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THE DOOM OF KING ACRISIUS 
 
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS ^>:iJ^^ 
 
 By sir EDWARD BURNE-JONES, Bart. (^f\\l^ 
 
 The Garden of the Hesperides Frontispiece 
 
 Danae page i 
 
 The Biiild'mg of the Brazen Tower 
 
 The Call of Perseus 
 
 Perseus and the Sea Maidens 
 
 The Grata 
 
 Perseus and Medusa 
 
 The Escape with Medusa's Head 
 
 Atlas turned to Stone 
 
 Andro772eda chained to the Rock 
 
 The Killing of the Monster 
 
 Perseus showing the Head to Androtiieda 
 
 2 
 30 
 
 36 
 
 40 
 
 43 
 46. 
 
 50 
 54 
 56 
 
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N the spring of the year 1868, sev- 
 enteen out of the twenty-four tales 
 of "The Earthly Paradise" having 
 been completed, William Morris be- 
 came more and more interested in 
 the problem of how best to issue 
 the work. As early as 1865 he had 
 decided that it should be very fully 
 illustrated by his fellow-countryman 
 ^and dearest friend, Burne-Jones, and 
 the latter had executed in that year forty-three designs for 
 *'The Story of Cupid and Psyche." The greater number 
 of these were cut on the wood-block by Morris, in the 
 bold and simple manner which he maintained to be the 
 only proper application of the art, and although much of 
 the beauty and delicacy of the original drawings had been lost, 
 of necessity, in the cutting, the blocks possessed a strength and 
 colouring very attractive in itself and admirably suited to the 
 antique flavour of the poem. In the following year other 
 drawings were prepared for *'The Ring Given to Venus," 
 " Pygmalion," and ** The Hill of Venus." Some seventy sub- 
 jects in all were designed, and such drawings as were not 
 destroyed in the process of cutting passed into the hands of 
 John Ruskin, and are now in the Taylorian Museum at Oxford. 
 Morris's plan was to supplement these seventy drawings with 
 something over four hundred more, also by Burne-Jones, illus- 
 trating the various other tales of " The Earthly Paradise," and 
 to issue the completed work, with its five hundred wood-cut 
 illustrations, in one folio volume. Had it been possible to carry 
 out this plan there is little doubt that "The Earthly Paradise" 
 would have surpassed in beauty and in richness of pictorial 
 invention even the superb folio "Chaucer" of 1896, which 
 ix 
 
remains the supreme achievement of the Kelmscott Press. 
 Unfortunately the time was not ripe for the production of 
 such a volume ; the art of printing had sunk to a low level in 
 England, proper type could not be found, and there were, 
 moreover, certain defects in the cutting of the wood-blocks 
 which prevented them from being altogether satisfactory when 
 printed. So with great reluctance the original scheme was 
 abandoned, and the book was issued in the regular way. ** To 
 the very last," writes Burne-Jones, " we held to our first idea 
 and hoped yet to see the book published in the Kelmscott 
 Press in all the fulness of its first design." Had William 
 Morris and Burne-Jones lived a few years longer this hope 
 might have been realized, but with the exception of the 
 drawings already spoken of there remain to us now but two 
 series which are in any way complete in themselves, and which 
 are available for reproduction, namely, those for ** Pygmalion 
 and the Image " and those for the story of Perseus, entitled 
 "The Doom of King Acrisius " in "The Earthly Paradise." 
 In 1872 Burne-Jones arranged a selection of the designs 
 for " Cupid and Psyche " as a frieze for the morning-room 
 of the Earl of Carlisle's town-house. No. i. Palace Green, 
 London. The subjects, in some cases slightly altered, were 
 then drawn to the required size on the canvas, and several 
 of them were painted by Burne-Jones himself in that year. 
 For some years afterward, he worked at intervals upon the 
 series, until finding the task too arduous, he called to his 
 assistance Mr. Walter Crane, who completed it. Yet an- 
 other scheme of interior decoration was commenced in 
 1875, this time for the drawing-room of the Right Honour- 
 able Arthur Balfour, in Carleton Gardens. Burne-Jones's 
 intention was to execute some of the scenes from the 
 story of Perseus in gilt and silvered gesso upon a back- 
 
 X 
 
ground of oak. The 
 decorations repre- 
 senting Pegasus and 
 Chrysaor springing 
 from the headless 
 trunk of Medusa, 
 and Perseus fleeing 
 from the Avenging 
 Gorgons, were car- 
 ried to some degree 
 of completeness, 
 but a third, show- 
 ing Perseus about to 
 slay Medusa, never 
 progressed beyond 
 the preliminary 
 stages,and remained 
 unfinished at the 
 death of the artist. 
 
 These three decorations are here reproduced. 
 
 In some instances more than one representation of a single 
 incident is included in the present book, and this not without 
 reason. In the case of Burne-Jones, although the main idea 
 of a picture might remain the same for years, it was constantly 
 passing through stages of modification, improvement, and selec- 
 tion, and frequently resulted in his treating the same idea 
 from several points of view. His method of work has been 
 described by Malcolm Bell in ** Sir Edward Burne-Jones : 
 A Record and Review," as follows : " His first process in the 
 creation of a picture was the crystallization of the floating 
 visions in his mind into a design carefully drawn out in chalk 
 or pencil. This was generally modified from time to time, 
 xi 
 
while numerous studies for every detail were carried out in 
 the intervals of other work. In the case of a large picture 
 this was, as a rule, followed by a cartoon, painted in water- 
 colours, of the same size as the proposed canvas, and finished 
 elaborately from a small coloured sketch. From this the 
 final work was copied, and further studies were made before 
 the painting was begun. Each stage of this was left to dry 
 thoroughly, often for months at a time, before another was 
 commenced, and when the last had been concluded, the whole 
 was left for several years before it was permitted to be 
 varnished, an operation which he always preferred to perform 
 himself with scrupulous care." 
 
 This will explain why it is that, with the exception of 
 " Danae Watching the Building of the Brazen Tower," — 
 which did not form, originally, a part of the Perseus series, — 
 and " The Hesperides," — a scene which Morris, in his poem, 
 passes over in silence, — only three pictures, those entitled 
 "Perseus and the Graias," "The Doom Fulfilled," and "The 
 Baleful Head," were ever completed for this Perseus series. 
 
 The others, worked upon at intervals for a number of years, 
 remained unfinished at the death of the artist. The loss to 
 the world is irreparable ; but it is mitigated in a measure by 
 the fact that, although none of the remaining pictures are 
 painted with the elaboration and loving care which the artist so 
 dearly prized, they are not really incomplete in one sense, in- 
 asmuch as the soul, the essential essence, is there in every case. 
 In some instances the unfinished picture is so fine in conception, 
 so bold in execution, that any "finishing," though it might 
 have made it more beautiful as a decoration, would certainly 
 have weakened it as a painting. The superb movement of 
 the two Gorgons, as they wheel round in their vain search for 
 Perseus, invisible by virtue of the cap of darkness, is one of the 
 
 xii 
 
finest things in modern art, and alone is worth a w ilaci ile^s of 
 ** finished " pictures by lesser men. Indeed, it is not impossible 
 that in years to come such works as this, together with his 
 masterly drawings in pencil or in chalk, may be accounted 
 Burne-Jones's finest and most enduring contribution to con- 
 temporary art. 
 
 One amongst many points of peculiar interest in the Perseus 
 series is the fact that although the subjects of his pictures were 
 chosen from a poem by William Morris — a writer with 
 whose mental attitude he was in closer sympathy than with 
 that of any other, present or past — Burne-Jones still preserved 
 his own point of view and unmistakably stamped his own 
 personality into each design, each painting, that came from 
 his hand. His conception of the Perseus story is similar to 
 that of William Morris, inasmuch as it is not Greek, nor 
 xiii 
 
even classical, but wholly medieval and romantic, none the 
 less in his pourtrayal of the incidents connected with it he 
 has followed more closely some of the main features of the 
 original story than has Morris, and consequently has pictured 
 scenes of which the latter makes no mention, such as " Perseus 
 and the Sea-Maidens," *' The Hesperides," and "The Birth 
 of Pegasus and Chrysaor," or has departed from the Morris 
 text, in order to improve upon it where the tale as told by 
 earlier writers afforded material better suited to pictorial 
 treatment. This is especially noticeable in his representation 
 of the two Gorgons, Stheno and Euryale, who in " The Doom 
 of King Acrisius," are merely two bent, miserable, harmless 
 old women, for whom we feel pity rather than horror. 
 
 Burne-Jones, in two pictures, perhaps the finest of the 
 series, has given them the forms of fair women, in nothing 
 monstrous, though he has restored to them their wings ; but 
 in two other representations has approached more nearly to the 
 older versions of the story, with all its details of snaky locks, 
 brazen plumage, and claws. He has, likewise, bettered Morris 
 in his conception of the action of the two Gorgons immedi- 
 ately following the death of their sister Medusa, killed by a 
 foe they cannot see. Decorative, pictorial, dramatic at one 
 and the same time, this picture is, surely, one of Burne-Jones's 
 triumphs. " Into the air they sprang yelling, and looked for 
 him who had done the deed. Thrice they swung round and 
 round, like hawks that beat for a partridge ; and thrice they 
 snuffed round and round, like hounds who draw upon a deer. 
 At last they struck upon the scent of blood, and they checked 
 for a moment to make sure ; and then on they rushed with a 
 fearful howl, while the wind rattled hoarse in their wings." 
 
 The giant Atlas, turned to stone as he keeps the heavens 
 and the earth apart, is likewise a picture one would not feel 
 
 xiv 
 
disposed to spare from the series, even though it is entirely at 
 variance with Morris's text, while the inclusion of ** The 
 Hesperides " and *' Perseus and the Sea-Maidens " is sufficiently 
 excused by the beauty of the works themselves. The second, 
 and in the present reproduction, unfinished version of " Perseus 
 and the Graias," sometimes called **The Grey Graia?," is 
 especially interesting, inasmuch as it was the first of a pro- 
 jected series of panels dealing with the Story of Perseus, which 
 it was Burne-Jones's intention to execute by riveting plates of 
 gold and silver upon a wooden background, upon which the 
 other portions of the picture were to be completed in colour. 
 A Latin inscription, composed by Professor Jebb, was painted 
 above it, setting forth the whole story of the set of which 
 it was intended to form a part. It was found that the com- 
 bination of relieved 
 metal and flat back- 
 ground was not alto- 
 gether a happy one, 
 and the series was 
 never carried far- 
 ther. At the time 
 when Mr. Hollyer 
 made his photo- 
 graph of the paint- 
 ing, the gold and 
 silver plates had not 
 been riveted into 
 their places, which 
 are indicated by the 
 chalk outlines in 
 the original. 
 
 It is unlikely that 
 
 XV 
 
this century will see any such close alliance between the works 
 of any poet and painter as existed in the case of William 
 Morris and Burne-Jones; therefore it seems well worth while 
 to carry out, as far as may be at this late day, a project which 
 both men held dear, but which neither of them lived to see 
 realized, and to combine in one volume the poem and pictures 
 of the Story of Perseus. The pictures are from photographs 
 made by Mr. Frederick Hollyer (by whose kind permission 
 they are reproduced in this book) and are, in every case, from 
 the original paintings. Though quite unlike the bold and 
 simple wood-cuts which Morris loved, and which he would 
 have used, doubtless, had he issued an illustrated folio edition 
 of " The Earthly Paradise " from the Kelmscott Press, they 
 are, on the other hand, well-nigh perfect translations of the 
 pictures by Burne-Jones, in all but colour ; and what is lost in 
 sentiment by this departure from the Morris ideal of simple 
 line cuts, is gained in fidelity to even the most delicate shading 
 of Burne-Jones's subtlest designs. 
 
 FITZROY CARRINGTON. 
 
 Orienta Cottage, 
 
 Mamaroneck, New York. 
 February, 1902. 
 
 XVI 
 
REAMER OF DREAMS, BORN 
 
 OUT OF MY DUE TIME, 
 WHY SHOULD I STRIVE TO SET 
 
 THE CROOKED STRAIGHT? 
 LET IT SUFFICE ME THAT 
 MY MURMURING RHYME 
 BEATS WITH LIGHT WING AGAINST THE 
 
 IVORY GATE, 
 TELLING A TALE NOT TOO IMPORTUNATE 
 TO THOSE WHO IN THE SLEEPY REGION STAY 
 LULLED BY THE SINGER OF AN EMPTY DAY. 
 
 WILLIAM MORRIS 
 
OW of the King Acrisius shall 
 
 ye hear, 
 Who, thinking he could free 
 
 his life from fear. 
 Did that which brought but 
 
 death on him at last. 
 In Argos did he reign in days 
 «^^ long past, 
 ''And had one daughter, fair as man could see. 
 Who in old tales is called Danae ; 
 But as she grew up fairer day by day, 
 A wandering oracle to him did say, 
 That whatso else might happen, soon or late 
 He should be taken in the toils of fate. 
 And by the fruit of his own daughter's womb 
 Be slain at last, and set within his tomb; 
 And therefore heavy sorrow on him fell. 
 That she he thought to love so passing well 
 Must henceforth be his deadliest dread and woe. 
 
 Long time he pondered what was best to do ; 
 And whiles he thought that he would send her forth 
 To wed some king far in the snowy north. 
 And whiles that by great gifts of goods and gold 
 Some lying prophet might be bought and sold 
 To swear his daughter he must sacrifice. 
 If he would yet find favour in the eyes 
 Of the dread gods who govern everything ; 
 And sometimes seemed it better to the King, 
 That he might 'scape the shedding of her blood 
 By leaving her in some far lonely wood. 
 Wherein the Dryads might the maiden find. 
 
Or beasts might slay her, following but their kind. 
 
 So passed his anxious days, until at last, 
 When many a plot through his vexed brain had passed. 
 He lacked the heart his flesh and blood to slay, 
 Yet neither would he she should go away 
 From out his sight, or be at large at all ; 
 Therefore his wisest craftsmen did he call. 
 And bade them make for him a tower foursquare. 
 Such as no man had yet seen anywhere, 
 For therein neither stone nor wood should be. 
 But all be wrought of brass most cunningly. 
 
