The Poetical Works of Robert Bridges, Excluding the Eight Dramas. Bridges Robert

See then the accomplishment of all my hope: Rejoice, and think not to put off my crown. Dem. What hast thou seen below to reconcile thee To the dark moiety of thy strange fate? Per. Where have I been, mother? what have I seen? The downward pathway to the gates of death: 920 The skeleton of earthly being, stript Of all disguise: the sudden void of night: The spectral records of unwholesome fear:— Why was it given to me to see these things? The ruin'd godheads, disesteem'd, condemn'd To toil of deathless mockery: conquerors In the reverse of glory, doom'd to rule The multitudinous army of their crimes: The naked retribution of all wrong:— Why was it given to me to see such things? 930 Dem. Not without terror, as I think, thou speakest, Nor as one reconcil'd to brook return. Per. But since I have seen these things, with salt and fire My spirit is purged, and by this crystal crown Terror is tamed within me. If my words Seem'd to be tinged with terror, 'twas because{80} I knew one hour of terror (on the day That took me hence) and with that memory Colour'd my speech, using the terms which paint The blindfold fears of men, who little reckon 940 How they by holy innocence and love, By reverence and gentle lives may win A title to the fair Elysian fields, Where the good spirits dwell in ease and light And entertainment of those fair desires That made earth beautiful … brave souls that spent Their lives for liberty and truth, grave seers Whose vision conquer'd darkness, pious poets Whose words have won Apollo's deathless praise, Who all escape Hell's mysteries, nor come nigh 950 The Cave of Cacophysia. Dem. Mysteries! What mysteries are these? and what the Cave? Per. The mysteries of evil, and the cave Of blackness that obscures them. Even in hell The worst is hidden, and unfructuous night Stifles her essence in her truthless heart. Dem. What is the arch-falsity? I seek to know The mystery of evil. Hast thou seen it? Per. I have seen it. Coud I truly rule my kingdom Not having seen it? Dem. Tell me what it is. 960 Per. 'Tis not that I forget it; tho' the thought Is banisht from me. But 'tis like a dream Whose sense is an impression lacking words. Dem. If it would pain thee telling … Per. Nay, but surely The words of gods and men are names of things And thoughts accustom'd: but of things unknown And unimagin'd are no words at all. Dem. And yet will words sometimes outrun the thought. Per. What can be spoken is nothing: 'twere a path{81} That leading t'ward some prospect ne'er arrived. 970 Dem. The more thou holdest back, the more I long. Per. The outward aspect only mocks my words. Dem. Yet what is outward easy is to tell. Per. Something is possible. This cavern lies In very midmost of deep-hollow'd hell. O'er its torn mouth the black Plutonic rock Is split in sharp disorder'd pinnacles And broken ledges, whereon sit, like apes Upon a wither'd tree, the hideous sins Of all the world: once having seen within 980 The magnetism is heavy on them, and they crawl Palsied with filthy thought upon the peaks; Or, squatting thro' long ages, have become Rooted like plants into the griping clefts: And there they pullulate, and moan, and strew The rock with fragments of their mildew'd growth. Dem. Cora, my child! and hast thou seen these things! Per. Nay but the outward aspect, figur'd thus In mere material loathsomeness, is nought Beside the mystery that is hid within. 990 Dem. Search thou for words, I pray, somewhat to tell. Per. Are there not matters past the thought of men Or gods to know? Dem. Thou meanest wherefore things Should be at all? Or, if they be, why thus, As hot, cold, hard and soft: and wherefore Zeus Had but two brothers; why the stars of heaven Are so innumerable, constellated Just as they are; or why this Sicily Should be three-corner'd? Yes, thou sayest well, Why things are as they are, nor gods nor men 1000 Can know. We say that Fate appointed thus, And are content.