Gay and lovely is earth, man's decorate dwelling; With fresh beauty ever varying hour to hour.

As now bathed in azure joy she awakeneth With bright morn to the sun's life-giving effluence, Or sunk into solemn darkness aneath the stars 60 In mysterious awe slumbereth out the night, Then from darkness again plunging again to day; Like dolphins in a swift herd that accompany Poseidon's chariot when he rebukes the waves.

But no country to me 'neath the enarching air Is fair as Sicily's flowery fruitful isle: Always lovely, whether winter adorn the hills With his silvery snow, or generous summer Outpour her heavy gold on the river-valleys.

Her rare beauty giveth gaiety unto man, 70 A delite dear to immortals.

2

And one season of all chiefly deliteth us, When fair Spring is afield. O happy is the Spring!

Now birds early arouse their pretty minstreling; Now down its rocky hill murmureth ev'ry rill; Now all bursteth anew, wantoning in the dew Their bells of bonny blue, their chalices honey'd.

Unkind frost is away; now sunny is the day; Now man thinketh aright, Life it is all delite.

Now maids playfully dance o'er enamel'd meadows, 80 And with goldy blossom deck forehead and bosom; While old Pan rollicketh thro' the budding shadows, Voicing his merry reed, laughing aloud to lead The echoes madly rejoicing.

3

We be Oceanids, Persephone's lovers, Who all came hurrying joyfully from the sea Ere daybreak to obey her beloved summons.

At her fancy to pluck these violets, lilies, Windflow'rs and daffodils, all for a festival Whereat she will adorn Zeuses honour'd banner. 90 And with Persephone there cometh Artemis And grave Pallas ... Hilloo! Already they approach!

Haste, haste! Stoop to gather! Seem busy ev'ryone!

Crowd all your wicker arcs with the meadow-lilies; Lest our disreverenc'd deity should rebuke The divine children of Ocean.

[_Enter_ ATHENA, PERSEPHONE, _and_ ARTEMIS. _Persephone has a basket half fill'd with gather'd flowers._]

_ATHENA._

These then are Enna's flowery fields, and here In midmost isle the garden of thy choice?

_PERSEPHONE._

Is not all as I promist? Feel ye not Your earthborn ecstasy concenter'd here? 100 Tell me, Athena, of thy wisdom, whence Cometh this joy of earth, this penetrant Palpitant exultation so unlike The balanc't calm of high Olympian state?

Is't in the air, the tinted atmosphere Whose gauzy veil, thrown on the hills, will paint Their features, changing with the gradual day, Rosy or azure, clouded now, and now Again afire? Or is it that the sun's Electric beams--which shot in circling fans 110 Whirl all things with them--as they strike the earth Excite her yearning heart, till stir'd beneath The rocks and silent plains, she cannot hold Her fond desires, but sends them bursting forth In scents and colour'd blossoms of the spring?-- Breathes it not in the flowers?

ATH. Fair are the flowers, Dear child; and yet to me far lovelier Than all their beauty is thy love for them.

Whate'er I love, I contemplate my love More than the object, and am so rejoic'd. 120 For life is one, and like a level sea Life's flood of joy. Thou wond'rest at the flowers, But I would teach thee wonder of thy wonder; Would shew thee beauty in the desert-sand, The worth of things unreckt of, and the truth That thy desire and love may spring of evil And ugliness, and that Earth's ecstasy May dwell in darkness also, in sorrow and tears.

PER. I'd not believe it: why then should we pluck The flowers and not the stalks without the flowers? 130 Or do thy stones breathe scent? Would not men laugh To see the banner of almighty Zeus Adorn'd with ragged roots and straws?--Dear Artemis, How lovest thou the flowers?

_ARTEMIS._

I'll love them better Ever for thy sake, Cora; but for me The joy of Earth is in the breath of life And animal motions: nor are flowery sweets Dear as the scent of life. His petal'd cup, What is it by the wild fawn's liquid eye Eloquent as love-music 'neath the moon? 140 Nay, not a flower in all thy garden here, Nor wer't a thousand-thousand-fold enhanc't In every charm, but thou wouldst turn from it To view the antler'd stag, that in the glade With the coy gaze of his majestic fear Faced thee a moment ere he turn'd to fly.

PER. But why, then, hunt and kill what thou so lovest?

AR. Dost thou not pluck thy flowers?

PER. 'Tis not the same.

Thy victims fly for life: they pant, they scream.

AR. Were they not mortal, sweet, I coud not kill them.

They kill each other in their l.u.s.t for life; 151 Nay, cruelly persecute their blemisht kin: And they that thus are exiled from the herd Slink heart-brok'n to sepulchral solitudes, Defenceless and dishonour'd; there to fall Prey to the hungry glutton of the cave, Or stand in mute pain lingering, till they drop In their last lair upon the ancestral bones.

PER. What is it that offends me?

ATH. 'Tis Pity, child, The mortal thought that clouds the brow of man 160 With dark reserve, or poisoning all delite Drives him upon his knees in tearful prayer To avert his momentary qualms: till Zeus At his reiterated plaint grows wrath, And burdens with fresh curse the curse of care.

And they that haunt with men are apt to take Infection of his mind: thy mighty mother Leans to his tenderness.

PER. How should man, dwelling On earth that is so gay, himself be sad?

Is not earth gay? Look on the sea, the sky, 170 The flowers!

ATH. 'Tis sad to him because 'tis gay.-- For whether he consider how the flowers, --Thy miracles of beauty above praise,-- Are wither'd in the moment of their glory, So that of all the mounting summer's wealth The show is chang'd each day, and each day dies, Of no more count in Nature's estimate Than crowded bubbles of the fighting foam: Or whether 'tis the sea, whose azure waves Play'd in the same infinity of motion 180 Ages ere he beheld it, and will play For ages after him;--alike 'tis sad To read how beauty dies and he must die.