 Now thither oft would maiden Danae stray. 
 And watch its strange walls growing day by day, 
 Because, poor soul ! she knew not anything 
 Of these forebodings of the fearful King, 
 Nor how he meted out for her this doom. 
 Therein to dwell as in a living tomb. 
 But on a day, she, coming there alone, 
 Found it all finished and the workmen gone, 
 And no one nigh, so through the open door 
 She entered, and went up from floor to floor. 
 And through its chambers wandered without dread ; 
 And, entering one, she found therein a bed, 
 Dight daintily, as though to serve a queen ; 
 And all the walls adorned with hangings green. 
 Tables and benches in good order set, 
 And all things new, by no one used as yet. 
 
 With that she murmured, ** When again I see 
 My father, will I bid him tell to me 
 Who shall live here and die here, for, no doubt. 
 Whoever enters here shall ne'er go out : 
 
 2 
 
Therefore the walls are made so high and great, 
 
 Therefore the bolts are measureless of weight, 
 
 The windows small, barred, turned towards the sea. 
 
 That none from land may tell who here may be. 
 
 No doubt some man the King my father fears 
 
 Above all other, here shall pass his years. 
 
 Alas, poor soul ! scarce shall he see the sun. 
 
 Or care to know when the hot day is done. 
 
 Or ever see sweet flowers again, or grass. 
 
 Or take much note of how the seasons pass. 
 
 Truly we folk who dwell in rest knd ease 
 
 But lightly think of such abodes as these ; 
 
 And I, who live wrapped round about with bliss. 
 
 Shall go from hence and soon forget all this : 
 
 For in my garden many a sweet flower blooms. 
 
 Wide open are the doors of all my rooms. 
 
 And lightly folk come in and lightly go ; 
 
 And I have known as yet but childish woe." 
 
 Therewith she turned about to leave the place. 
 But as unto the door she set her face 
 A bitter wailing from outside she heard, 
 And somewhat therewithal she waxed afeard, 
 And stopped awhile ; yet listening, she but thought : 
 " This is the man who to his doom is brought 
 By weeping friends, who come to see the last 
 Of that dear face they know shall soon be past 
 From them for ever." Then she 'gan to go 
 Adown the brazen stairs with footsteps slow. 
 
 But quick the shrieks and wailing grew anear. 
 Till in her ears it sounded sharp and clear, 
 And then she said, '* Alas ! and must I see 
 3 
 
These weeping faces drawn with agony ? 
 Would I had not come here to-day ! " Withal 
 She started, as upon her ear did fall 
 The sound of shutting of the outer door, 
 And people coming up from floor to floor ; 
 And paler then she grew, but moved to meet 
 The woful sounds and slow-ascending feet. 
 Shrinking with pity for that wretched one 
 Whose life of joy upon that day was done. 
 
 Thus down the stairs with saddened heart she passed 
 And to a lower chamber came at last ; 
 But as she went beneath the archway wide 
 The door was opened from the other side, 
 And in poured many maidens, whom she knew 
 For her own fair companions, leal and true ; 
 And after them two soldiers armed there came. 
 With knitted brows and eyes downcast for shame. 
 
 But when those damsels saw her standing there. 
 Anew they wept, and tore their unbound hair ; 
 But midst their wailing, still no word they said. 
 Until she spoke oppressed with sickening dread : 
 
 *' O tell me what has happened to me then ! 
 For is my father slain of outland men ? 
 Or have the gods sent death upon the land ? 
 Or is it mine own death that they command ? 
 Alas, alas ! but slay me quick, I pray, 
 Nor let me linger on from day to day. 
 Maddened with fear like this, that sickens me. 
 And makes me seem the half-dead thing ye see." 
 
 Then, like a man constrained, a soldier said 
 These cruel words unto the wretched maid : 
 
" Lady, lose hope and fear now once for all ; 
 
 Here must thou dwell betwixt brass wall and wall 
 
 Until the gods send gentle death to thee ; 
 
 And these as erst thine handmaidens shall be ; 
 
 And if thou askest why the thing is so, 
 
 Thus the King wills it, for a while ago 
 
 An oracle foretold that thou shouldst live 
 
 To have a son, who bitter death should give 
 
 Unto thy father ; so, to save this shame 
 
 From falling on the glorious Argive name, 
 
 He deemed it well that thou shouldst live indeed, 
 
 But yet apart from man thy life shouldst lead. 
 
 So in this place thy days must pass away. 
 
 And we who are thy guards, from day to day 
 
 Will bring thee everything that thou mayst need. 
 
 But pardon us, constrained to do this deed 
 
 By the King's will, and oaths that we have sworn 
 
 Ere to this life of sorrow thou wert born." 
 
 Therewith they turned and went, and soon the sound 
 Of shutting doors smote like a deadly wound 
 Into her heart; and yet no word she spoke. 
 But fell as one beneath a deadly stroke. 
 
 Then they who there her fellows were to be 
 Bore up her body, groaning heavily. 
 Unto the upper chamber where that day 
 She came before, and on the bed did lay 
 The wretched maid, and then they sat around. 
 With heavy heads and hair that swept the ground. 
 To weep the passing of those happy days 
 When many an one their happy lot would praise. 
 5 
 
But now and then, when bitterly would sting 
 The loss of some nigh-reached desired thing, 
 To a loud wail their weeping would arise. 
 
 Then in a while did Danae ope her eyes. 
 And to her aching forehead raised her hand ; 
 But when she saw that wan, dishevelled band. 
 She soon remembered this was no ill dream. 
 But that all things were e'en as they did seem. 
 Then she arose, but soon upon the bed 
 Sank down again, and hid her troubled head. 
 And moaned and moaned, and when a damsel came 
 And touched her hand, and called her by her name. 
 She knew her not, but turned her head away : 
 Nor did she know when dark night followed day. 
 
 So passed by many a day in mourning sore. 
 And weariness oppressed her evermore 
 In that unhappy prison-house of brass ; 
 And yet a little the first sting did pass 
 That smote her, and she ate and drank and slept, 
 And fair and bright her body Venus kept. 
 Yea, such a grace the sea-born goddess fair 
 Did to her, that the ripples of her hair 
 Grew brighter, and the colour in her face 
 And lovely lips waned not in that sad place ; 
 And rounder grew her limbs from day to day ; 
 Yea, as upon the golden bed she lay. 
 You would have thought the Queen herself had come 
 To meet some love far from her golden home. 
 
 And once it happed at the first hour of day 
 In golden morn upon her bed she lay, 
 
 6 
 
Newly awakened to her daily woe, 
 And heard the rough sea beat the rocks below, 
 The wheeling sea-gull screaming on the wing, 
 Sea-shallows swift, and many a happy thing. 
 Till bitterly the tears ran down her cheek, 
 And stretching forth her arms and fingers weak, 
 'Twixt moans these piteous helpless words she said : 
 *' O Queen Diana, make me now thy maid. 
 And take me from this place and set me down 
 By the boar-haunted hills, that oak-woods crown, 
 Amid thy crowd of trim-girt maidens fair. 
 
 "And shall I not be safe from men-folk there. 
 Thou cruel King, when she is guarding me. 
 The mighty maid from whom the shepherds flee. 
 When in the gathering dusk 'twixt day and night. 
 The dead leaves tell them of her footsteps light. 
 Because they mind how dear Actason bought 
 The lovely sight for which he never sought, 
 Diana naked in the water wan. 
 
 " Yea, what fear should I have of any man 
 When through the woods I, wandering merrily. 
 With girt-up gown, sharp sword upon the thigh, 
 Full quiver on the back, stout bow in hand. 
 Should tread with firm feet many a grassy land, 
 And grow strong-limbed in following up the deer. 
 And meet the lions' eyes with little fear ? 
 
 " Alas ! no doubt she hears not ; many a maid 
 She has already, of no beast afraid. 
 Crisp-haired, with arms made meet for archery, 
 Whose limbs unclad no man shall ever see ; 
 Though the birds see them, and the seeding grass 
 7 
 
Harsh and unloving over them may pass, 
 
 When carelessly through rough and smooth they run, 
 
 And bough and briar catches many a one. 
 
 " Alas ! why on these free maids is my thought, 
 When to such misery my life is brought ? 
 I, who so long a happy maid have been. 
 The daughter of a great King and a Queen ; 
 And why these fresh things do I think upon. 
 Who now shall see but little of the sun ? » 
 
 " Here every day shall have the same sad tale. 
 My weary damsels with their faces pale, 
 The dashing of the sea on this black rock. 
 Pipe of the wind through cranny and through lock, 
 The sea-bird's cry, like mine grown hoarse and shrill. 
 The far-off sound of horn upon the hill, 
 The merry pipe about the shepherd's home. 
 And all the things whereto I ne'er may come. 
 
 " O ye who rule below, I pray this boon, 
 I may not live here long, but perish soon. 
 Forgotten, but at peace, since I feel nought ; 
 For even now it comes across my thought 
 That here my wretched body dwells alone. 
 And that my soul with all my hope is gone. 
 
 " Father, thy blood upon thine own head be 
 If any solace Venus send to me 
 Within this wretched place which thou hast made. 
 Of thine own flesh and blood too much afraid." 
 
 Truly Diana heard not, for that tide 
 Upon the green grass by a river side, 
 Wherein she had just bathed her body sweet, 
 
 8 
 
She stooped to tie the sandals to her feet, 
 Her linen gown upon the herbage lay, 
 And round her was there standing many a may 
 Making her ready for the morning chase. 
 
 But it so happed that Venus by the place 
 Was passing, just arisen from the sea. 
 And heard the maid complaining bitterly. 
 So to the window-bars she drew anigh. 
 And thence unseen, she saw the maiden lie. 
 As on the grass herself she might have lain 
 When in the thicket lay Adonis slain ; 
 For power and joy she smiled thereat, and thought 
 " She shall not suffer all this pain for nought." 
 And slowly for Olympus sailed away, 
 And thither came at hottest of the day. 
 
 Then through the heavenly courts she went and when 
 She found the father both of gods and men 
 She smiled upon him, and said, " Knowest thou 
 What deeds are wrought by men in Argos now .? 
 Wherein a brazen tower well builded is. 
 That hides a maid away from all my bliss; 
 Since thereby thinks Acrisius to forego. 
 This doom that has been fated long ago. 
 That by his daughter's son he shall be slain ; 
 Wherefore he puts the damsel to this pain 
 To see no man, and thinks to 'scape his doom 
 If she but live and die with barren womb ; 
 And great dishonour is it unto me 
 That such a maiden lives so wretchedly ; 
 And great dishonour is it to us all 
 That ill upon a guiltless head should fall 
 9 
 
To save a King from what we have decreed. 
 Now, therefore, tell me, shall his impious deed 
 Save him alive, while she that might have borne 
 Great kings and glorious heroes, lives forlorn 
 Of love's delight, in solitude and woe?" 
 
 Then said the Thunderer, " Daughter, nowise so 
 Shall this be in the end ; heed what shall fall, 
 And let none think that any brazen wall 
 Can let the Gods from doing what shall be." 
 
 Now therewithal went Venus to the sea 
 Glad of her father's words, and, as she went. 
 Unseen the gladness of the spring she sent 
 Across the happy lands o'er which she moved. 
 Until all men felt joyous and beloved. 
 
 But while to Paphos carelessly she fared. 
 All day upon the tower the hot sun glared. 
 And Danae within that narrow space 
 Went to and fro, and sometimes hid her face 
 Between her hands, moaning in her despair, 
 Or sometimes tore the fillets from her hair. 
 And sometimes would begin a piteous tale 
 Unto her maids, and in the midst would fail 
 For sobs and tears ; but mostly would she sit 
 Over against the window, watching it, 
 And feel the light wind blowing from the sea 
 Against her face, with hands laid listlessly 
 Together in her lap ; so passed the day. 
 And to their sleep her damsels went away. 
 And through the dead of night she slept awhile, 
 But when the dawn came, woke up with a smile, 
 
 10 
 
As though she had forgotten all her pain, 
 But soon the heavy burden felt again, 
 And on her bed lay tossing wretchedly. 
 Until the sun had nigh looked o'er the sea. 
 
 In that fresh morn was no one stirring yet. 
 And many a man his troubles did forget 
 Buried in sleep, but nothing she forgat. 
 She raised herself and up in bed she sat, 
 And towards the window turned round wearily 
 To watch the changing colours of the sky ; 
 And many a time she sighed, and seemed as though 
 She would have told the story of her woe 
 To whatsoever god near by might be 
 Betwixt the grey sky and the cold grey sea. 
 But to her lips no sound at all would rise. 
 Except those oft-repeated heavy sighs. 
 
 And yet, indeed, within a little while 
 Her face grew calm, the shadow of a smile 
 Stole o'er her parted lips and sweet grey eyes. 
 And slowly from the bed did she arise. 
 And towards the window drew, and yet did seem, 
 Although her eyes were open, still to dream. 
 
 There on the sill she laid her slender hand, 
 And looking seaward, pensive did she stand. 
 And seemed as though she waited for the sun 
 To bring her news her misery was done ; 
 At last he came and over the green sea 
 His golden road shone out right gloriously. 
 And into Danae's face his glory came 
 And lit her softly waving hair like flame. 
 II 
 
But in his light she held out both her hands. 
 
 As though he brought her from some far-off lands 
 
 Healing for all her great distress and woe. 
 
 But yellower now the sunbeams seemed to grow 
 Not whiter as their wont is, and she heard 
 A tinkling sound that made her, half afeard. 
 Draw back a little from the fresh green sea, 
 Then to a clang the noise rose suddenly, 
 And gently was she smitten on the breast. 
 And some bright thing within her palm did rest. 
 And trickled down her shoulder and her side. 
 And on her limbs a little did abide, 
 Or lay upon her feet a little while. 
 