— Per. Suppose, dear Mother, there wer' a temple in heaven,{82} Which, dedicated to the unknown Cause And worship of the unseen, had power to draw All that was worthy and good within its gate: And that the spirits who enter'd there became Not only purified and comforted, But that the mysteries of the shrine were such, That the initiated bathed in light 1010 Of infinite intelligence, and saw The meaning and the reason of all things, All at a glance distinctly, and perceived The origin of all things to be good, And the énd good, and that what appears as evil Is as a film of dust, that faln thereon, May—at one stroke of the hand— Be brush'd away, and show the good beneath, Solid and fair and shining: If moreover This blessëd vision were of so great power 1020 That none coud e'er forget it or relapse To doubtful ignorance:—I say, dear Mother, Suppose that there were such a temple in heaven. Dem. O child, my child! that were a temple indeed. 'Tis such a temple as man needs on earth; A holy shrine that makes no pact with sin, A worthy shrine to draw the worthy and good, A shrine of wisdom trifling not with folly, A shrine of beauty, where the initiated Drank love and light. … Strange thou shouldst speak of it. I have inaugurated such a temple 1031 These last days in Eleusis, have ordain'd These very mysteries!—Strange thou speakest of it. But by what path return we to the Cave Of Cacophysia? Per. By this path, dear Mother. The Cave of Cacophysia is in all things T'ward evil, as that temple were t'ward good. I enter'd in. Outside the darkness was{83} But as accumulated sunlessness; Within 'twas positive as light itself, 1040 A blackness that extinguished: Yet I knew, For Hades told me, that I was to see; And so I waited, till a forking flash Of sudden lightning dazzlingly reveal'd All at a glance. As on a pitchy night The warder of some high acropolis Looks down into the dark, and suddenly Sees all the city with its roofs and streets, Houses and walls, clear as in summer noon, And ere he think of it, 'tis dark again—1050 So I saw all within the Cave, and held The vision, 'twas so burnt upon my sense. Dem. What saw'st thou, child? what saw'st thou? Per. Nay, the things Not to be told, because there are no words Of gods or men to paint the inscrutable And full initiation of hell.—I saw The meaning and the reason of all things, All at a glance, and in that glance perceiv'd The origin of all things to be evil, And the énd evil: that what seems as good 1060 Is as a bloom of gold that spread thereo'er May, by one stroke of the hand, Be brush'd away, and leave the ill beneath Solid and foul and black. … Dem. Now tell me, child, If Hades love thee, that he sent thee thither. Per. He said it coud not harm me: and I think It hath not. [Going up to Demeter, who kisses her. Dem. Nay it hath not, … and I know The power of evil is no power at all Against eternal good. 'Tis fire on water, As darkness against sunlight, like a dream 1070 To waken'd will. Foolish was I to fear{84} That aught coud hurt thee, Cora. But to-day Speak we no more. … This mystery of Hell Will do me service: I'll not tell thee now: But sure it is that Fate o'erruleth all For good or ill: and we (no more than men) Have power to oppose, nor any will nor choice Beyond such wisdom as a fisher hath Who driven by sudden gale far out to sea Handles his fragile boat safe thro' the waves, 1080 Making what harbour the wild storm allows. To-day hard-featured and inscrutable Fate Stands to mine eyes reveal'd, nor frowns upon me. I thought to find thee as I knew thee, and fear'd Only to find thee sorrowful: I find thee Far other than thou wert, nor hurt by Hell. I thought I must console thee, but 'tis thou Playest the comforter: I thought to teach thee, And had prepared my lesson, word by word; But thou art still beyond me. One thing only 1090 Of all my predetermin'd plan endures: My purpose was to bid thee to Eleusis For thy spring festival, which three days hence Inaugurates my temple. Thou wilt come? Per. I come. And art thou reconcil'd, dear Mother? Dem. Joy and surprise make tempest in my mind; When their bright stir is o'er, there will be peace. But ere we leave this flowery field, the scene Of strange and beauteous memories evermore, I thank thee, Hermes, for thy willing service. 1100 Per. I thank thee, son of Maia, and bid farewell. Her. Have thy joy now, great Mother; and have thou joy, Fairest Persephone, Queen of the Spring.{85}