Atalanta in Calydon | Page 4

ye say, For all my sleep is turned
into a fire, And all my dreams to stuff that kindles it.
CHORUS.
Yet one doth well being patient of the gods.
ALTHAEA.
Yea, lest they smite us with some four-foot plague.
CHORUS.
But when time spreads find out some herb for it.
ALTHAEA.
And with their healing herbs infect our blood.
CHORUS.
What ails thee to be jealous of their ways?
ALTHAEA.
What if they give us poisonous drinks for wine?
CHORUS.
They have their will; much talking mends it not.
ALTHAEA.

And gall for milk, and cursing for a prayer?
CHORUS.
Have they not given life, and the end of life?
ALTHAEA.
Lo, where they heal, they help not; thus they do, They mock us with a
little piteousness, And we say prayers, and weep; but at the last,
Sparing awhile, they smite and spare no whit.
CHORUS.
Small praise man gets dispraising the high gods: What have they done
that thou dishonourest them?
ALTHAEA.
First Artemis for all this harried land I praise not; and for wasting of the
boar That mars with tooth and tusk and fiery feet Green pasturage and
the grace of standing corn And meadow and marsh with springs and
unblown leaves, Flocks and swift herds and all that bite sweet grass, I
praise her not, what things are these to praise?
CHORUS.
But when the king did sacrifice, and gave Each god fair dues of wheat
and blood and wine, Her not with bloodshed nor burnt-offering
Revered he, nor with salt or cloven cake; Wherefore being wroth she
plagued the land, but now Takes off from us fate and her heavy things.
Which deed of these twain were not good to praise? For a just deed
looks always either way With blameless eyes, and mercy is no fault.
ALTHAEA.
Yea, but a curse she hath sent above all these To hurt us where she
healed us; and hath lit Fire where the old fire went out, and where the
wind Slackened, hath blown on us with deadlier air.

CHORUS.
What storm is this that tightens all our sail?
ALTHAEA.
Love, a thwart sea-wind full of rain and foam.
CHORUS.
Whence blown, and born under what stormier star?
ALTHAEA.
Southward across Euenus from the sea.
CHORUS.
Thy speech turns toward Arcadia like blown wind.
ALTHAEA.
Sharp as the north sets when the snows are out.
CHORUS.
Nay, for this maiden hath no touch of love.
ALTHAEA.
I would she had sought in some cold gulf of sea Love, or in dens where
strange beasts lurk, or fire, Or snows on the extreme hills, or iron land
Where no spring is; I would she had sought therein And found, or ever
love had found her here.
CHORUS.
She is holier than all holy days or things, The sprinkled water or fume
of perfect fire; Chaste, dedicated to pure prayers, and filled With higher

thoughts than heaven; a maiden clean, Pure iron, fashioned for a sword,
and man She loves not; what should one such do with love?
ALTHAEA.
Look you, I speak not as one light of wit, But as a queen speaks, being
heart-vexed; for oft I hear my brothers wrangling in mid hall, And am
not moved; and my son chiding them, And these things nowise move
me, but I know Foolish and wise men must be to the end, And feed
myself with patience; but this most, This moves me, that for wise men
as for fools Love is one thing, an evil thing, and turns Choice words
and wisdom into fire and air. And in the end shall no joy come, but
grief, Sharp words and soul's division and fresh tears Flower-wise upon
the old root of tears brought forth, Fruit-wise upon the old flower of
tears sprung up, Pitiful sighs, and much regrafted pain. These things are
in my presage, and myself Am part of them and know not; but in
dreams The gods are heavy on me, and all the fates Shed fire across my
eyelids mixed with night, And burn me blind, and disilluminate My
sense of seeing, and my perspicuous soul Darken with vision; seeing I
see not, hear And hearing am not holpen, but mine eyes Stain many
tender broideries in the bed Drawn up about my face that I may weep
And the king wake not; and my brows and lips Tremble and sob in
sleeping, like swift flames That tremble, or water when it sobs with
heat Kindled from under; and my tears fill my breast And speck the fair
dyed pillows round the king With barren showers and salter than the
sea, Such dreams divide me dreaming; for long since I dreamed that out
of this my womb had sprung Fire and a firebrand; this was ere