 Then in her face increased the doubtful smile. 
 While o'er her eyes a drowsy film there came, 
 And in her cheeks a flush as if of shame. 
 And, looking round about, could she behold 
 The chamber scattered o'er with shining gold, 
 That grew, till ankle-deep she stood in it. 
 
 Then through her limbs a tremor did there flit 
 As through white water runs the summer wind. 
 And many a wild hope came into her mind, 
 But her knees bent and soft she sank down there. 
 And on the gold was spread her golden hair. 
 And like an ivory image still she lay, 
 Until the night again had hidden day. 
 
 But when again she lifted up her head. 
 She found herself laid soft within her bed, 
 While midmost of the room the taper shone. 
 And all her damsels from the place were gone, 
 
 12 
 
And by her head a gold-robed man there stood, 
 At sight of whom the damsel's shamefast blood 
 Made all her face red to the golden hair, 
 And quick she covered up her bosom fair. 
 
 Then in a great voice said he, *' Danae, 
 Sweet child, be glad, and have no fear of me 
 And have no shame, nor hide from thy new love 
 The breast that on this day has pillowed Jove. 
 Come now, come from that balmy nest of thine, 
 And stand with me beneath the taper's shine 
 That I may see thy beauty once again ; 
 Then never shalt thou be in any pain. 
 But if thou liftest up thy face to Jove 
 I shall be kind to my sweet simple love ; 
 I shall bethink me of thy body sweet. 
 From golden head to rosy little feet." 
 
 Then, trembling sore, from out the bed she came 
 And hid away her face for dread and shame. 
 But soon she trembled more for very love. 
 To feel the loving hands of mighty Jove 
 Draw down her hands, and kisses on the head 
 And tender bosom, as again he said, 
 " Now must I go ; and sweet love, Danae, 
 Fear nothing more that man can do to thee. 
 For soon shall come an ending to thy woe. 
 And thou shalt have a son whose name shall grow 
 Still greater, till the mountains melt away 
 And men no more can tell the night from day." 
 
 Then forth he sprang and o'er the sea did fly 
 And loud it thundered from a cloudless sky. 
 13 
 
O when her damsels came to 
 
 her next day. 
 And thought to see her laid in 
 
 her old way 
 Upon the bed, and looking out 
 
 to sea 
 Moaning full oft, and sighing 
 
 heavily. 
 They found her singing o'er a 
 web of silk 
 Where through the even warp as white as milk 
 Quick flew the shuttle from her arm of snow. 
 And somewhat from her girded gown did show 
 On the black treadles both her rosy feet, 
 Moving a little as the tall green wheat 
 Moves in the June when Zephyr blows on it. 
 So, like a goddess weaving did she sit. 
 
 But when she saw her maidens wondering stand 
 She ceased her song and stayed her busy hand. 
 And said, " Girls, if ye see me glad to-day 
 Be nought amazed, for all things pass away ; 
 The good days die, but also die the bad. 
 
 " See now, in sleep last night a dream I had 
 That in his claws an eagle lifted me 
 And bore me to a land across the sea : 
 Wherefore I think that here I shall not die 
 But live to feel dew falling from the sky. 
 And set my feet deep in the meadow grass 
 And underneath the scented pine-trees pass, 
 Or in the garden feel the western breeze, 
 The herald of the rain, sweep through the trees, 
 
 14 
 
Or in the hottest of the summer day, 
 
 Betwixt green banks within the mill-stream play. 
 
 ** For either shall my father soon relent, 
 Or for my sake some marvel shall be sent, 
 And either way these doors shall open wide ; 
 And then doubt not to see me soon a bride 
 With some king's amorous son before my feet. 
 
 ** Ah ! verily my life shall then be sweet ; 
 Before these days I knew not life or death. 
 With little hope or fear I drew my breath. 
 But now when all this sorrow is o'erpast. 
 Then shall I feel how sweet life is at last. 
 And know how dear peace is from all these fears. 
 
 " So no more will I waste my life in tears. 
 But pass the time as swiftly as may be. 
 Until ye step out on the turf with me." 
 
 Then glad they were, when such-like words they 
 heard. 
 And yet some doubted and were sore afeard 
 That she had grown light-headed with her woe. 
 Dreading the time might come when she would throw 
 Her body on the ground and perish there. 
 Slain by her own hand mighty with despair. 
 Nathless the days more merrily went by 
 And from that prison men heard minstrelsy. 
 When nought but mourning, fisher-folk afeard 
 Who passed that way, in other times had heard. 
 
 Yet truly Danae said that all things pass 
 And are forgotten ; in that house of brass 
 15 
 
Forgotten was the stunning bitter pain 
 
 Wherewith she entered it, and yet again 
 
 In no long time, hope was forgotten too 
 
 When wringing torments moaning from her drew. 
 
 And to and fro the pale scared damsels went. 
 
 And those her guards unto Acrisius sent. 
 
 But ere the messenger returned again 
 She had been eased of half her bitterest pain. 
 And on her breast a fair man-child was laid ; 
 Then round the messenger her maids afraid 
 Drew weeping ; but he charged them earnestly. 
 Ever to watch her in that chamber high. 
 Lest any man should steal the babe away. 
 And so to bide until there came a day 
 When on her feet she might arise and go. 
 Whereof by messengers the King must know ; 
 So, threatening torments unendurable. 
 If any harm through treachery befell. 
 He left them, and no more to them he told, 
 But in his face the sooth they might behold. 
 
 Now, therefore when some wretched days were past. 
 And trembling by the bed she stood at last. 
 She heard the opening of the outer door. 
 And footsteps came again from floor to floor, 
 And soon with all-armed men her chamber shone. 
 Who with few words now led her forth alone 
 Adown the stairs from out the brazen place ; 
 And on her hot hands, and her tear-stained face 
 Half-fainting, the pine-scented air she felt, 
 And all about the salt sea savour smelt. 
 And in her ears the dashing of the sea 
 
 i6 
 
Rang ever ; thus the God had set her free. 
 
 But by the shore further they led her still 
 To where the sea beat on a barren hill. 
 And a long stage of timber met the sea, 
 At end whereof was tossing fearfully 
 A little boat that had no oars or sail. 
 Or aught that could the mariner avail. 
 Thither with her their steps the soldiers bent ; 
 And as along the narrow way they went, 
 The salt waves leapt aloft to kiss her feet 
 And in the wind streamed out her tresses sweet ; 
 But little heed she took of feet or head 
 For nought she doubted she to death was led. 
 But ever did she hold against her breast 
 The little babe, and spoke not for the rest, 
 No, not when in the boat they bade her go. 
 And 'twixt its bulwarks thin she lay alow, 
 Nor when adrift they set her presently 
 And all about was but the angry sea. 
 
 No word she said until the sun was down, 
 And she beheld the moon that on no town. 
 On no fair homestead, no green pasture shone. 
 But lit up the unwearied sea alone ; 
 No word she said till she was far from shore, 
 And on her breast the babe was wailing sore. 
 And then she lifted up her face to Jove, 
 And said, " O thou who once didst call me love. 
 Hast thou forgotten those fair words of thine. 
 When underneath the taper's glimmering shine 
 Thou bad'st me stand that thou mightst look on me, 
 17 
 
And love thou call'dst me, and sweet Danae ? 
 
 Now of thy promised help am I most fain 
 
 For on what day can I have greater pain 
 
 Than this wherein to-night my body is, 
 
 And brought thereto by what, but thy sweet kiss?" 
 
 But neither did she pray the God in vain ; 
 For straight he set himself to end her pain. 
 And while he cast on her a gentle sleep, 
 The winds within their houses did he keep 
 Except the west which soft on her did blow. 
 That swiftly through the sea the boat might go. 
 
 Far out to sea a certain isle doth lie 
 Men call Seriphos, craggy, steep, and high : 
 It rises up on every side but one. 
 And mariners its ill-famed headlands shun ; 
 But toward the south the meads slope soft adown. 
 Until they meet the yellow sands and brown, 
 That slope themselves so gently to the sea. 
 The nymphs are hidden only to the knee 
 When half a mile of rippling water is 
 Between the waves that their white limbs do kiss 
 And the last wave that washes shells ashore. 
 
 To this fair place the west wind onward bore 
 The skiff that carried Danae and her son, 
 And on the morn, when scarce the dusk was done, 
 Upon the sands the shallop ran aground ; 
 And still they slept, and for awhile around 
 Their wretched bed the waves sang lullaby, 
 But sank at last and left the long strand dry. 
 
 Then uprose Danae, and nothing knew 
 
 i8 
 
What land it was : about her sea-fowl flew ; 
 Behind her back the yet retreating sea 
 Beat on the yellow sands unceasingly ; 
 Landward she saw the low green meadows lie. 
 Dotted with homesteads, rich with elm-trees high ; 
 And at her feet the little boat there lay 
 That happily had brought her on the way. 
 
 But as it happed, the brother of the King 
 Had ridden forth to hear the sea-fowl sing, 
 With hawk on fist, right early on that morn. 
 Hard by the place whereunto she was borne. 
 He, seeing far away a white thing stand, 
 Deemed her at first some maiden of the sand. 
 Such as to fishers sings a honied strain. 
 And leaves them longing for her love in vain. 
 So, wishful to behold the sea-folk's bride. 
 He set the spurs into his horse's side. 
 But drawing nigher, he but saw her there. 
 Not moving much, her unbound yellow hair 
 Heavy with dew and washing of the sea ; 
 And her wet raiment clinging amorously 
 About her body, in the wind's despite; 
 And in her arms her woe and her delight. 
 Spreading abroad the small hands helplessly 
 That on some day should still the battle's cry. 
 And furthermore he saw where by her lay 
 The boat that brought her o'er the watery way : 
 Then, though he knew not whence she might have come. 
 He doubted not the firm land was her home. 
 
 But when he came anigh, beholding him, 
 19 
 
She fell a trembling in her every limb, 
 And kneeling to him held the young babe out, 
 And said : ** O Sir, if, as I have no doubt. 
 In this strange land thou art a king and lord, 
 Speak unto me some comfortable w^ord. 
 
 " Born of a king who rules a lovely land, 
 I in my house that by the sea doth stand. 
 With all my girls, made merry on a day : 
 Now some of them upon the sands did play. 
 Dancing unto their fellows' minstrelsy ; 
 And some it pleased upon sweet flowers to lie. 
 Ripe fruits around, and thence to look on them ; 
 And some were fain to lift their kirtles' hem, 
 And through the shallows chase the fishes fleet ; 
 But in this shallop would I have my seat 
 Alone, and holding this my little son. 
 And knowing not that my good days were done. 
 
 " Now how it chanced, in sooth I cannot say. 
 But yet I think that one there was that day. 
 Who for some hidden cause did hate me sore, 
 Who cut the cord that bound me to the shore, 
 And soon amidst my helpless shrieks the boat, 
 Oarless and sailless, out to sea did float. 
 
 " But now that many a danger has been passed. 
 The gods have sent me to your land at last, 
 Alive, indeed, but such-like as you see, 
 Cold and drenched through with washing of the sea. 
 Half-clad, and kneeling on an unknown land. 
 And for a morsel holding out my hand." 
 
 Then said he, ** Lady, fear not any more, 
 
 20 
 
For you are come unto no savage shore, 
 But here shall be a queen as erst at home : 
 And if thou askest whereto thou art come, 
 This is the isle Seriphos ; and for me. 
 My name is Dictys, and right royally 
 My brother lives, the king of all the isle. 
 Him shalt thou see within a little while 
 And doubtless he will give thee everything 
 That 'longs unto the daughter of a king. 
 
 " Meanwhile I bid thee in mine house to rest. 
 And there thy wearied body shall be dressed 
 In seemly raiment by my women slaves. 
 And thou shalt wash thee from the bitter waves, 
 And eat and drink, and sleep full easily 
 And on the morrow shalt thou come with me 
 And take King Polydectes by the hand, 
 Who in good peace rules o'er this quiet land." 
 
 Then on his horse he set the Queen, while he 
 Walked by the side thereof right soberly. 
 And half asleep, as slow they went along. 
 She laid her hand upon the war-horse strong. 
 While Dictys by her side Jove's offspring bore, 
 And thus they left the sea-beat yellow shore. 
 And as one dreaming to the house she came. 
 Where in the sun the brazen doors did flame ; 
 And there she ate and drank as in a dream ; 
 Dreamlike to her the scented bath did seem 
 After the icy sprinkling of the waves. 
 And like a dream the fair, slim women-slaves 
 Who laid her in the fair bed, where she slept 
 Dreamless, until the horned white moon had stept 
 
 21 
 
Over the fresh pine-scented hills again. 
 
 But when the sun next day drave forth his wain. 
 The damsel, clad in queen-like gold array. 
 With Dictys to the palace took her way ; 
 And there by minstrels duly were they met. 
 Who brought them to the great hall, where was set 
 The King upon a royal throne of gold : 
 Black-bearded was he, thirty summers old. 
 Comely and strong, and seemed a king indeed ; 
 Who, when he saw the minstrels thither lead 
 Fair Danae, rose up to her, and said : 
 " Oh, welcome, lady ! be no more afraid 
 That thou shalt lose thy state and dignity : 
 Yea, since a gem the gods have sent to me. 
 With plates of silver will I overlay 
 The casket that has brought it on the way. 
 And set it in King Neptune's house to stand 
 Until the sea shall wash away the land. 
 
 " And for thyself a fair house shalt thou have 
 With all things needful, and right many a slave. 
 Both men and women ; fair shall all things be 
 That thou mayst dwell here in felicity, 
 And that no care may wrinkle thy smooth brow. 
 
 " And for the child, when he is old enow 
 The priests of Pallas shall of him have care, 
 And thou shalt dwell hard by her temple fair; 
 But on this good day in mine hall abide. 
 And do me grace in sitting by my side." 
 
 Then mounted she the dais and sat, and then 
 Was she beheld of all the island-men 
 Who praised her much, and praised the sturdy child, 
 
 22 
 
Who at their shouting made as if he smiled. 
 
 So passed the feast, and at the end of day 
 Towards her own house did Danae go away, 
 That stood amid Minerva's oHve-trees 
 Hidden away from moaning of the seas. 
 
