Complete Works of William Morris, page 521
His men their lovers once, and mocked at them
Then wept Eriste, holding by the hem
Of fair Calliste’s sleeve – and cried that lord,
Reddening for rage, “If you have said this word
In earnest, as I doubt, then small debate
Will I with you to save you from your fate
Take heed now either straightly sacrifice,
Or before night shall no one be so wise
As ye, in knowing what our torments are,
And last about you shall the fire flare:
Consider well if this is to be borne:
For truly little will ye get but scorn
If ye should bid the hangman hold his hand
When naked first beside the cross ye stand
As I should think indeed that you would do
Or at the most your stripes will be but few;
Yea or indeed mighty will be the gain
To suffer half the anguish & the pain
That martyrs do, and at the last he led
And cast the incense with down-hanging head
Yea should ye die, I doubt your God will think
That bitter cup unwilling ye did drink
So if perchance things are as ye have thought
Still ye will suffer all these woes for nought.”
Now though Eriste still wept bitterly,
She spoke the first and said, “Yet we will die
And in these torments wash away our sin
Against our will thou dost us grace herein”
But for her part no word Calliste said
But as her sister spoke she bowed her head,
And turned to go; and loud the Prefect cried
Go lead them forth and let the two be tied
Back unto back, and cast them in the fire
When of tormenting them at last ye tire,
I would be rid of such like fooleries;
But should they chance to grow a little wise
Before they die then for their beauty’s sake
Let then go, even if unto the stake
The torch is drawing nigh; and well I think
Their fair feet will not come so nigh the brink
Of Death as that, and they will cry enough
Before they feel the hangman’s finger’s rough
On the gold buckles of their silk gowns laid
If it be so then let his hand be staid
Or else forsooth the two must bear what pain
They think it worth their foolish dream to gain.”
So forth they led them, but upon the way
Full many and idle word the men did say
And strove to turn them both by mock and prayer
Until being come unto the great hall where
Such things were done, and finding all else vain
They wrought upon then hard and frightful pain
Beyond their wont, till sunset was anigh,
Then back to back their bodies did they tie,
And utterly consumed them in the fire
And in such wise they reached to their desire.
Meanwhile Fabricius to the judgement hall
Went with the lords, and bade the serjeants tll
Bring forth the holy maid before his face –
And full of people was the dreadful place.
Who crowded round to see the fair thing pass
At last she came, whose eyen grey as glass
Looked not to right or left, but straight before
A little raised were set, as though the shore
Where swell the blessed she beheld e’en now
Nor was their any fear in mouth or brow.
So when Fabricius looked on her, he saw
That in her faith there was no speck or flaw,
Yet gazing on her long at last did say
O Maiden will thou choose to live to-day
Or rather bear the worst that we can do
“My lord,” she said, “have I not answered you?
Behold now if you have it in your heart
To torture me and slay me, do your part
Without all fear; for fear has gone from me”
Then turned he to the serjeants sullenly
And signed to them to lead the maid away,
But as their hands upon her they did lay
To bring her to the place of tormenting
Well nigh he groaned, having no hope to wring
Any consent from any cruel thing
That they might do; and on that day he hid
Full oft his restless face within his gown
And often laid his ivory sceptre down
To wring his hands, at sounds that he did hear;
Once and again, too, scarce could he forbear
To take her from betwixt the cruel hands,
But feared the rumour through the Roman lands
And shame and mocks: at last the time being late
Before his throne did Dorothea wait
Once more, to hear the final doom from him
Then by his straining eyes did all things swim
As with worn, pale, changed face, but unchanged heart
She stood with steady eyes and lips apart,
Her slender, hands laid trembling on the rail
That fenced the prisoner’s place: haggard and pale
He rose up from this throne and spoke once more
“Is it then not enough, O maid, that sore
And cruel torments have been laid on you,
Be reconciled unto the Gods anew.
Live a new life, and I myself will strive
I do so much that happy you may live
Forgetting this day and its foolishness
So for long years the dear Gods may you bless
Then answered she in weak and broken voice
“O vain and foolish man, now I rejoice
For the short time twixt me and my reward,
When I shall see the face of my dear lord,
And wander in some place where flowers and fruit
Spring up together from a happy root
Dost thou suppose that I have fear of this
That I have fear to meet unending bliss
That in my heart there lingers any fear
To meet the crowd of faces kind and dear
By tender hands through flowers to be brought
After the shameless things that ye have wrought
On this poor body trembling now with pain.
