, Like a wreck, or like a weed, Waves have toss'd her on the shore. 106 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. t SCENE VI. HELIODOBA. T T THAT is it ye say ? what say ye? priestesses? Did we not leave her sitting in the grove, Upon the bench he loved ? This is most strange. PRIESTESSES. Thither we ran, to find her, at the first. We sought her in the accustomed spots ; we call'd Her name, above the fury of the wind. The ilex-darken'd grotto's sheltering gloom Conceal'd her not ; and we could hear no sound. HEL. What, has she wander' d, with a wandering mind, Lured by the mystic muttering of the sea ; And is she crouching underneath some cliff, The Sorroivs of Hypsipyle. 107 Beat with the rain, like a lone flower, forlorn ? Or has the ruthless courier of grim death, From hell-black bosom of a stormy cloud, Slain her with light-swift dart ? But will ye haste, This way and that, to find her ? Will ye bi ing The poor child hither ! — Away ! — Will ye be gone ! Nor linger, shuddering, with your frighten'd eyes, Poor-spirited ! fearing the storm ! ah, me ! 108 The Sorroivs of Hypsipyle. w SCENE VII. rPHICI-ES. E two were well-nigh given, a pleasant food. To slimy monsters of the deep, my friend. THOAS. 'Twas black as midnight, when the stars are blind Weeping, behind dull mists, lost Artemis. How suddenly the overwhelming storm swept down; And pass'd as quickly as it came ! 'Twas well The skirts of darkness wrapt us in their folds. The cruel miscall'd-women of the isle Would not behold us hovering by their shore. IPH. The sailors guard our vessel. I perceive The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 109 E'en now the little sheltering shrine is near. These green and tree-clad slopes, mid which it lurks, Seem half a wonder on this rocky strand. But art thou still resolved ? Wilt thou not dread To imperil this dear hope, thine only one ? THO. Since, as thou knowest, the rumour of the fate, That took my grandchild Euneus, reach'd us all, — The fate that left charr'd ruins, and such wreck Of desolation, where arose the home In which my fresh youth laugh'd, my old age smiled, — Me one hope cheers, a solitary one, — As thou well say est, — that she survived the hour. IPH. Wilt thou not spare it, then ? 'Tis well to keep That which we have ; and not to venture all. Even if we look to compass more than all. 110 The Sorroios of Hypsipyle. THO. Trembling to think, I must resolve my doubt. For who lives still — if, as we dare surmise, She breathes, — save me, to baffle her great woe ? And canst thou truly call the hope a hope, O'er which this sword of fear hangs by a hair ? IPH. Seest thou the white-robed priestess, as she steps To meet us, from the porch ? It is too late. ).- THO. Ask thou : my heart would fail me. I will seem A stranger at the first. Thou speak with her. IPH. Priestess of Here, shall we seek in vain Hypsipyle, the queen, in this sad isle ? HELIODOEA. Have ye not heard the mournful news? The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. Ill THO. Ah, me ! IPH. We heard wild rumours that her foot had pass'd O'er Lethe wave, but doubted of their truth ; Skill'd in the mystery of the hidden way, By which the unhappy and grief-laden queen AVas wont to visit your sweet home of old. HEL. Ah, whence come ye ? Who are ye ? that ye know This truth? — An, me ! Whom do I look upon, \Vith white hair vainly hid ? 'Tis he ! 'Tis he ! THO. Yield us, at least, this answer, — if she lives. HEL. Come, then, with me : ye shall behold her, friends : Even if it be ye look on her no more. 112 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. THO. What speaks she, with strange lips, oracular, And ominous eyes of sorrow ? But the child Lives still : we shall behold her. HEL. Will ye come ? IPH. The long-robed handmaidens, why do they stand Around the foot of the white couch we see ; With drooping eyebrows, sadly? Willow boughs So lean, so droop, above the brook they love. HEL. Alas ! poor king ! why hast thou found her here ? For thou, at least, wilt scarce be comforted To look on her still face, upon the couch. In her last sleep. But will ye stand aside, And let the strangers keep your watch awhile ? The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 113 AGLAIA. Ah, me, friends, look ! how the old man has thrown His arms about the neck of the dead queen ! HEL. O sister, let the white head rest to-day Upon the cold breast of his child once more. rPH. So leave him : it is better so. So let The pent-up anguish of his grief have way : To ease the o'erflooded heart, which else would break, Like river-dams at high flood-tide. But thou. Unfold the story of her hapless end. HEL. The sudden storm o'ertook her, as we think, Wandering, her mind perplex'd, upon the shore. For on the beach they found her, like a pearl, I 114 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. Unprized. The ruthless-hearted, hungry sea Must stealthily have seized her, and engulph'd Her helpless beauty in his briny wave ; Then cast her, weary of the lifeless toy. Upon the foam-besprinkled marge again. As yet, as yet, we have not combed away The yellow sand from her long locks adrip. AGL. The old man stirs not. Stranger, wilt not thou Speak to him, and lift him gently ? For I fear For this great woe. IPH. Speak, Thoas ! Wilt thou speak ? AGL. He answers not. IPH. Speak, Thoas ! Hearest thou ? The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. 115 HEL. He answers not : he hears not. AGL. Lift him, now, Quite gently. — See ! HEL. His tearless eyes are closed ! IPH. O priestesses ! O women, known before For pitying hearts ! O sad sight to behold ! The last dark messenger of lingering fate. The gods bid down to mortals from their heaven, Has been with him, and pass'd by us, unseen. HEL. Lay one veil o'er them both : — be still ! be still ! Who shall fore-read, or impiously arraign. The scroll the everlasting Fates have writ 1 116 The Sorrows of Hypsipyle. With ashes minorlino: in the selfsame urn, They two shall rest. She, like a blighted flower, At whose white root the unpitying worm has gnaw'd, Is wither'd, ere her prime, too soon ! too soon ! Tears are not here misplaced. But can ye think It would have been so well for him to stay, A sapless trunk, the tempest has outworn ? THE END. cuisvviCK press: — printed By whittingham and wilkins, TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE. Also, by the same Author. PICTURES, AND OTHER POEMS. Fcap. 8vo. 5s. " Of the poetry of Mr. Ashe we have heretofore spoken with hopeful praise. He now paints for us the latest of mythological stories with a consistency and a minuteness of detail only found in writers who by their earnest im- agination translate themselves into the beings and the scenes which they describe. The true feeling of classic I song has been happily caught without strain or affecta- tion, — all the incidents of the poem being, so to speak, toned by that feeling as by a soft pure atmosphere." Athencewti. " It is a real pleasure to have to recommend to our readers such a specimen of pure, delicate, refined, and most elegant poetry as Mr. Ashe has given us under -the title of Pictures. Twice before Ave have met Mr. Ashe, and each occasion we like him better." — Literary CMirXih- man. ) " The name of Mr. Ashe is well known to lovers, of poetry, and in the present volume he more than maintams his reputation." — Reader. " We are pleasantly relieved from all apprehension as to the result of our examination of Mr. Ashe's ' Pictures,' by the specimen of his poetic genius upon the very first page of his book. His ' Pictures' which, in a series of word-painted scenes, depict In words of rare imagining the story of Eros and Psyche, are really beautiful, and are touched by a master hand ; nor are the minor pieces which, by the way, constitute the bulk of the volume, less beautiful in conception, or less elegant in expression than the series of designs which have given the title to the book." — St. James's Chronicle. London :— BELL and DALDY; 186, Fleet Street. L 007 225 704 1 r: if\? a^ jn UC SOUTHERN REGIONAL LIBRARY FACILITY AA 000 364 688 2 ^mi"^ % I