 And there began fair Danae's Hfe again. 
 And quite forgotten was her ancient pain. 
 And peacefully did day succeed to day, 
 While fairer grew the well-loved child alway. 
 And strong and wise beyond his scanty years. 
 And in the island all his little peers 
 Held him for lord whatso might be their worth, 
 And Perseus is his name from this time forth. 
 
 23 
 
0_, eighteen summers now have 
 
 come and gone 
 Since on the beach fair Danae 
 
 stood alone 
 Holding her little son, nor yet 
 
 was she 
 Less fair than when the hoarse 
 
 unwilling sea 
 Moaned loud that Neptune drew 
 him from her feet, 
 And the wind sighed upon her bosom sweet. 
 For in that long-past half-forgotten time, 
 While yet the world was young, and the sweet clime, 
 Golden and mild, no bitter storm-clouds bred, 
 Light lay the years upon the untroubled head. 
 And longer men lived then by many a year 
 Than in these days, when every week is dear. 
 
 Now on a day was held a royal feast 
 Whereon there should be slain full many a beast 
 Unto Minerva ; thereto the King came. 
 And in his heart love lit a greedy flame 
 At sight of Danae's arms stretched out in prayer 
 Unto the goddess, and her yellow hair. 
 Wreathed round with olive wreaths, that hung adown 
 Over the soft folds of her linen gown ; 
 And when at last he took her by the hand 
 Speechless by her did Polydectes stand, 
 So much with fond desire bewildered 
 At sight of all that wondrous white and red, 
 That peaceful face wherein all past distress 
 
 24 
 
Had melted into perfect loveliness. 
 
 So when that night he lay upon his bed, 
 Full many a thought he turned within his head 
 Of how he best might unto that attain. 
 Whose lack now lilled him with such burning pain. 
 And at the first it seemed a little thing 
 For him who was a rich man and a king, 
 Either by gifts to win her, or to send 
 And fetch her thither, and perforce to end 
 Her widowhood; but then there came the thought, 
 " By force of gifts hither she might be brought, 
 And here might I get that for which I long. 
 Yet has she here a son both brave and strong, 
 Nor will he think it much to end my days 
 If he may get thereby the people's praise, 
 E'en if therewith he shortly needs must die; 
 Ah, verily, a purblind fool was I, 
 That when I first beheld that matchless face 
 I had no eyes to see her heavenly grace : 
 Then with few words might I have held her here 
 And kept her for mine own with little fear ; 
 But now I have no will the lad to slay. 
 For he would be revenged some evil day, 
 Who now Jove's offspring do I think to be, 
 So dowered he is with might and majesty. 
 
 '* Yet could I find perchance some fair pretence 
 Whereby with honour I might send him hence. 
 Nor have the youngling's blood upon my head, 
 Then might he be well-nigh as good as dead." 
 
 So pondering on his bed long time he lay. 
 Until the night began to mix with day, 
 25 
 
And then he smiled and so to sleep turned round, 
 As though at last some sure way he had found. 
 
 And now it chanced to come round to the day. 
 When all the lords clad in their rich array 
 Unto the King should come for royal feast ; 
 And there the way was, that both most and least 
 Should thither bear some present for the King, 
 As horse or sword, gold chain, fair cup, or ring. 
 Unto which feast was Perseus bidden now 
 Who giftless came, bare as the winter bough, 
 For little was his wealth in that strange land. 
 
 So there ashamed it was his lot to stand. 
 Before the guests were called to meat, and when 
 He sat amidst those royally-clad men 
 Little he spake for shame of his estate, 
 Not knowing yet his god-like birth and great. 
 
 So passed the feast, and when the full time came 
 To show the gifts, he waxed all red for shame : 
 For through the hall white horses were brought up, 
 And well-clad slaves, and many a dainty cup, 
 And many a gem well set in brooch or ring. 
 And laid before the dais of the King. 
 But all alone of great folk of the land 
 With eyes cast down for rage did Perseus stand. 
 Yet for his manhood thence he would not go. 
 
 Now some that secretly were bidden so. 
 Beholding him began to gibe and jeer. 
 Yet not too loud, held back perchance by fear. 
 And thus a murmur spread about the hall 
 As, each to each, men cast about the ball, 
 
 26 
 
Which the King heard, or seemed to hear at last, 
 
 And round the noisy hall a look he cast. 
 
 And then beholding Perseus with a smile 
 
 He said, '* Good friends, fair lords, be still awhile. 
 
 And say no ill about this giftless guest. 
 
 For truly not the worst, if scarce the best, 
 
 I hold him, and forsooth so rich I live 
 
 Within this land, that I myself may give 
 
 Somewhat to him, nor yet take from him aught. 
 
 And when I bade him here this was my thought." 
 
 Then stretching out his arm did he take up 
 From off the board, a jewelled golden cup 
 And said, ** O Perseus, come and sit by me. 
 And from my hand take this, that thou dost see, 
 And be my friend." Then Perseus drew anear. 
 And took the cup and said, " This shall be dear 
 Unto mine eyes while on the earth I live ; 
 And yet a gift I in my turn may give. 
 When to this land comes bitter war, or when 
 Some enemy thou hast among great men ; 
 Yea, sire, among these knights and lords I swear 
 To do whatso thou bid'st me without fear." 
 
 Then the King smiled and said, "■ Yea, verily, 
 Then wilt thou give a great gift unto me. 
 Nor yet, forsooth, too early by a day ; 
 To-morrow may'st thou be upon thy way. 
 
 " Far in the western sea a land there is 
 Desert and vast, and emptied of all bliss. 
 Where dwell the Gorgons wretchedly enow ; 
 Two of them die not, one above her brow 
 27 
 
And wretched head bears serpents, for the shame 
 That on an ill day fell upon her name, 
 When in Minerva's shrine great sin was wrought 
 For thither by the Sea-god she was brought, 
 And in the maiden's house in love they mixed; 
 Who wrathful, in her once fair tresses fixed 
 That snaky brood, and shut her evermore 
 Within a land west of the Lybian shore. 
 
 " Now if a king could gain this snaky head 
 Full well for war were he apparelled. 
 Because no man may look thereon and live. 
 A great gift, therefore, Perseus, wouldst thou give 
 If thou shouldst bring this wonder unto me; 
 And tor the place, far in the western sea 
 It lies, I say, but nothing more I know. 
 Therefore I bid thee, to some wise man go 
 Who has been used this many a day to pore 
 O'er ancient books of long-forgotten lore. " 
 
 Thus spoke the King, knowing the while full well 
 None but a god of that far land could tell. 
 
 But Perseus answered, " O my Lord, the King, 
 Thou settest me to win a dreadful thing, 
 Yet for thy bounty this gift will I give 
 Unto thine hands, if I should chance to live." 
 
 With that he turned, and silent, full of thought. 
 From out the hall he passed not noting aught. 
 And toward his home he went but soberly. 
 And thence went forth an ancient man to see 
 He hoped might tell him that he wished to know 
 And to what land it were the best to go. 
 
 28 
 
But when he told the elder all the tale, 
 He shook his head, and said, "Nought will avail 
 My lore for this, nor dwells the man on earth 
 Whose wisdom for this thing will be of worth. 
 Yea, to this dreadful land no man shall win 
 Unless some god himself shall help therein; 
 Therefore, my son, I rede thee stay at home, 
 For thou shalt have full many a chance to roam 
 Seeking for something that all men love well. 
 Not for an unknown isle where monsters dwell." 
 
 Then forth again went Perseus soberly 
 And walked along the border of the sea. 
 Upon the yellow sands where first he came 
 That time that he was deemed his mother's shame. 
 
 And now was it the first hour of the night. 
 Therefore within the west a yellow light 
 Yet shone, though risen was the horned moon, 
 Whose lonely cold grey beams would quench it soon. 
 Though now her light was shining doubtfully 
 On the wet sands, for low down was the sea 
 But rising, and the salt-sea wind blew strong 
 And drave the hurrying breakers swift along. 
 So there walked Perseus thinking many a thing 
 About those last words of the wily King, 
 And as he went at last he came upon 
 An ancient woman, who said, " Fair, my son, 
 What dost thou wandering here in the cold night ? 
 When in the King's hall glance from shade to light 
 The golden sandals of the dancing girls. 
 And in the gold cups set with gems and pearls 
 29 
 
The wine shines fair that glads the heart of man ; 
 What dost thou wandering 'neath the moonlight wan ? " 
 
 " This have I done," said he, " as one should swear 
 To make the vine bear bunches twice a-year. 
 For I have sworn the Gorgon's head to bring 
 A worthy gift unto our island King, 
 When neither I nor any man can tell 
 In what far land apart from men they dwell. 
 Some god alone can help me in my need ; 
 And yet unless somehow I do the deed 
 An exile I must be from this fair land, 
 Nor with my peers shall I have heart to stand." 
 
 Grim in the moonlight smiled the aged crone. 
 And said, " If living there thou com'st, alone 
 Of all men yet, what thinkest thou to do ? 
 Then verily thy journey shalt thou rue. 
 For whoso looks upon that face meets death. 
 That in his sick heart freezes up his breath 
 Until he has the semblance of a stone." 
 
 But Perseus answered straightly to the crone, 
 " O Mother, if the gods but give me grace 
 To come anigh that fair and dreadful face. 
 Well may they give me grace enough also 
 Their enemy and mine to lay alow." 
 
 Now as he spake, the white moon risen high 
 Burst from a cloud, and shone out gloriously. 
 And down the sands her path of silver shone. 
 And lighted full upon that ancient crone ; 
 And there a marvel Perseus saw indeed. 
 Because in face, in figure, and in weed, 
 
 30 
 
She wholly changed before his wondering eyes. 
 Now tall and straight her figure did arise, 
 That erst seemed bent with weight of many a year. 
 And on her head a helmet shone out clear 
 For the rent clout that held the grizzled head : 
 With a fair breastplate was she furnished. 
 From whence a hauberk to her knees fell down ; 
 And underneath, a perfumed linen gown, 
 O'erwrought with many-coloured Indian silk. 
 Fell to her sandall'd feet, as white as milk. 
 Grey-eyed she was, like amber shone her hair. 
 Aloft she held her right arm round and bare. 
 Whose long white fingers closed upon a spear. 
 
 Then trembled Perseus with unwonted fear 
 When he beheld before him Pallas stand, 
 And with bowed head he stood and outstretched hand 
 But she smiled on him softly, and she said, 
 " Hold up again, O Perseus, thy fair head. 
 Because thou art indeed thy father's son. 
 And in this quest that now thou goest upon 
 Thou shalt not fail : I swear it by my head, 
 And that black water all immortals dread. 
 
 " Look now before my feet, and thou shalt see 
 Four helpful things the high gods lend to thee. 
 Not willing thou should'st journey forth in vain : 
 Hermes himself, the many-eyed one's bane 
 Gives thee two-winged shoes to carry thee 
 Tireless high over every land and sea ; 
 This cap is his whose chariot caught away 
 The maid of Enna from her gentle play ; 
 31 
 
And if thou art hard-pressed of any one 
 
 Set this on thee, and so be seen of none : 
 
 The halting god was craftsman of this blade, 
 
 No better shone, when, making heaven afraid. 
 
 The giants round our golden houses cried, 
 
 For neither brass nor steel its edge can bide. 
 
 Or flinty rocks or gleaming adamant : 
 
 With these, indeed, but one thing dost thou want. 
 
 And that I give thee; little need'st thou reck 
 
 Of those grey hopeless eyes, if round thy neck 
 
 Thou hang'st this shield, that hanging once on mine. 
 
 In the grim giant's hopeless eyes did shine. 
 
 "And now be strong, and fly forth with good heart 
 Far northward, till thou seest the ice-walls part 
 The weary sea from snow-clad lands and wan. 
 Untrodden yet by any son of man. 
 There dwell the Gorgons' ancient sisters three 
 Men call the Graiae, who make shift to see 
 With one eye, which they pass from hand to hand. 
 Now make thyself unseen in this white land 
 And snatch the eye, while crooning songs they sit. 
 From hand to withered hand still passing it ; 
 And let them buy it back by telling thee 
 How thou shalt find within the western sea 
 The unknown country where their sisters dwell. 
 
 " Which thing unto thee I myself would tell. 
 But when with many a curse I set them there, 
 I in my wrath by a great oath did swear 
 I would not name again the country grey 
 Wherein they dwell, with little light of day. 
 
 " Good speed, O Perseus ; make no tarrying, 
 But straightly set thyself to do this thing." 
 
 32 
 
Now as his ears yet rung with words like these, 
 And on the sand he sank upon his knees 
 Before the goddess, there he knelt alone 
 As in a dream ; but still the white moon shone 
 Upon the sword, the shield, and cap and shoes. 
 Which half adrad he was at first to use. 
 Until the goddess gave him heart at last. 
 And his own gear in haste aside he cast. 
 And armed himself in that wild, lonely place : 
 Then turning round, northward he set his face. 
 And rose aloft and o'er the lands 'gan fly. 
 Betwixt the green earth and the windy sky. 
 
 Young was the night when first he left the sands 
 Of small Seriphos, but right many lands 
 Before the moon was down his winged feet 
 Had borne him over, tireless, strong, and fleet. 
 Then in the starlight black beneath him lay 
 The German forests where the wild swine play. 
 Fearless of what Diana's maids may do, 
 Who ever have more will to wander through 
 The warm and grassy woods of Thessaly, 
 Or in Sicilian orange-gardens lie. 
 
 But ere the hot sun on his arms 'gan shine 
 He had passed o'er the Danube and the Rhine, 
 And heard the faint sound of the northern sea ; 
 But ever northward flew untiringly. 
 Till Thule lay beneath his feet at last. 
 Then o'er its desert icy hills he passed, 
 And on beneath a feeble sun he flew. 
 Till, rising like a wall, the clifi^s he knew 
 That Pallas told him of: the sun was high. 
 But on the pale ice shone but wretchedly ; 
 33 
 
Pale blue the great mass was, and cold enow ; 
 Grey tattered moss hung from its jagged brow, 
 No wind was there at all, though ever beat 
 The leaden tideless sea against its feet. 
 
