Atalanta in Calydon | Page 5

long shall this man see good days and live. And I with gathered raiment from the bed Sprang, and drew forth the brand, and cast on it Water, and trod the flame bare-foot, and crushed With naked hand spark beaten out of spark And blew against and quenched it; for I said, These are the most high Fates that dwell with us, And we find favour a little in their sight, A little, and more we miss of, and much time Foils us; howbeit they have pitied me, O son, And thee most piteous, thee a tenderer thing Than any flower of fleshly seed alive. Wherefore I kissed and hid him with my hands, And covered under arms and hair, and wept, And feared to touch him with my tears, and laughed; So light a thing was this man, grown so great Men cast their heads back, seeing against the sun Blaze the armed man carven on his shield, and hear The laughter of little bells along the brace Ring, as birds singing or flutes blown, and watch, High up, the cloven shadow of either plume Divide the bright light of the brass, and make His helmet as a windy and wintering moon Seen through blown cloud and plume-like drift, when ships Drive, and men strive with all the sea, and oars Break, and the beaks dip under, drinking death; Yet was he then but a span long, and moaned With inarticulate mouth inseparate words, And with blind lips and fingers wrung my breast Hard, and thrust out with foolish hands and feet, Murmuring; but those grey women with bound hair Who fright the gods frighted not him; he laughed Seeing them, and pushed out hands to feel and haul Distaff and thread, intangible; but they Passed, and I hid the brand, and in my heart Laughed likewise, having all my will of heaven. But now I know not if to left or right The gods have drawn us hither; for again I dreamt, and saw the black brand burst on fire As a branch bursts in flower, and saw the flame Fade flower-wise, and Death came and with dry lips Blew the charred ash into my breast; and Love Trampled the ember and crushed it with swift feet This I have also at heart; that not for me, Not for me only or son of mine, O girls, The gods have wrought life, and desire of life, Heart's love and heart's division; but for all There shines one sun and one wind blows till night. And when night comes the wind sinks and the sun, And there is no light after, and no storm, But sleep and much forgetfulness of things. In such wise I gat knowledge of the gods Years hence, and heard high sayings of one most wise, Eurythemis my mother, who beheld With eyes alive and spake with lips of these As one on earth disfleshed and disallied From breath or blood corruptible; such gifts Time gave her, and an equal soul to these And equal face to all things, thus she said. But whatsoever intolerable or glad The swift hours weave and unweave, I go hence Full of mine own soul, perfect of myself, Toward mine and me sufficient; and what chance The gods cast lots for and shake out on us, That shall we take, and that much bear withal. And now, before these gather to the hunt, I will go arm my son and bring him forth, Lest love or some man's anger work him harm.
CHORUS.
Before the beginning of years There came to the making of man Time, with a gift of tears, Grief, with a glass that ran; Pleasure, with pain for leaven; Summer, with flowers that fell; Remembrance fallen from heaven, And madness risen from hell; Strength without hands to smite, Love that endures for a breath, Night, the shadow of light, And life, the shadow of death.
And the high gods took in hand Fire, and the falling of tears, And a measure of sliding sand From under the feet of the years, And froth and drift of the sea; And dust of the labouring earth; And bodies of things to be In the houses of death and of birth; And wrought with weeping and laughter, And fashioned with loathing and love, With life before and after And death beneath and above, For a day and a night and a morrow, That his strength might endure for a span With travail and heavy sorrow, The holy spirit of man.
From the winds of the north and the south They gathered as unto strife; They breathed upon his mouth, They filled his body with life; Eyesight and speech they wrought For the veils of the soul therein, A time for labour and thought,