There will be fire.

SEM. (_maidens_). Who shall be sent to fetch this fire for the king?

SEM. (_youths_). Shall we put forth in boats to reap, And shall the waves for harvest yield 790 The rootless flames that nimbly leap Upon their ever-shifting field?

SEM. (_maidens_). Or we in olive-groves go shake And beat the fruiting sprays, till all The silv'ry glitter which they make Beneath into our baskets fall?

SEM. (_youths_). To bind in sheaves and bear away The white unshafted darts of day?

SEM. (_maidens_). And from the shadow one by one Pick up the playful oes of sun? 800

SEM. (_youths_). Or wouldst thou mine a pa.s.sage deep Until the darksome fire is found, Which prisoned long in seething sleep Vexes the caverns underground?

SEM. (_maidens_). Or bid us join our palms perchance, To cup the slant and c.h.i.n.ked beam, Which mounting morn hath sent to dance Across our chamber while we dream?

SEM. (_youths_). Say whence and how shall we fetch this fire for the king?

Our hope is impatient of vain debating. 810

SEM. (_maidens_). My heart is stirred at the name of the wondrous thing, And trembles awaiting.

_ODE._

A coy inquisitive spirit, the spirit of wonder, Possesses the child in his cradle, when mortal things Are new, yet a varied surface and nothing under.

It busies the mind on trifles and toys and brings Her grasp from nearer to further, from smaller to greater, And slowly teaches flight to her fledgeling wings.

Where'er she flutters and falls surprises await her: She soars, and beauty's miracles open in sight, 820 The flowers and trees and beasts of the earth ; and later The skies of day, the moon and the stars of night; 'Neath which she scarcely venturing goes demurely, With mystery clad, in the awe of depth and height.

O happy for still unconscious, for ah ! how surely, How soon and surely will disenchantment come, When first to herself she boasts to walk securely, And drives the master spirit away from his home;

Seeing the marvellous things that make the morning Are marvels of every-day, familiar, and some 830 Have lost with use, like earthly robes, their adorning, As earthly joys the charm of a first delight, And some are fallen from awe to neglect and scorning; Until-- O tarry not long, dear needed sprite!

Till thou, though uninvited, with fancy returnest To hallow beauty and make the dull heart bright: To inhabit again thy gladdened kingdom in earnest; Wherein-- from the smile of beauty afar forecasting The pleasure of G.o.d, thou livest at peace and yearnest With wonder everlasting. 840

SECOND PART

_Re-enter from the palace_ INACHUS, _with_ ARGEIA _and_ IO.

_INACHUS._

That but a small and easy thing now seems, Which from my house when I came forth at noon A dream was and beyond the reach of man.

'Tis now a fancy of the will, a word, Liberty's lightest prize. Yet still as one Who loiters on the threshold of delight, Delaying pleasure for the love of pleasure, I dally--Come, Argeia, and share my triumph!

And set our daughter by thee; though her eyes Are young, there are no eyes this day so young 850 As shall forget this day--while one thing more I ask of thee; this evil, will it light On me or on my house or on mankind?

PR. Scarce on mankind, O Inachus, for Zeus A second time failing will not again Measure his spite against their better fate.

And now the terror, which awhile o'er Earth Its black wings spread, shall up to Heaven ascend And gnaw the tyrant's heart: for there is whispered A word gone forth to scare the mighty G.o.ds; 860 How one must soon be born, and born of men, Who shall drive out their impious host from heaven, And from their skyey dwellings rule mankind In truth and love. So scarce on man will fall This evil, nay, nor on thyself, O king; Thy name shall live an honoured name in Greece.

IN. Then on my house 'twill be. Know'st thou no more?

PR. Know I no more? Ay, if my purpose fail 'Tis not for lack of knowing: if I suffer, 'Tis not that poisonous fear hath slurred her task, 870 Or let brave resolution walk unarmed.

My ears are callous to the threats of Zeus, The direful penalties his oath hath laid On every good that I in heart and hand Am sworn to accomplish, and for all his threats, Lest their accomplishment should outrun mine, Am bound the more. Nay, nor his evil minions, Nor force, nor strength, shall bend me to his will.

_ARGEIA._

Alas, alas, what heavy words are these, That in the place of joy forbid your tongue, 880 That cloud and change his face, while desperate sorrow Sighs in his heart? I came to share a triumph: All is dismay and terror. What is this?

IN. True, wife, I spake of triumph, and I told thee The winter-withering hope of my whole life Has flower'd to-day in amaranth: what the hope Thou knowest, who hast shared; but the condition I told thee not and thou hast heard: this prophet, Who comes to bring us fire, hath said that Zeus Wills not the gift he brings, and will be wroth 890 With us that take it.