 Then lighted Perseus on that dreary land, 
 And when on the white plain his feet did stand 
 He saw no sign of either beast or man, 
 Except that near by rose a palace wan. 
 Built of some metal that he could not name. 
 Thither he went, and to a great door came 
 That stood wide open, so without a word 
 He entered in, and drew his deadly sword. 
 Though neither sword nor man could you behold 
 More than folk see their death ere they grow old. 
 
 So having entered, through a cloister grey 
 With cautious steps and slow he took his way. 
 At end whereof he found a mighty hall ; 
 Where, bare of hangings, a white marble wall 
 And milk-white pillars held the roof aloft. 
 And nothing was therein of fair or soft ; 
 And at one end, upon a dais high 
 There sat the crones that had the single eye. 
 Clad in blue sweeping cloak and snow-white gown ; 
 While o'er their backs their straight white hair hung down 
 In long thin locks ; dreadful their faces were 
 Carved all about with wrinkles of despair ; 
 And as they sat they crooned a dreary song, 
 Complaining that their lives should last so long. 
 In that sad place that no one came anear, 
 In that wan place desert of hope and fear ; 
 
 34 
 
And singing, still they rocked their bodies bent, 
 And ever each to each the eye they sent. 
 
 Awhile stood Perseus gazing on the three 
 Then sheathed his sword, and toward them warily 
 He went, and from the last one snatched the eye. 
 Who, feeling it gone from her, with a cry 
 Sprung up and said, *' O sisters, he is here 
 That we were warned so long ago to fear. 
 And verily he has the eye of me." 
 
 Then those three, thinking they no more should 
 see 
 What feeble light the sun could show them there. 
 And that of all joys now their life was bare, 
 Began a wailing and lamenting sore 
 That they were worse than ever heretofore. 
 
 Then Perseus cried, ** Unseen am I indeed. 
 But yet a mortal man, who have a need 
 Your wisdom can make good, if so ye will ; 
 Now neither do I wish you any ill, 
 Nor this your treasure will I keep from you 
 If ye will tell me what I needs must do 
 To gain, upon the earth or under it, 
 The dreary country where your sisters sit: 
 Of whom, as wise men say, the one is fair 
 As any goddess, but with snaky hair 
 And body that shall perish on some day. 
 While the two others ancient are, and grey 
 As ye be, but shall see the whole world die." 
 
 Then said they, ** Rash man, give us back the eye 
 Or rue this day, for wretched as we are, 
 35 
 
Beholding not fair peace or godlike war, 
 
 Or any of the deeds of men at all, 
 
 Yet are we strong, and on thy head shall fall 
 
 Our heavy curses, and but dismally 
 
 Thy life shall pass until thou com'st to die." 
 
 " Make no delay," he said, *' to do this thing, 
 Or this your cherished sight I soon shall fling 
 Into the sea, or burn it up with fire." 
 
 " What else, what else, but this wilt thou desire ? " 
 They said, *' Wilt thou have long youth at our hands } 
 Or wilt thou be the king of lovely lands ? 
 Or store up wealth to lead thy life in mirth ? 
 Or wilt thou have the beauty of the earth 
 With all her kindness for thy very own ? 
 Choose what thou wilt except this thing alone." 
 
 "Nay," said he, "for nought else I left my home, 
 For this sole knowledge hither am I come. 
 Not all unholpen of the gods above; 
 Nor yet shall words my stedfast purpose move." 
 
 Then with that last word did he hold his peace. 
 And they no less from wailing words did cease. 
 Hoping that in that silence he might think 
 Of their dread words and from the evils shrink 
 Wherewith they threatened him ; but in his heart 
 Most godlike courage fit for such a part 
 The white-armed goddess of the loom had set. 
 Nor in that land her help did he forget. 
 
 Withal, when many an hour had now gone by, 
 Together did the awesome sisters cry, 
 " O man ! O man ! hear that which thou would'st know, 
 
 36 
 
And with thy knowledge let the dread curse go. 
 We, least of all, have 'scaped, of those who dwell 
 Upon this wretched fire-concealing shell. 
 Slave of the cruel gods ! go, get ye hence. 
 And storing deeds for fruitless penitence, 
 Go east, as though in Scythia was your home. 
 But when unto the wind-beat seas ye come 
 Stop short, and turn round to the south again 
 Until ye reach the western land of Spain ; 
 Then o'er the straits ye soon shall come to be 
 Betwixt the ocean and the inner sea. 
 Thenceforth go westward even as thou mayst 
 Until ye find a dark land long laid waste. 
 Where green cliffs rise from out an inky sea. 
 But no green leaf may grow on bush or tree. 
 No sun makes day there, no moon lighteth night, 
 The long years there must pass in grey twilight ; 
 There dwell our sisters, walking dismally, 
 Between the dull-brown caverns and the sea. 
 
 " Tool in the hands of gods ! do there thy might ! 
 Nor fall like us, nor strive for peace and right ; 
 But give our own unto us and be gone. 
 And leave us to our misery alone." 
 
 Then straight he put the eye into the hand 
 Of her that spoke, and turned from that white land. 
 Leaving them singing their grim song again. 
 But flying forth he came at last to Spain, 
 And so unto the southern end of it. 
 And then with restless wings due west did flit. 
 37 
 
For many a day across the sea he flew. 
 That lay beneath him clear enough and blue, 
 Until at last rose such a thick grey mist. 
 That of what lay beneath him nought he wist ; 
 But still through this he flew a night and day 
 Hearkening the washing of the watery way. 
 Unseen : but when, at ending of the night, 
 The mist was gone and grey sea came in sight, 
 He thought that he had reached another world ; 
 This way and that the leaden seas were hurled. 
 Moved by no wind, but by some unseen power ; 
 Twilight it was and still his feet dropped lower. 
 As through the thickening, dim hot air he passed, 
 Until he feared to reach the sea at last. 
 
 But even as his feet dragged in the sea, 
 He, praying to the goddess fervently, 
 Felt her good help, for soon he rose again 
 Three fathoms up, and flew with lessened pain ; 
 And looking through the dimness could behold 
 The wretched land whereof the sisters told. 
 And soon could see how down the green cliffs fell 
 A yellow stream, that from some inland well 
 Arose, and through the land ran sluggishly. 
 Until it poured with dull plash in the sea 
 Like molten lead ; and nigher as he came 
 He saw great birds, whose kind he could not name. 
 That whirling noiselessly about did seem 
 To seek a prey within that leaden stream ; 
 And drawing nigher yet, at last he saw 
 That many of them held, with beak or claw, 
 Great snakes they tore still flying through the air. 
 
 38 
 
Then making for the cliff and lighting there 
 
 He saw, indeed, the tawny stream and dull 
 
 Of intertwining writhen snakes was full. 
 
 So, with a shudder, thence he turned away. 
 
 And through the untrodden land he took his way. 
 
 Now cave-pierced rocks there rose up everywhere. 
 And gaunt old trees, of leaves and fruit all bare ; 
 And midst this wretchedness a mighty hall, 
 Whose great stones made a black and shining wall ; 
 The doors were open, and thence came a cry 
 Of one in anguish wailing bitterly ; 
 Then o'er its threshold passed the son of Jove, 
 Well shielded by the grey-eyed Maiden's love. 
 
 Now there he saw two women bent and old, 
 Like to those three that erst he did behold 
 Far northward, sitting well-nigh motionless, 
 Their eyes grown stony with their long distress. 
 Stared out at nought, and still no sound they made, 
 And on their knees their wrinkled hands were laid. 
 
 But a third woman paced about the hall. 
 And ever turned her head from wall to wall 
 And moaned aloud, and shrieked in her despair ; 
 Because the golden tresses of her hair 
 Were moved by writhing snakes from side to side. 
 That in their writhing oftentimes would glide 
 On to her breast, or shuddering shoulders white ; 
 Or, falling down, the hideous things would light 
 Upon her feet, and crawling thence would twine 
 Their slimy folds about her ankles fine. 
 But in a thin red garment was she clad. 
 And round her waist a jewelled band she had, 
 39 
 
The gift of Neptune on the fatal day 
 When fate her happiness first put away. 
 
 So there awhile unseen did Perseus stand, 
 With softening heart, and doubtful trembling hand 
 Laid on his sword-hilt, muttering, " Would that she 
 Had never turned her woeful face to me." 
 But therewith Pallas smote him with this thought, 
 "Does she desire to live, who has been brought 
 Into such utter woe and misery, 
 Wherefrom no god or man can set her free. 
 Since Pallas' dreadful vow shall bind her fast. 
 Till earth and heaven are gone, and all is past ? 
 — And yet, would God the thing were at an end." 
 
 Then with that word, he saw her stop and rend 
 The raiment from her tender breast and soft. 
 And with a great cry lift her arms aloft; 
 Then on her breast her head sank, as she said, 
 " O ye, be merciful, and strike me dead ! 
 How many an one cries unto you to live. 
 Which gift ye find no little thing to give, 
 O give it now to such, and unto me 
 That other gift from which all people flee ! 
 
 " O was it not enough to take away 
 The flowery meadows and the light of day? 
 Or not enough to take away from me 
 The once-loved faces that I used to see ; 
 To take away sweet sounds and melodies. 
 The song of birds, the rustle of the trees; 
 To make the prattle of the children cease. 
 And wrap my soul in shadowy hollow peace. 
 Devoid of longing ? Ah, no, not for me ! 
 
 40 
 
For those who die your friends this rest shall be ; 
 For me no rest from shame and sore distress, 
 For me no moment of forgetfulness ; 
 For me a soul that still might love and hate. 
 Shut in this fearful land and desolate, 
 Changed by mine eyes to horror and to stone ; 
 For me perpetual anguish all alone. 
 Midst many a tormenting misery, 
 Because I know not if I e'er shall die. 
 
 *' And yet, and yet, thee will I pray unto. 
 Thou dweller in the varying halls of blue, 
 Fathoms beneath the treacherous bridge of lands. 
 Call now to mind that day upon the sands, 
 Hard by the house of Pallas white and cold. 
 Where hidden in some wave thou didst behold 
 This body, fearless of the cold grey sea. 
 And dowered as yet with fresh virginity. 
 
 " How many things thou promisedst me then 
 Who among all the daughters of great men 
 Should be like me } what sweet and happy life ! 
 What peace, if all the world should be at strife. 
 Thou promisedst me then ! Lay all aside, 
 And give unto the great Earth-Shaker's bride 
 That which the wretch shut up in prison drear, 
 Deprived of all, yet ceases not to fear ; 
 That which all men fear more than all distress, 
 Irrevocable dull forgetfulness." 
 
 Her constant woeful prayer was heard at last. 
 For now behind her unseen Perseus passed. 
 And silently whirled the great sword around ; 
 41 
 
And when it fell, she fell upon the ground, 
 And felt no more of all her bitter pain. 
 
 But from their seats rose up with curses vain 
 The two immortals when they saw her fall 
 Headless upon the floor, and loud 'gan call 
 On those that came not, because far away 
 Their friends and kindred were upon that day. 
 Then to and fro about the hall they ran 
 To find the slayer, were he god or man. 
 And when unseen from out the place he drew. 
 Upon the unhappy corpse, with wails, they threw 
 Their wretched and immortal bodies old : 
 But when the one the other did behold. 
 Alive and hideous there before her eyes. 
 Such anguish for the past time would arise 
 Within their hearts, that the lone hall would ring 
 With dreadful shrieks of many an impious thing. 
 
 Yet of their woe but little Perseus knew. 
 As with a stout heart south-east still he flew. 
 
 42 
 
OW at his side a wallet Per- 
 seus bore. 
 With threads of yellow gold 
 
 embroidered o'er. 
 Shuddering, therein he laid the 
 
 fearful head, 
 Lest he, unwitting yet might 
 join the dead, 
 'Or those he loved by sight of it be slain. 
 
 But strong Fate led him to the Lybian plain, 
 Where, at the ending of a sultry day, 
 A palace huge and fair beneath him lay. 
 Whose roofs with silver plates w^ere covered o'er ; 
 Then lighting down by its enormous door, 
 He heard unmeasured sounds of revelry, 
 And thought, *' A fair place this will be for me, 
 Who lack both food and drink, and rest this night." 
 So turning to the ruddy flood of light. 
 Up the huge steps he toiled unto the hall ; 
 But even as his eager foot did fall 
 Upon the threshold, such a mocking shout 
 Rang in his ears as Etna sendeth out 
 When, at the day's end, round the stithy cold 
 The Cyclops some unmeasured banquet hold. 
 And monstrous men could he see sitting there. 
 Burnt by the sun, with length of straight black hair, 
 And taller far than men are wont to be ; 
 And at a gold-strewn dais could he see 
 A mighty King, a fearful man to face, 
 Brown-skinned and black-haired, of the giants' race. 
 Who seeing him, with thundering voice 'gan call, 
 43 
 
" O stranger, come forthwith into the hall. 
 Atlas would see thee ! " Forth stood Perseus then. 
 And going 'twixt the rows of uncouth men 
 Seemed but a pigmy ; but his heart was great. 
 And vain is might against the stroke of fate. 
 
 Then the King cried " Who art thou, little one ? 
 Surely in thy land weak must be the sun 
 If there are bred such tender folk as thou : 
 May the gods grant such men are few enow ! 
 Art thou a king's son ? " Loud he laughed withal. 
 And shouts of laughter rang throughout the hall. 
 Like clattering thunder on a July night. 
 But Perseus quailed not. "Little were my might," 
 He said, " if helpless on the earth I were ; 
 But to the equal gods my life is dear, 
 And certes victory over Jove's own son 
 By earthly men shall not be lightly won." 
 
 So spake he, moving inward from the door. 
 But louder laughed the black King than before. 
 And all his people shouted at his beck ; 
 Therewith he cried, *' Break now this Prince's neck. 
 And take him forth and hang him up straightway 
 Before my door, that henceforth from this day 
 Pigmies and jesters may take better heed. 
 Lest at our hands they gain a liar's meed." 
 