PER. Were I a man, I would not worship thee, Thou cold essential wisdom. If, as thou say'st, Thought makes men sorrowful, why help his thought To quench enjoyment, who might else as I Revel among bright things, and feast his sense With beauty well-discern'd? Nay, why came ye To share my pastime? Ye love not the flowers. 190

ATH. Indeed I love thee, child; and love thy flowers,-- Nor less for loving wisely. All emotions, Whether of G.o.ds or men, all loves and pa.s.sions, Are of two kinds; they are either inform'd by wisdom, To reason obedient,--or they are unconducted, Flames of the burning life. The brutes of earth And Pan their master know these last; the first Are seen in me: betwixt the extremes there lie Innumerable alloys and all of evil.

PER. Nay, and I guess your purpose with me well: 200 I am a child, and ye would nurse me up A pupil in your school. I know ye twain Of all the immortals are at one in this; Ye wage of cold disdain a bitter feud With Aphrodite, and ye fear for me, Lest she should draw me to her wanton way.

Fear not: my party is taken. Hark! I'll tell What I have chosen, what mankind shall hold Devote and consecrate to me on earth: It is the flowers: but only among the flowers 210 Those that men love for beauty, scent, or hue, Having no other uses: I have found Demeter, my good mother, heeds them not.-- She loves vines, olives, orchards, 'the rich leas Of wheat, rye, barley, vetches, oats, and peas,[1]

But for the idle flowers she hath little care: She will resign them willingly. And think not, Thou wise Athena, I shall go unhonour'd, Or rank a meaner G.o.ddess unto man.

His spirit setteth beauty before wisdom, 220 Pleasures above necessities, and thus He ever adoreth flowers. Nor this I guess Where rich men only and superfluous kings Around their palaces reform the land To terraces and level lawns, whereon Appointed slaves are told, to tend and feed Lilies and roses and all rarest plants Fetch'd from all lands; that they--these lordly men-- 'Twixt flaunting avenues and wafted odours May pace in indolence: this is their bliss; 230 This first they do: and after, it may be, Within their garden set their academe:-- But in the poorest villages, around The meanest cottage, where no other solace Comforts the eye, some simple gaiety Of flowers in tended garden is seen; some pinks, Tulips, or crocuses that edge the path; Where oft at eve the grateful labourer Sits in his jasmin'd porch, and takes the sun: And even the children, that half-naked go, 240 Have posies in their hands, and of themselves Will choose a queen in whom to honour Spring, Dancing before her garlanded with may.

The cowslip makes them truant, they forget The hour of hunger and their homely feast So they may cull the delicate primrose, Sealing their birthright with the touch of beauty; With unconsider'd hecatombs a.s.suring Their dim sense of immortal mystery.-- Yea, rich and poor, from cradle unto grave 250 All men shall love me, shall adore my name, And heap my everlasting shrine with flowers.

ATH. Thou sayest rightly thou art a child. May Zeus Give thee a better province than thy thought.

[_Music heard._

AR. Listen! The nymphs are dancing. Let us go!

[_They move off._

Come, Cora; wilt thou learn a hunting dance?

I'll teach thee.

PER. Can I learn thy hunter-step Without thy bare legs and well-buskin'd feet?

AR. Give me thy hand.

PER. Stay! stay! I have left my flowers.

I follow. [_Exeunt Athena and Artemis._

[_Persephone returning to right slowly._

They understand not--Now, praise be to Zeus, 261 That, tho' I sprang not from his head, I know Something that Pallas knows not.

[_She has come to where her basket lies. In stooping towards it she kneels to pluck a flower: and then comes to sit on a bank with the basket in hand on her knees, facing the audience._]

Thou tiny flower!

Art thou not wise?

Who taught thee else, thou frail anemone, Thy starry notion, thy wind-wavering motion, Thy complex of chaste beauty, unimagin'd Till thou art seen?--And how so wisely, thou, Indifferent to the number of thy rays, 270 While others are so strict? This six-leaved tulip, --He would not risk a seventh for all his worth,-- He thought to attain unique magnificence By sheer simplicity--a pointed oval Bare on a stalk erect: and yet, grown old He will his young idea quite abandon, In his dishevel'd fury wantoning Beyond belief.... Some are four-leaved: this poppy Will have but four. He, like a hurried thief, Stuffs his rich silks into too small a bag-- 280 I think he watch'd a summer-b.u.t.terfly Creep out all crumpled from his winter-case, Trusting the sun to smooth his tender tissue And sleek the velvet of his painted wings:-- And so doth he.--Between such different schemes, Such widely varied loveliness, how choose?

Yet loving all, one should be most belov'd, Most intimately mine; to mortal men My emblem: tho' I never find in one The sum of all distinctions.--Rose were best: 290 But she is pa.s.sion's darling, and unkind To handle--set her by.--Choosing for odour, The violet were mine--men call her modest, Because she hides, and when in company Lacks manner and the a.s.sertive style of worth:-- While this narcissus here scorns modesty, Will stand up what she is, tho' something prim: Her scent, a saturation of one tone, Like her plain symmetry, leaves nought to fancy:-- Whereas this iris,--she outvieth man's 300 Excellent artistry; elaboration Confounded with simplicity, till none Can tell which sprang of which. Coud I but find A scented iris, I should be content: Yet men would call me proud: Iris is Pride.-- To-day I'll favour thee, sweet violet; Thou canst live in my bosom. I'll not wrong thee Wearing thee in Olympus.--Help! help! Ay me!