Cease henceforth from such foolish words & vain
And slay me now in whatsoever way
Seem good to you, but make no more delay
For weary are all things on earth to me.”
So then Fabricius gazing earnestly
Upon her said, “So be it, since in vain
I strive with thee, yet soothly was I fain
That thou shouldst live: headsman & ye that wait
Lead her forthright without the city-gate
And there with a sharp sword let her be slain
Yet needst thou not to put her to more pain
Than in the slaying of her must be done.”
Then mazed and grieved he sank back in this throne
And soon he gat him back unto his home,
Nor dwelt there long, but journeyed unto Rome,
And there he lived and died in unbelief
How beit of all lords well nigh the chief.
Now forth they lead the maiden pale, but glad
That such short ending to her woes she had;
And as she turned to go, was standing by
Theophilus the Protonotary,
Who as she passed him mocked at her & said,
“O maid I should be glad by Juno’s head
If you would send me shortly but a few
Of those fair flowers, which would be unto you
Surely a little matter since your King
Is able to do this and everything
And you shall be his love, as would indeed
That your fair body was my earthly mead”
Then toward him did she turn her earnest eyes
As though she knew not he spoke mockeries;
And said “Ye ask a good thing, so believe
This that I say, ere sunset on this eve
These goodly fruits and flowers shall ye have”
Then thought Theophilus she does but rave
Poor soul, her misery weighs on her so
No great deed was it thus to mock her woe.
Now down the hall steps do they lead her forth,
And through the streets a cold wind from the north
Blew on her fevered body as they went
And through her tottering limbs a shudder sent
And though the sun shone coldly, yet in snow
She set her feet as she began to go
Propped by a strong mans arm on either hand;
For still the winter clung unto the land
With icy thaw and doubtful sleety frost
And gained one week what the last had lost.
But unto her anigh to Paradise
What mattered now the snow or half thawed ice.
On her last journey, from cold street to street
She passed, and pitying people she did meet
Sighed, looking at her, though indeed in turn
She well might pity them, whose heart did burn
To find her rest and dear reward at last.
So onward through familiar streets she past
And uncomplaining came unto the gate
And with a smile passed through to meet her fate.
There on a soldiers cloak the maiden knelt,
And little further pangs her body felt
For with one blow they smote off her fair head.
Then decently they laid her body dead
Upon a bier, for many folk were come
To bear it to the Churchyard nigh her home
Thither with song they bore it reverently
And there unto this day her bones may lie.
In the meantime Theophilus was come
Through many streets unto his proper home
Upon the other side of the great town,
Some minutes ere the frosty sun went down
But as he set his foot on his threshold
He heard a sound and turning did behold
A strange and fearful but most lovely sight
There stood an angel clad in raiment bright
Of lovely blue set thick with stars of gold
Drawn round the girdle stead in many a fold;
A green wreath had he on his golden hair
And in the thickening frosty evening air
From both his shoulders wondrous wings arose
With feathers stranger and more fair than those
The solitary bird is wont to bear
Over Egyptian deserts, and these were
Still moving gently, that his naked feet
Rosy and bright scarce touched the wintry street
And on his lips a gentle smile he had,
But calm his face was though so sweet and glad.
Moreover did Theophilus now behold
Within his hand a basket of fine gold
Therein three apples, goodly ripe and red,
Three roses where the worm had never fed,
Half open whence delicious odour came
Then half in deadly fear and half in shame
He hung his head down, til a sweet voice said
“Fear nought Theophilus, but raise thine head
And with good heart reach out to me thine hand;
She, who is now within the peaceful land,
My sister Dorothea, sends thee these
Plucked from the odorous, ever-blooming trees
That blossom and bear fruit upon the shore
Where with the spouse she swelleth evermore.”
Then trembling sore Theophilus did take
Those beauteous things, and therewithal did wake
As if from sleep and saw thing as they were;
And, beating with his wings the darkling air,
The angel went upon his heavenly way.
Now furthermore the ancient tale doth say
That this Theophilus in no long time
Met Dorothea in the happy clime
For soon he bore the martyr’s palm & crown
Being slain by stoning midmost of the town.
THE STORY OF ORPHEUS AND EURYDICE
AN UNPUBLISHED TALE FROM THE EARTHLY PARADISE
ARGUMENT.