 Then started up two huge men from the board. 
 And Perseus, seeing them come, half drew his sword. 
 Looking this way and that ; but in a while. 
 Upon his wallet with a deadly smile 
 He set his hand, and forth the head he drew. 
 Dead, white midst golden hair, where serpents blue 
 
 44 
 
Yet dangled dead ; and ere they stooped to take 
 His outstretched arms, before them he did shake 
 The dreadful thing : then stopped they suddenly. 
 Stone dead, without a wound or any cry. 
 
 Then toward the King he held aloft the head. 
 And as he stiffened cried at him, and said, 
 " O King ! when such a gift I bring to thee. 
 Wilt thou be dumb and neither hear nor see ? 
 Listen how sing thy men, and in thy hall 
 How swift the merry dancers' feet do fall! " 
 
 For now these, thinking him some god to be. 
 Cried in their fear, and made great haste to flee. 
 Crowding about the great doors of the hall. 
 Until not one was left of great or small. 
 But the dead King, and those that there had died. 
 — Lo, in such way Medusa's head was tried ! 
 
 But when the living giant-folk were gone, 
 And with the dead men there he stood alone. 
 He turned him to the food that thereby lay. 
 And ate and drank with none to say him nay ; 
 And on the floor at last he laid him down. 
 Midst heaps of unknown tawny skins and brown. 
 
 There all the night in dreamless sleep he lay. 
 But rose again at the hrst streak of day. 
 And looking round about rejoiced to see 
 The uncouth image of his enemy. 
 Silent for ever, with wide mouth agape 
 E'en as he died ; and thought, *' Who now shall 'scape 
 When I am angry, while this gift I have ? 
 How well my needy lovers I may save 
 While this dread thing still hangeth by my side ! " 
 45 
 
Then out he passed : a plain burnt up, and wide, 
 He saw before him, bare of any trees, 
 And much he longed for the green dashing seas. 
 And merry winds of the sweet island shore. 
 Fain of the gull's cry, for the lion's roar. 
 
 Yet, glad at heart, he lifted up his feet 
 From the parched earth, and soon the air did beat. 
 Going north-east, and flew forth all the day. 
 And when the night fell still was on the way ; 
 And many a sandy plain did he pass o'er, 
 And many a dry much-trodden river shore, 
 Where thick the thirsty beasts stood in the night. 
 The stealthy leopard saw him with affright. 
 As whining from the thicket it crept out ; 
 The lion drew back at his sudden shout 
 From off the carcass of some slaughtered beast ; 
 And the thin jackals waiting for the feast 
 Stinted their hungry howls as he passed by ; 
 And black men sleeping, as he came anigh 
 Dreamed ugly dreams, and reached their hands to seize 
 The spear or sword that lay across their knees. 
 
 So at the last the sea before him lay, 
 And yet, therefore, he ma'de not any stay, 
 But flew on till the night began to wane. 
 And the grey sea was blue and green again ; 
 Until the sunlight on his wings shone fair. 
 And turned to red the gold locks of his hair. 
 Then in a little while he saw no land. 
 But all was heaving sea on every hand. 
 Driven this way and that way by the wind. 
 
 46 
 
I 
 
 Still fast he flew, thinking some coast to find, 
 And so, about the middle of the day. 
 Far to the east a land before him lay. 
 And when unto it he was come anigh 
 He saw the sea beat on black cliffs and high, 
 With green grass growing on the tops of them. 
 Binding them round as gold a garment's hem. 
 
 Then slowly alongside thereof he flew 
 If haply by some sign the land he knew. 
 Until a ness he reached, whereon there stood 
 A tower new-built of mighty beams of wood ; 
 So nigh he came that, unseen, he could see 
 Pale haggard faces peering anxiously 
 From out its well-barred windows that looked forth 
 Into a bay that lay upon the north ; 
 But inland over moveless waves of down 
 Shone the white walls of some great royal town. 
 Now underneath the scarped cliffs of the bay 
 From horn to horn a belt of sand there lay 
 Fast lessening as the flood-tide swallowed it. 
 There all about did the sea-swallows flit. 
 And from the black rocks yellow hawks flew down. 
 And cormorants fished amidst the sea-weed brown, 
 Or on the low rocks nigh unto the sea. 
 While over all the fresh wind merrily 
 Blew from the sea, and o'er the pale blue sky 
 Thin clouds were stretched the way the wind went by. 
 And forward did the mighty waters press 
 As though they loved the green earth's stedfastness. 
 Nought slept, but everything was bright and fair 
 Beneath the bright sun and the noon-day air. 
 47 
 
Now hovering there, he seemed to hear a sound 
 Unlike the sea-bird's cry, and, looking round. 
 He saw a figure standing motionless 
 Beneath the clifF, midway 'twixt ness and ness, 
 And as the wind lull'd heard that cry again. 
 That sounded like the wail of one in pain ; 
 Wondering thereat, and seeking marvels new 
 He lighted down, and toward the place he drew. 
 And made invisible by Pallas' aid, 
 He came within the scarped cliff's purple shade, 
 And found a woman standing lonely there, 
 Naked, except for tresses of her hair 
 That o'er her white limbs by the breeze were wound, 
 And brazen chains her weary arms that bound 
 Unto the sea-beat overhanging rock, 
 As though her golden-crowned head to mock. 
 But nigh her feet upon the sand there lay 
 Rich raiment that had covered her that day. 
 Worthy to be the ransom of a king, 
 Unworthy round such loveliness to cling. 
 
 Alas, alas ! no bridal play this was, 
 The tremors that throughout her limbs did pass. 
 Her restless eyes, the catching of her breath, 
 Were but the work of the cold hand of death. 
 She waited for, midst untold miseries. 
 As, now with head cast back, and close-shut eyes. 
 She wailed aloud, and now all spent with woe 
 Stared out across the rising sea, as though 
 She deemed each minute brought the end anigh 
 For which in her despair she needs must cry. 
 
 48 
 
Then unseen Perseus stole anigh the maid, 
 And love upon his heart a soft hand laid. 
 And tender pity rent it for her pain. 
 Nor yet an eager cry could he refrain. 
 As now, transformed by that piteous sight. 
 Grown like unto a god for pride and might, 
 Down on the sand the mystic cap he cast 
 And stood before her with flushed face at last. 
 And grey eyes glittering with his great desire 
 Beneath his hair, that like a harmless fire 
 Blown by the wind shone in her hopeless eyes. 
 
 But she, all rigid with her first surprise, 
 Ceasing her wailing as she heard his cry. 
 Stared at him, dumb with fear and misery. 
 Shrunk closer yet unto the rocky place 
 And writhed her bound hands as to hide her face ; 
 But sudden love his heart did so constrain. 
 With open mouth he strove to speak in vain 
 And from his heart the hot tears 'gan to rise ; 
 But she midst fear beheld his kind grey eyes. 
 And then, as hope came glimmering through her dread, 
 In a weak voice he scarce could hear, she said, 
 ** O Death ! if thou hast risen from the sea. 
 Sent by the gods to end this misery, 
 I thank them that thou comest in this form, 
 Who rather thought to see a hideous worm 
 Come trailing up the sands from out the deep, 
 Or suddenly swing over from the steep 
 To lap me in his folds, and bone by bone 
 Crush all my body : come then, with no moan. 
 Will I make ready now to leave the light. 
 49 
 
" But yet — thy face is wonderful and bright ; 
 Art thou a god? Ah, then be kind to me ! 
 Is there no valley far off from the sea 
 Where I may live alone, afar from strife 
 Nor anger any god with my poor life ? 
 Or do the gods delight in misery 
 And art thou come to mock me ere I die ? 
 Alas, must they be pitiless, when they 
 Fear not the hopeless slayer of the day ! 
 Speak, speak ! what meanest thou by that sad smile ? 
 
 " O, if the gods could be but men awhile 
 And learn such fearful things unspeakable 
 As I have learned this morn, what man can tell 
 What golden age might wrap the world again — 
 Ah, dost thou love me, is my speech not vain ? 
 Did not my beauty perish on this morn 
 Dost thou not kiss me now for very scorn ? 
 Alas, my shame, I cannot flee from thee ! 
 Alas, my sin ! no green-stemmed laurel tree 
 Shall mock thy grasp, no misty mountain stream 
 Shall wake thee shuddering from a lovely dream, 
 No helping god shall hear, but thou alone ! — 
 Help me, I faint ! I see not ! art thou gone ? 
 Alas ! thy lips were warm upon my brow, 
 What good deed will it be to leave me now ! 
 
 " Oh, yet I feel thy kind and tender hand 
 On my chained wrist, and thou wilt find some land 
 Where I may live a little, free froHi fear. 
 
 " And yet, and yet, if thou hast sought me here 
 Being but a man no manly thing it is. 
 Nor hope thou from henceforth to live in bliss, 
 
 50 
 
If here thou wrongest me, who am but dead." 
 
 Then as she might she hung adown her head, 
 Her bosom heaved with sobs, and from her eyes 
 Long dried amidst those hopeless miseries 
 Unchecked the salt tears o'er her bosom ran 
 As love and shame their varying strife began. 
 
 But overwhelmed with pity, mad with love 
 Stammering, nigh weeping spoke the son of Jove, — 
 " Alas, what land is this, where such as thou 
 Are thus tormented ? look upon me now. 
 And cease thy fear ! no evil man am I, 
 No cruel god to mock thy misery ; 
 But the gods help me, and their unmoved will 
 Has sent me here to save thee from some ill, 
 I know not what ; to give thee rest from this. 
 And unto me unutterable bliss. 
 If from a man thou takest not away 
 The gift thou gavest to a god to-day ; 
 But I may be a very god to thee. 
 Because the gods are helpful unto me, 
 Nor would I fear them aught if thou wert nigh. 
 Since unto each it happeneth once to die. 
 
 " Speak not, sweet maid, till I have loosed thine hands 
 From out the grasp of these unworthy bands." 
 
 So straight, and ere her lips could frame a word. 
 From out its sheath he drew the gleaming sword. 
 And while she shut her dazzled eyes for fear 
 To see the glittering marvel draw anear. 
 Unto her side her weary arms fell freed ; 
 Then must she shrink away, for now indeed 
 With rest and hope and growing love there came 
 51 
 
Remembrance of her helplessness and shame, 
 Weeping she said, " My fate is but to die. 
 Forget the wild words of my misery. 
 Take a poor maiden's thanks, and leave this place. 
 Nor for thy pity die before my face, 
 As verily thou wilt if thou stay'st here ; 
 Because, however free thou art from fear. 
 What hopest thou against this beast to do. 
 My death, and thine unconquerable foe ? 
 When all a kingdom's strength has had no hope 
 With this strange horror, God-endowed, to cope. 
 But deemed it good to give up one poor maid 
 Unto his wrath, who makes the world afraid." 
 
 " Nay," said he, " but thy fate shall be my fate. 
 And on these sands thy bane will I await. 
 Though I know nought of all his mightiness ; 
 For scarcely yet a man, I none the less 
 Such things have done as make me now a name. 
 Nor can I live a loveless life of shame, 
 Or leave thee now, this day's most god-like gain. 
 To suffer some unknown and mortal pain." 
 
 She, hurrying as he spoke, with trembling hands 
 Had lifted up her raiment from the sands. 
 And yet therewith she was not well arrayed. 
 Before she turned round, ghastly white, and said, 
 ** Look seaward and behold my death draw nigh, 
 Not thine — not thine — but kiss me ere I die; 
 Alas ! how many things I had to tell. 
 For certainly I should have loved thee well." 
 
 He came to her and kissed her as she sank 
 
 52 
 
Into his arms, and from the horror shrank, 
 
 CUnging to him, scarce knowing he was there ; 
 
 But through the drifting wonder of her hair, 
 
 Amidst his pity, he beheld the sea. 
 
 And saw a huge wave rising mightily 
 
 Above the smaller breakers of the shore. 
 
 Which in its green breast for a minute bore 
 
 A nameless horror, that it cast aland. 
 
 And left, a huge mass on the oozing sand. 
 
 That scarcely seemed a living thing to be. 
 
 Until at last those twain it seemed to see. 
 
 And gathering up its strange limbs, toward them passed. 
 
 And therewithal a dismal trumpet-blast 
 
 Rang from the tower, and from the distant town 
 
 The wind in answer brought loud wails adown. 
 
 Then Perseus gently put the maid from him 
 Who sank down shivering in her every limb. 
 Silent despite herself for fear and woe. 
 As down the beach he ran to meet the foe. 
 
 But he, beholding Jove's son drawing near, 
 A great black fold against him did uprear, 
 Maned with grey tufts of hair, as some old tree 
 Hung round with moss, in lands where vapours be; 
 From his bare skull his red eyes glowed like flame. 
 And from his open mouth a sound there came. 
 Strident and hideous, that still louder grew 
 As that rare sight of one in arms he knew : 
 But godlike, fearless, burning with desire. 
 The adamant jaws and lidless eyes of fire 
 Did Perseus mock, and lightly leapt aside 
 As forward did the torture-chamber glide 
 53 
 
Of his huge head, and ere the beast could turn, 
 One moment bright did blue-edged Herpe burn. 
 The next was quenched in the black flow of blood ; 
 Then in confused folds the hero stood. 
 His bright face shadowed by the jaws of death. 
 His hair blown backward by the poisonous breath ; 
 But all that passed, like lightning-lighted street 
 In the dark night, as the blue blade did meet 
 The wrinkled neck, and with no faltering stroke. 
 Like a god's hand the fell enchantment broke. 
 And then again in place of crash and roar. 
 He heard the shallow breakers on the shore. 
 And o'er his head the sea-gull's plaintive cry. 
 Careless as gods for who might live or die. 
 
 Then Perseus from the slimy loathsome coil 
 Drew out his feet, and then with little toil 
 Smote off the head, the terror of the lands. 
 And, dragging it along, went up the sands, 
 Shouting aloud for joy, "Arise, arise, 
 O thou whose name I know not ! Ope thine eyes 
 To see the gift, that I, first seen to-day, 
 Am hastening now before thy feet to lay ! 
 Look up, look up ! What shall thy sweet face be, 
 That I have seen amidst such misery. 
 When thou at last beginnest to rejoice." 
 
 Slowly she rose, her burdened heart found voice 
 In sobs and murmurs inarticulate. 
 And clean forgetting all the sport of fate. 
 She scarce could think that she should ever die, 
 As locked in fearless, loving, strait embrace, 
 
 54 
 
They made a heaven of that lone sandy place. 
 
 Then on a rock smoothed by the washing sea 
 They sat, and eyed each other lovingly. 
 And few words at the first the maiden said, 
 So wrapped she was in all the goodlihead. 
 Of her new life made doubly happy now : 
 For her alone the sea-breeze seemed to blow, 
 For her in music did the white surf fall, 
 For her alone the wheeling birds did call 
 Over the shallows, and the sky for her 
 Was set with white clouds, far away and clear : 
 E'en as her love, this strong and lovely one 
 Who held her hand, was but for her alone. 
 
 But after loving silence for a while. 
 She, turning round to him her heavenly smile. 
 Said, " Tell me, O my love, what name is thine. 
 What mother brought thee forth so nigh divine. 
 Whence art thou come to take away my shame ? " 
 
 Then said he, " Fair love, Perseus is my name, 
 Not known of men, though that may come to be ; 
 And her that bore me men call Danae, 
 And tales of my begetting people tell 
 And call my father, Jove : but it befell 
 Unto my mother, when I first was born. 
 That she, cast out upon the sea, forlorn 
 Of help of men, unto Seriphos came ; 
 And there she dwells as now, not gathering shame. 
 But called a Queen ; and thence I come indeed. 
 Sent by the gods to help thee in thy need." 
 
 Then he began and told her everything 
 Down to the slaying of the monstrous King, 
 55 
 
She listening to him meanwhile, glad at heart 
 That he had played so fair and great a part. 
 But all being told, she said, " This salt pool nigh 
 Left by the tide, now mirrors well the sky, 
 So smooth it is, and now I stand anear 
 Canst thou not see my foolish vision clear. 
 Yea, e'en the little gems upon my hands ? 
 May I not see this marvel of the lands 
 So mirrored, and yet live — make no delay 
 The sea is pouring fast into the bay. 
 And we must soon be gone." 
 
 " Look down," he said, 
 "And take good heed thou turnest not thine head." 
 Then gazing down, with shuddering dread and awe. 
 Over her imaged shoulder, soon she saw 
 The head rise up, so beautiful and dread. 
 That, white and ghastly, yet seemed scarcely dead 
 Beside the image of her own fair face, 
 As, daring not to move from off the place. 
 But trembling sore, she cried, *' Enough, O love ! 
 What man shall doubt thou art the son of Jove ; 
 I think thou wilt not die : " then with her hand 
 She hid her eyes, and trembling did she stand 
 Until she felt his lips upon her cheek ; 
 Then turning round, with anxious eyes and meek. 
 She gazed upon him, and some doubtful thought 
 Up to her brow the tender colour brought, 
 And sinking somewhat down her golden head. 
 Stammering a little now these words she said, — 
 
 " O godlike man, thou dost not ask my name. 
 Or why folk gave me up to death and shame ; 
 
 56 
 
Dost thou not dread I am some sorceress, 
 Whose evil deeds well earned me that distress ? " 
 
 "Tell me thy name," he said ; ** yet as for thee 
 I deem that thou wert bound beside the sea. 
 Because the gods would have the dearest thing 
 Thy land possessed for its own ransoming." 
 
 She. said, *' O love, the sea is rising fast, 
 And time it is that we henceforth were past ; 
 The only path that leadeth to the down 
 Is far, and thence a good way is the town ; 
 Come then, and on our journey will I tell 
 How all these things, now come to nought, befell." 
 
 " Lead me," he said, and lifted from the sand 
 The monster's head ; and therewith, hand in hand, 
 Together underneath the cliffs they went. 
 The while she told her tale to this intent. 
 
 " This is the Syrian land, this town anigh 
 Is Joppa, and Andromeda am I, 
 Daughter of him who holds the sceptre there, 
 King Cepheus and Cassiope the fair. 
 
 ** She, smit by cruel madness, brought ill fate 
 Upon the land to make it desolate ; 
 For by the place whence thou deliveredst me. 
 An altar to the daughters of the sea 
 Erewhile there stood, and we in solemn wise. 
 Unto the maids were wont to sacrifice. 
 And give them gifts of honey, oil, and wine. 
 That we might have the love of folk divine ; 
 And so it chanced that on a certain day. 
 When from that place the sea was ebbed away, 
 57 
 
Upon the firm sands I and many a maid 
 About that altar went, while the flutes played 
 Such notes as sea-folk love ; and as we went 
 Upon the wind rich incense-clouds we sent 
 About the hallowed stone, whereon there lay 
 Fruits of the earth for them to bear away ; 
 Thus did we maids, as we were wont to do, 
 And watching us, as was their wont also. 
 Our mothers stood, my own amidst the rest. 
 
 " But ere the rites were done, as one possessed 
 She cried aloud, * Alas, what do we now, 
 Such honour unto unseen folk to show ! 
 To spend our goods, our labour, and our lives. 
 In serving these the careless sea-wind drives 
 Hither and thither through the booming seas ; 
 While thou Andromeda art queen of these, 
 And in thy limbs such lovely godhead moves. 
 That thou shalt be new Mother of the Loves ; 
 Thou shalt not die! Go, child, and sit alone. 
 And take our homage on thy golden throne ; 
 And I that bore thee will but be thy slave, 
 Nor shall another any worship have.' 
 
 " Trembling awhile we stood with heads downcast, 
 To hear those words, then from the beach we passed ; 
 And sick at heart each went unto her home 
 Expecting when the fearful death should come, 
 Like those of Thebes, who, smit by arrows, fell 
 Before the feet of her who loved too well. 
 
 " And yet stayed not my mother's madness there ; 
 She caused men make a silver image fair 
 Of me unhappy, round the base she writ 
 
 58 
 
* Fairest of all,' and bade men carry it, 
 With flowers and music, down unto the sea, 
 Who on the altar fixed it solidly 
 Against the beating of the winds and waves. 
 
 '* But we, expecting now no quiet graves, 
 Trembled at every murmur of the night. 
 And if a cloud should hide the noon sun bright 
 Grew faint with terror ; yet the days went by 
 Harmless above our great iniquity. 
 Until one wretched morn I woke to hear, 
 Down in the street loud wails and cries of fear. 
 And my heart died within me, nor durst I 
 Ask for the reason of that bitter cry. 
 Though soon I knew it — nigh unto the sea 
 Were gathered folk for some festivity ; 
 When, at the happiest moment of their feast. 
 Forth from the deep there came a fearful beast 
 No man could name, who quickly snatched away 
 Their fairest maid, and with small pain did slay 
 Such men as there in arms before him stood; 
 For unto him was steel as rotted wood. 
 And darts as straw — nor grew the story old. 
 Day after day e'en such a tale was told. 
 — Kiss me, my love ! I grow afraid again ; 
 Kiss me amid the memory of my pain. 
 Draw me to thee, that I thine arms may feel, 
 A better help than triple brass or steel ! 
 
 *' Alas, love ! folk began to look on me 
 With angry eyes, and mutter gloomily. 
 As pale and trembling through the streets I passed; 
 And from the heavy thunder-cloud, at last 
 59 
 
The dreadful lightning quivered through the air : 
 
 For on a day the people filled the square 
 
 With arms and tumult, and my name I heard. 
 
 But heard no more ; for, shuddering and afeard. 
 
 Unto my far-off quiet bower I fled. 
 
 And from that moment deemed myself but dead. 
 
 How the time passed I know not, what they did 
 
 I know not now ; for like a quail half hid. 
 
 When the hawk's pinions shade the sun from him. 
 
 Crouching adown, I felt my life wax dim. 
 
 " The gods have made us mighty certainly 
 That we can bear such things and yet not die. 
 This morn — Ah, love, and was it yet this year. 
 Wherein thou earnest to me, kind and dear? — 
 This morn they brought me forth, they did on me 
 This mocking raiment bright with bravery ; 
 They mocked my head with gold, with gems my feet. 
 My heart with lovely songs and music sweet. 
 Thou wouldst have wept to see me led along 
 Amidst that dreary pomp with flowers and song. 
 But if folk wept, how could I note it then ; 
 Most vain to me were grown all ways of men. 
 
 *' They brought me to mine image on the sands, 
 They took it down, they bore it in their hands 
 To deck mine empty tomb, I think, and then — 
 O cruel is the fearfulness of men. 
 Striving a little while to 'scape death's pain ! — 
 My naked body they spared not to chain. 
 Lest I should 'scape the death from which they fled. 
 Then left me there alone and shamed — and dead — 
 While to his home each went again, to live 
 
 60 
 
Such vain forgetful life as fate may give. 
 
 *' O love, to think that love can pass away, 
 That, soon or late, to us shall come a day 
 When this shall be forgotten ! e'en this kiss 
 That makes us now forget the high God's bliss. 
 And sons of men with all their miseries." 
 
 *'Turn round," he said, **and let your well-loved eyes 
 Behold the sea from this high grassy hill, 
 And thou shalt see the risen waves now fill 
 The bay from horn to horn of it : no more 
 Thy footprints bless the shell-strewn sandy shore. 
 The vale the monster scooped as 'neath my sword 
 He writhed, the black stream that from out him poured. 
 The rock we sat on, and the pool wherein 
 Thou sawest the gods' revenge for heedless sin — 
 How the green ripples of the shallow sea 
 Cover the strife and passion peacefully. 
 Nor lack the hallowing of the low broad sun. 
 
 " So has love stolen upon us, lovely one. 
 And quenched our old lives in this new delight, 
 And if thou needs must think of that dull night 
 That creepeth on no otherwise than this, 
 Yet for that thought hold closer to thy bliss. 
 Come nigher, come ! forget the more thy pain." 
 
 So there of all love's feasting were they fain, 
 Words fail to tell the joyance that they had. 
 And with what words they made each other glad. 
 
 6i 
 
O, as it drew to ending of the 
 
 day, 
 Unto the city did they take 
 
 their way, 
 And when they stood before its 
 
 walls at last 
 They found the heavy gate 
 
 thereof shut fast, 
 And no one on the walls for 
 very shame ; 
 Then to the wicket straightway Perseus came. 
 And down the monster's grinning head he threw. 
 While on the horn a mighty blast he blew, 
 ^ But no one answered ; then he cried aloud, 
 " Come forth, O warders, and no more shrink cowed 
 Behind your battlements ! one man alone 
 Has dared to do what thousands have not done. 
 And the great beast beside the sea lies dead : 
 Come forth, come forth ! and gaze upon this head ! " 
 
 Then opened was the door a little way, 
 And one peered forth and saw him with the may. 
 And turning round some joyous words he cried 
 Unto the rest, who oped the great gates wide. 
 And through them Perseus the saved maiden led. 
 Then as the folk cast eyes upon the head, 
 They stopped their shouts to gaze thereon with fear, 
 And timidly the women drew anear ; 
 But soon, beholding Perseus' godlike grace. 
 His mighty limbs, and flushed and happy face. 
 Cried out unto the maid, " O happy thou, 
 Who art well paid for every trouble now, 
 
 62 
 
In winning such a godlike man as this." 
 And many there were fain his skirts to kiss ; 
 But he smiled down on them, and said, " Rejoice, 
 O girls, indeed, but yet lift heart and voice 
 Unto the gods to-day, and not to me ! 
 For they it was who sent me to this sea. 
 And first of all fail not to bless the Maid 
 Through whom it came that I was not afraid." 
 
 So through the streets they went, and quickly spread 
 News that the terror of the land was dead. 
 And folk thronged round to see the twain go by, 
 Or went before with flowers and minstrelsy. 
 Rejoicing for the slaying of their shame. 
 
 Thus harbinger'd the happy lovers came 
 Unto King Cepheus' royal house of gold. 
 To whom by this the joyful cries had told 
 That all was changed and still his days were good. 
 So, eager in his well-built porch he stood, 
 No longer now in mournful raiment clad. 
 
 But when they met, then were those two more glad 
 Than words can say ; there came her mother, too. 
 And round about her neck fair arms she threw, 
 Weeping for joy ; and all about the King 
 The great men stood and eyed the fearful thing 
 That lay at Perseus' feet : then the King said, 
 " O thou, who on this day hast saved my maid, 
 Wilt thou rule half my kingdom from to-day ? 
 Or wilt thou carry half my wealth away .? 
 Or in some temple shall we honour thee. 
 Setting thine image up beside the sea ? 
 63 
 
Ask what thou wilt before these mighty lords, 
 And straightway is it thine without more words." 
 
 Then in his heart laughed Perseus : and, *'0 King," 
 He said, " I ask indeed a mighty thing ; 
 Yet neither will I take thy wealth away. 
 Or make thee less a king than on this day 
 And in no temple shall mine image stand 
 To look upon the sea that beats this land. 
 For fear the God who now is friend to me 
 Thereby should come to be mine enemy ; 
 And yet on this day am I grown so bold, 
 I ask a greater gift than power or gold ; 
 Give me thy maiden saved, to be my bride. 
 And let me go, because the world is wide. 
 And the gods hate me not, and I am fain 
 Some fertile land with these my hands to gain. 
 Nor think thereby that thou wilt get thee shame, 
 For if thou askest of my race and name, 
 Perseus I am, the son of Danae, 
 Born nigh to Argos, by the sounding sea. 
 And those that know, call me the son of Jove, 
 Who in past days my mother's face did love." 
 