AR. O doleful change, I came In pious purpose, nay, I heard within The hymn to glorious Zeus: I rose and said, The mighty G.o.d now bends, he thrusts aside His heavenly supplicants to hear the prayer Of Inachus his servant; let him hear.

O let him turn away now lest he hear.

Nay, frown not on me; though a woman's voice That counsels is but heard impatiently, Yet by thy love, and by the sons I bare thee, 900 By this our daughter, our last ripening fruit, By our long happiness and hope of more, Hear me and let me speak.

IN. Well, wife, speak on.

AR. Thy voice forbids more than thy words invite: Yet say whence comes this stranger. Know'st thou not?

Yet whencesoe'er, if he but wish us well, He will not bound his kindness in a day.

Do nought in haste. Send now to Sicyon And fetch thy son Phoroneus, for his stake In this is more than thine, and he is wise. 910 'Twere well Phoroneus and aegialeus Were both here: maybe they would both refuse The strange conditions which this stranger brings.

Were we not happy too before he came?

Doth he not offer us unhappiness?

Bid him depart, and at some other time, When you have well considered, then return.

IN. 'Tis his conditions that we now shall hear.

AR. O hide them yet! Are there not tales enough Of what the wrathful G.o.ds have wrought on men? 920 Nay, 'twas this very fire thou now wouldst take, Which vain Salmoneus, son of aeolus, Made boast to have, and from his rattling car Threw up at heaven to mock the lightning. Him The thunderer stayed not to deride, but sent One blinding fork, that in the vacant sky Shook like a serpent's tongue, which is but seen In memory, and he was not, or for burial Rode with the ashes of his royal city Upon the whirlwind of the riven air. 930 And after him his brother Athamas, King of Orchomenos, in frenzy fell For Hera's wrath, and raving killed his son; And would have killed fair Ino, but that she fled Into the sea, preferring there to woo The choking waters, rather than that the arm Which had so oft embraced should do her wrong.

For which old crimes the G.o.ds yet unappeased Demand a sacrifice, and the king's son Dreads the priest's knife, and all the city mourns. 940 Or shall I say what shameful fury it was With which Poseidon smote Pasiphae, But for neglect of a recorded vow: Or how Actaeon fared of Artemis When he surprised her, most himself surprised: And even while he looked his boasted bow Fell from his hands, and through his veins there ran A strange oblivious trouble, darkening sense Till he knew nothing but a hideous fear Which bade him fly, and faster, as behind 950 He heard his hounds give tongue, that through the wood Were following, closing, caught him and tore him down.

And many more thus perished in their prime; Lycaon and his fifty sons, whom Zeus In their own house spied on, and unawares Watching at hand, from his disguise arose.

And overset the table where they sat Around their impious feast and slew them all: Alcyone and Ceyx, queen and king, Who for their arrogance were changed to birds: 960 And Cadmus now a serpent, once a king: And saddest Niobe, whom not the love Of Leto aught availed, when once her boast Went out, though all her crime was too much pride Of heaven's most precious gift, her children fair.

Six daughters had she, and six stalwart sons; But Leto bade her two destroy the twelve.

And somewhere now, among lone mountain rocks On Sipylus, where couch the nymphs at night Who dance all day by Achelous' stream, 970 The once proud mother lies, herself a rock, And in cold breast broods o'er the G.o.ddess' wrong.

IN. Now hush thy fear. See how thou tremblest still.

Or if thou fear, fear pa.s.sion; for the freshes Of tenderness and motherly love will drown The eye of judgment: yet, since even excess Of the soft quality fits woman well, I praise thee; nor would ask thee less to aid With counsel, than in love to share my choice.

Tho' weak thy hands to poise, thine eye may mark 980 This balance, how the good of all outweighs The good of one or two, though these be us.

Let not reluctance shame the sacrifice Which in another thou wert first to praise.

AR. Alas for me, for thee and for our children, Who, being our being, having all our having, If they fare ill, our pride lies in the dust.

IN. O deem not a man's children are but those Out of his loins engendered--our spirit's love Hath such prolific consequence, that Virtue 990 Cometh of ancestry more pure than blood, And counts her seed as sand upon the sh.o.r.e.

Happy is he whose body's sons proclaim Their father's honour, but more blest to whom The world is dutiful, whose children spring Out of all nations, and whose pride the proud Rise to regenerate when they call him sire.

AR. Thus, husband, ever have I bought and buy n.o.bleness cheaply being linked with thee.

Forgive my weakness; see, I now am bold; 1000 Tell me the worst I'll hear and wish 'twere more.

IN. Retire--thy tears perchance may stir again.

AR. Nay, I am full of wonder and would hear.