Orpheus the Thracian singer having lost his love
by death, would yet not believe that she might
not be won back again, but sought her where none
else has dared to seek, and there, as it were,
compelled the Gods to grant him somewhat; which
nevertheless his own folly cast away again, and
he was left to live and die a lonely man.
Down in the south Laconian country-side
About mount Tenarus, a wood spreads wide
And toward the heart of it holm oak and yew
Make it right hard for light to struggle through,
Make twilight in the noonday. Ere ye reach
This darkest place, the crisp leaves of the beach
Make a sweet ceiling overhead; the oak
And many-keyed ash good for shaft and yoke
Grow sparser next above the thin hard grass;
Then through a clear space doth a swift stream pass
A rod from whose bank the black wood uprears
Its mighty mass of dread: in long passed years
So was it at the least, as tells my tale;
And in those days no quarry might avail
To draw the hunter to the further shore
Of that small stream, though, folk said, golden ore
Rolled from the hills thick on its shallows lay
To wait, belike, the coming of the day
When Pan should die, and all the Gods should leave
The world all changed, as folk did then believe
Should one day come to pass. All men did dread
That wood exceeding much, and deemed the dead
Walked there at whiles; and that the Gods who least
Love mortal men, whose dreadful altar-feast
Needeth men’s blood, at whiles would haunt the place
Yet one there was in such a fearful case
That hope from fear she never more might tell
Who een amidst the very place did dwell
And with the dead held converse; nor might men
Number the years this fearful one bore then;
Or know if she would die for ever she,
As tells the tale, in all folks’ memory
Had been the same to look on: so it was
That sometimes would her awful shadow pass
Long in the sunset, long in the low moon
Over the hay-field, and the maidens’ tune
Would quaver and die out, and hand from hand
Would fall away and youth and damsel stand
Trembling and scarcely daring to draw breath,
As love grew faint before the coming death.
Yet since strange tales went of her wondrous lore,
Sometimes would folk that hard need pressed full sore
Cry from the stream’s bank on her dreadful name,
They durst not name else; and the hag still came
At the seventh call, and, for such homely hire
As wollen cloth, or knife fresh from the fire,
Wheat-meal, or kid fit for the slaughtering,
Fresh oil or honey, or such like other thing,
Would speak in dreadful voice that scarcely seemed
To come from her, and of ill dreams thrice dreamed
Would tell the import; or teach fearful skill,
How to gain love perforce, and how to kill
Far-off unseen – in battle to prevail
To heal the half-dead and make weak the hail.
That wood, and she who dwelt therein did curse
The country-side, I deem: more wild and fierce
More cruel and hard in love, more fell in hate
Were those than other folk, content to wait
With blind eyes in this changing doubtful home
The bitter and the sweet that were to come
With none of these our story dealeth now
But with a stranger who went to and fro
Amid the dwellings that stood round about
The wood, and hearkened tales of dark and doubt
Men told thereof, silent himself, distraught
Amid the wondering men with bitter thought
With grief untold to these, which yet our tale
Shall tell of somewhat. In a Thracian vale
He dwelt erewhile, and Orpheus had to name,
And from a proud and mighty race he came
Of which few words folk tell, but know that he
Could deal with measured words and melody
As no man else, and all the people moved,
And in all matters was right well beloved:
Now this man wooed the maid Eurydice
And won her, and the days wore by till she
Was wedded to him, but or ere the night
When all their longing into pure delight
Should melt away, as her fair feet did pass
Over the sweetest of the garden grass
And he beheld them, unbeheld there crept
A serpent through the flowers oer which she stepped
And stung her unshod foot in deadly wise
So that before the July moon might rise
To gleam upon the rose-strewn fragrant bed.
She, the desire of all the world, lay dead.
Ye who shall read what after followeth
May deem belike how this man first saw death;
Who none the less at last arose from pain
So great, that from its heart he needs must gain
Some little hope, if he should yet live on,
And so this grew until at last he won
A bitter courage from his lone despair,
The burden of the changeless Gods while love
Was yet alive the very death to move.
What lore he gained, or in what what hidden place,
But so it was that still he set his face
Toward Tenarus, until at last outworn
With grief and watching, on a bitter morn
Upon the border of that stream he stood
With strained eyes fixed upon the fearful wood.
Black was his raiment, and a withered wreath
Of flowers that once had felt the summers breath
Was round his head; an ivory harp, well strung
With golden string, about his neck there hung:
