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

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and there, Waving past and dying. —Look, a common cone Of the mountain pine Solid gold is grown; 1340 Till its scales outshine, Standing each alone In the spiral rows Of their fair design, All the brightest shows Of the sun's decline.{43} —Hark, there came a hiss, Like a startled snake Sliding through the brake. Oh, and what is this? 1350 Smaller flames that flee Sidelong from the tree, Hark, they hiss, they hiss. —How the gay flames flicker, Spurting, dancing, leaping Quicker yet and quicker, Higher yet and higher, —Flaming, flaring, fuming, Cracking, crackling, creeping, Hissing and consuming: 1360 Mighty is the fire.

      In. Stay, stay, cease your rejoicings. Where is he,

       The prophet—nay, what say I—the god, the giver?

       Chor. He is not here—he is gone.

       In. Search, search around.

       Search all, search well.

       Chor. He is gone—he is not here.

       In. The palace gate lies open: go, Argeia,

       Maybe he went within: go seek him there.

      [Exit Ar.

      Look down the sea road, down the country road:

       Follow him if ye see him.

       Chor. He is not there.

       In. Strain, strain your eyes: look well: search everywhere.

       Look townwards—is he there?

       Part of Chorus returning. He is not there.— 1371 Other part returning. He is not there.

      Argeia re-entering.

      Ar. He is not there.

       Chor. O see!

       Chor. See where?{44}

       Chor. See on the altar—see!

       Chor. What see ye on the altar?

       Chor. Here in front

       Words newly writ.

       Chor. What words?

       Chor. A name—

       In. Ay true—

       There is the name. How like a child was I,

       That I must wait till these dumb letters gave

       The shape and soul to knowledge: when the god

       Stood here so self-revealed to ears and eyes

       That, 'tis a god I said, yet wavering still, 1380

       Doubting what god—and now, who else but he?

       I knew him, yet not well; I knew him not:

       Prometheus—ay, Prometheus. Know ye, my children,

       This name we see was writ by him we seek.

       'Tis his own name, his own heart-stirring name,

       Feared and revered among the immortal gods;

       Divine Prometheus: see how here the large

       Cadmeian characters run, scoring out

       The hated title of his ancient foe—

       To Zeus 'twas made—and now 'tis to Prometheus—1390

       Writ with the charrèd reed—theft upon theft.

       He hath stolen from Zeus his altar, and with his fire

       Hath lit our sacrifice unto himself.

       Ió Prometheus, friend and firegiver,

       For good or ill thy thefts and gifts are ours.

       We worshipped thee unknowing.

       Chor. But now where is he?

       In. No need to search—we shall not see him more.

       We look in vain. The high gods when they choose

       Put on and off the solid visible shape

       Which more deceives our hasty sense, than when 1400

       Seeing them not we judge they stand aloof.

       And he, he now is gone; his work is done:

       'Tis ours to see it be not done in vain.{45}

       Chor. What is to do? speak, bid, command, we fly.

       In. Go some and fetch more wood to feed the fire;

       And some into the city to proclaim

       That fire is ours: and send out messengers

       To Corinth, Sicyon, Megara and Athens

       And to Mycenæ, telling we have fire:

       And bid that in the temples they prepare 1410

       Their altars, and send hither careful men

       To learn of me what things the time requires.

      [Exit part of Chorus.

      The rest remain to end our feast; and now

       Seeing this altar is no more to Zeus,

       But shall for ever be with smouldering heat

       Fed for the god who first set fire thereon,

       Change ye your hymns, which in the praise of Zeus

       Ye came to sing, and change the prayer for fire

       Which ye were wont to raise, to high thanksgiving,

       Praising aloud the giver and his gift. 1420

      Part of Chorus. Now our happy feast hath ending, While the sun in heaven descending Sees us gathered round a light Born to cheer his vacant night. Praising him to-day who came Bearing far his heavenly flame: Came to crown our king's desire With his gift of golden fire. Semichorus. My heart, my heart is freed. Now can I sing. I loose a shaft from my bow, 1430 A song from my heart to heaven, and watch it speed. It revels in the air, and straight to its goal doth go. I have no fear. I praise distinguishing duly: I praise the love that I love and I worship truly. Goodness I praise, not might, Nor more will I speak of wrong,{46} But of lovingkindness and right; And the god of my love shall rejoice at the sound of my song. I praise him whom I have seen: As a man he is beautiful, blending prime and youth, 1440 Of gentle and lovely mien, With the step and the eyes of truth, As a god—O were I a god, but thus to be man! As a god, I set him above The rest of the gods; for his gifts are pledges of love, The words of his mouth rare and precious, His eyes' glance and the smile of his lips are love. He is the one Alone of all the gods, Of righteous Themis the lofty-spirited son, 1450 Who hates the wrongs they have done. He is the one I adore. For if there be love in heaven with evil to cope— And he promised us more and more— For what may we not hope?

      ODE.

      My soul is drunk with joy, her new desire

       In far forbidden places wanders away.

       Her hopes with free bright-coloured wings of fire

       Upon the gloom of thought

       Are sailing out. 1460

       Awhile they rise, awhile to rest they softly fall,

       Like butterflies, that flit

       Across the mountains, or upon a wall

       Winking their idle fans at pleasure sit.

       O my vague desires!

       Ye lambent flames of the soul, her offspring fires:

       That are my soul herself in pangs sublime

       Rising and flying to heaven before her time:{47}

       What doth tempt you forth

       To melt in the south or shiver in the frosty north? 1470

       What seek ye or find ye in your random flying,

       For ever soaring aloft, soaring and dying?

      

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