 Then, glad at heart, the King said, ** Poor indeed 
 Were such a gift, to give thee to thy meed 
 This that thine own unconquered hands have won. 
 O ye ! bring now the head and cast thereon 
 Jewels and gold from out my treasury. 
 Till nothing of its grimness men can see ; 
 And let folk bring round to the harbour's mouth 
 My ship that saileth yearly to the south ; 
 That to his own land since it is his will 
 
 64 
 
This Prince may go ; nor yet without his fill 
 Of that which all men long for everywhere, 
 Honour, and gold, and women kind and fair. 
 And ye, O lords, to-morrow ere midday. 
 Come hither to my house in great array. 
 For then this marriage will we solemnize, 
 Appeasing all the gods with gifts of price.'* 
 
 Then loud all shouted, and the end of day 
 Being come, Andromeda was led away 
 Unto her bower, and there within a while 
 She fell asleep, and in her sleep did smile. 
 For on the calm of that forgetfulness 
 Her bliss some happy longings did impress. 
 
 But in the Syrian King's adorned hall 
 Sat Perseus till the shadows 'gan to fall 
 Shorter beneath the moon, and still he thought 
 Amid the feast of what a day had brought 
 Unto his heart, a foolish void before. 
 And for the morrow must he long so sore 
 That all those joyances and minstrelsy 
 Seemed unto him but empty things to be. 
 
 Early next morn the city was astir. 
 And country folk came in from far and near 
 Hearing the joyous tidings that the beast 
 Was dead, and fain to see the marriage feast. 
 And joyous folk wandered from street to street 
 Crowned with fair flowers and singing carols sweet. 
 
 Then to the maiden's chamber maidens came. 
 And woke her up to love and joyous shame. 
 And as the merry sun streamed through the room 
 
 65 
 
Spread out unequalled marvels of the loom, 
 
 Stored up for such an end in days long done, 
 
 Ere yet her grey eyes looked upon the sun. 
 
 Fine webs like woven mist, wrought in the dawn. 
 
 Long ere the dew had left the sunniest lawn, 
 
 Gold cloth so wrought that nought of gold seemed there. 
 
 But rather sunshine over blossoms fair; 
 
 You would have said that gods had made them, bright, 
 
 To hide her body from the common light 
 
 Lest men should die from unfulfilled desire. 
 
 Gems too they showed wrought by the hidden fire 
 That eats the world, and from the unquiet sea 
 Pearls worth the ransom of an argosy. 
 
 Yet all too little all these riches seemed 
 In worship of her, who as one who dreamed. 
 By her fair maidens' hands was there arrayed. 
 Then, with loose hair, ungirded as a maid 
 Unto the threshold of the house was brought. 
 But when her hand familiar fingers caught 
 And when that voice, that erst amidst her fear 
 She deemed a god's, now smote upon her ear 
 Like one new-born to heaven she seemed to be. 
 
 But dreamlike was the long solemnity. 
 Unreal the joyous streets, where yesterday 
 She passed half dead upon her wretched way; 
 And though before the flickering altar flame 
 She trembled when she thought of that past shame. 
 And midst the shouting knit her brows to think 
 Of what a cup these men had bidden her drink. 
 Unreal they seemed, forgotten as a tale 
 We cannot tell, though it may still avail 
 
 66 
 
For pensive thoughts betwixt the day and night. 
 All things unto the gods were done aright; 
 Beside the sea the flame and smoke uprose 
 Over rich gifts of many things to those 
 A woman's tongue had wounded ; golden veils 
 And images, and bowls wrought o'er with tales, 
 By all the altars of the gods were laid ; 
 On this last day of maidenhood the maid 
 Had stood before the shrines, and there had thrown 
 Sweet incense on the flame, and through the town 
 The praises of immortals had been sung. 
 And sacred flowers about the houses hung ; 
 And now the last hours of the dreamlike day 
 Amid great feasting slowly passed away. 
 
 But in that land there was a mighty lord. 
 To whom erewhile the King had pledged his word 
 That he should wed Andromeda, and he 
 Heard through sure friends of this festivity 
 And raged thereat, and thought that eve to come 
 Unbidden to the feast and bear her home ; 
 Phineus his name was, great amidst great men. 
 
 He, setting out, came to that great hall when 
 The sun was well-nigh down, all armed was he, 
 And at his back came on tumultuously 
 His armed men-slaves and folk that loved him dear. 
 
 Beholding him, the King rose up in fear, 
 And all about the place scared folk uprose 
 As men surprised at feast by deadly foes ; 
 But Perseus laughing said, " What feat do ye 
 This eve in honour of my sweet and me? 
 67 
 
 ( 
 
Or are ye but the servants of the King 
 Returning from doing for him some great thing 
 In a far land ? then sit here and be glad. 
 For on this day the King feeds good and bad." 
 
 Then inarticulate with rage and grief 
 Phineus turned on him, snatching at a sheat 
 Of darts that hung against a pillar there, 
 And hurled one at him, that sung through his hair 
 And smote a serving man down by his side ; 
 Then finding voice, he faced the King and cried, 
 " What dost thou drinking with this robber here. 
 Who comes to steal that which I hold so dear 
 That on my knees I prayed for her to thee ? 
 Speak, Cepheus ! wilt thou give her yet to me 
 And have good peace withal, or wilt thou die ? 
 Ho, friends, and ye that follow, cry my cry ! " 
 
 Then straight the hall rang with a mighty shout 
 Of " Phineus," and from sheath and belt leapt out 
 The gleaming steel, and Cepheus stammering 
 Took heart to say, " Think well upon this thing ; 
 What should I do ? the man did save her life. 
 And her he might have made his slave, as wife 
 He asks for now ; take gifts and go thy way 
 Nor quench in blood the joyance of this day." 
 
 Then forth stood Perseus with a frowning face 
 Before them all, and cried out from his place, 
 *' Get ye behind my back, all friends to me ! 
 And ere the lamps are lighted ye shall see 
 A stranger thing than ye have ever dreamed ; " 
 And as he spake in his left hand there gleamed 
 The gold-wrought satchel ; but amazed and cowed 
 
 68 
 
Did the King's friends behind the hero crowd. 
 Who, ere from out the bag he drew the head. 
 Unto that band of fierce new-comers said : 
 " Will ye have life or death ? if life, then go 
 And on the grass outside your armour throw. 
 And then returning, drink to my delight 
 Until the summer sun puts out the night." 
 
 But loud they shouted, swaying to and fro. 
 And mocked at him, and cried aloud to know 
 If in his hand Jove's thunderbolt he had, 
 Or Mars' red sword that makes the eagles glad ; 
 But Phineus, raging, cried, " Take him alive. 
 That we for many an hour the wretch may drive 
 With thongs and clubs until he longs to die ! " 
 
 Then all set on him with a mighty cry. 
 But, with a shout that thrilled high over theirs. 
 He drew the head out by the snaky hairs 
 And turned on them the baleful glassy eyes ; 
 Then sank to silence all that storm of cries 
 And clashing arms ; the tossing points that shone 
 In the last sunbeams, went out one by one 
 As the sun left them, for each man there died. 
 E'en as the shepherd on the bare hill-side. 
 Smitten amid the grinding of the storm. 
 When, while the hare lies flat in her wet form, 
 E'en strong men quake for fear in houses strong. 
 And nigh the ground the lightning runs along. 
 
 But upright on their feet the dead men stood, 
 In brow and cheek still flushed the angry blood ; 
 This smiled, the mouth of that was open wide. 
 This other drew the great sword from his side, 
 
 69 
 
All were at the point to do this thing or that. 
 
 As silent in the hall the living sat 
 As those dead men, till Perseus turned at last 
 And over all a kingly look he cast, 
 And said, " O friends, drink yet one cup to me. 
 And then to-morrow will I try the sea 
 With this my love ; and, sweet Andromeda, 
 Forgive me that I needs must play this play ; 
 Forget it, sweet ! thou wilt not see again 
 This land of thine, upland, or hill, or plain ; 
 There where we go shall all be new to thee 
 Except the love that thou hast won from me." 
 Then to her frightened face there came a smile. 
 And in her cheeks within a little while 
 Sweet colour came again ; but right few words 
 Upon that night were said of King or lords. 
 
 But soon again the lovers were alone 
 Of all the sons of men remembering none. 
 Forgetting every god but him whose bow 
 About the vexed and flowery earth doth go. 
 
 70 
 
O on the morn, when risen was 
 
 the sun 
 About the capstan did the ship- 
 men run, 
 Warping the great ship to the 
 
 harbour mouth 
 That yearly went for treasures to 
 
 the south, 
 And thither from the palace did 
 men bear 
 lales of rich cloth, and golden vessels rare. 
 And gold new coined, and silver bars of weight. 
 And women-slaves with bodies slim and straight 
 Stood on the snow-white deck, and strong men-slaves 
 Brought from some conquered land beyond the waves 
 Bore down rich burdens ; so when all things due 
 Were laid on ship-board, and to noon it grew 
 Thither came Perseus with his new-wed wife 
 And she, as losing somewhat of her life 
 Was pensive now, and silent, and regret 
 Must move her that her heart must soon forget 
 All folk and things where first her life began, 
 Yea, e'en the mother, whose worn face and wan, 
 Tearless and haughty, yet looked o'er the sea. 
 As though the life wherein no good could be 
 She still would bear in every god's despite — 
 
 Ah, folk forget ; the damsel's heart grew light 
 E'en while her country's cliffs she yet could see. 
 Should she remember, when so lovingly 
 That cheek touched hers, and he was hers alone ? 
 71 
 
Love while ye may ; if twain grow into one 
 'T is for a little while ; the time goes by. 
 No hatred 'twixt the pair of friends doth lie, 
 No troubles break their hearts — and yet, and yet — 
 How could it be ? we strove not to forget ; 
 Rather in vain to that old time we clung, 
 Its hopes and wishes round our hearts we hung. 
 We played old parts, we used old names — in vain. 
 We go our ways, and twain once more are twain ; 
 Let pass — at latest when we come to die 
 Thus shall the fashion of the world go by. 
 
 But these, while still at brightest love's flame burned, 
 Were glad indeed, as towards Seriphos turned 
 Bright shone their gilded prow against the sun. 
 
 Meanwhile the folk of Joppa, one by one. 
 Took Phineus' people and their master dead 
 All turned to stone as they had seen the head. 
 And in a lonely place they set them down. 
 Upon a hill that overlooked the town. 
 And round about them built a wall, four-square. 
 And at each corner raised a temple fair, 
 And therein altars made they unto Jove, 
 Pallas, and Neptune, and the God of Love ; 
 And in Jove's temple carved that history. 
 That those who came there after them might see, 
 From first to last, how all these things were done, 
 And how these men last looked upon the sun. 
 
 But the two lovers going on their way 
 Grew happier still, as bright day followed day; 
 And, the wind favouring, in a little while 
 
 72 
 
They reached the low shore of the well-loved isle ; 
 
 And, having beached the well-built keel, took land 
 
 Where Danae's boat first touched the yellow sand. 
 
 Then cityward alone did Perseus go 
 
 His fatal gift unto the King to show ; 
 
 And, passing through the fair fields hastily, 
 
 Reached the green precinct, where he thought to see 
 
 His mother, he had left alive and well ; 
 
 But from inside upon his ears there fell 
 
 A noise of shrieks and clashing arms and shouts ; 
 
 Thereto he ran beset with many doubts, 
 
 Since Polydectes' evil wiles he knew, 
 
 And what a fate he erst had doomed him to ; 
 
 So, hurrying through, he reached the shrine at last, 
 
 And there beheld his mother, her arms cast 
 
 About Minerva's image, and by her 
 
 Good Dictys, who, with shield and glittering spear. 
 
 Abode the onslaught of an armed band. 
 
 At head of whom did Polydectes stand. 
 
 Then to her side sprang Perseus with a cry. 
 And at that sight and sound she joyfully 
 Said, ** Com'st thou, long desired ? Nought fear I now. 
 This kingly traitor soon shall lie alow." 
 Then the King tottered backward, and awhile 
 Stood staring at him : but an evil smile 
 Soon hid his fear, as, turning, he beheld 
 The glittering weapons that his stout slaves held, 
 And he cried out, " Yea, art thou back again .? 
 And was my story forged for thee in vain .? 
 Be merry then, but give me place or die ! 
 I am not one to meet thee fearfully. 
 73 
 
But thee, O brother, must I then slay thee. 
 And in our house must one more story be ? 
 Give back ! nor for a woman's foolishness. 
 Bring curses on the name thou shouldest bless. — 
 Set on at once then ! take the three of them ! " 
 
 Then once more clashed the spears, but on the hem 
 Of that dread satchel Perseus set his hand. 
 And put his friend aside, and took his stand 
 Betwixt his mother and the island men ; 
 And terribly he cried, " Thus take thou then 
 The gift thou badst me bring to thee ! nor ask 
 Of any man again another task. 
 Except to cast on thee a little sand 
 That thou mayst reach in peace the shadowy land." 
 His mocking speech he ended with a shout. 
 And from the bag the dreadful head drew out. 
 And shook it in the King's bewildered face ; 
 Who unto him yet strove to make one pace 
 With feebly brandished spear and drooping shield 
 Then unto stony death his heart did yield. 
 And without any cry upright he died. 
 With fallen arms and fixed eyes staring wide. 
 But of his men the bravest turned and fled. 
 And on the ground some trembled, well-nigh dead 
 For very fear, till Perseus cried, '* Arise, 
 Lay down your arms and go ! Henceforth be wise ; 
 Nor at kings' biddings 'gainst the just gods strive." 
 But as they slunk away, too glad to live 
 To need more words, and shivering with their dread, 
 Once more did Perseus hide the fearful head, 
 
 74 
 
And toward his mother turned ; who with pale face, 
 
 Stood trembling there, remembering that embrace 
 
 Within the brazen house; but now he threw 
 
 His arms about her as he used to do 
 
 When her own arms his little body bore; 
 
 And smiling, even as he smiled of yore, 
 
 He said, **0 mother, fear me not at all. 
 
 But yet bethink thee of the brazen wall 
 
 And golden Jove, nor doubt from him I came ; 
 
 And no more now shall I be called thy shame. 
 
 But thy defence and glory everywhere. 
 
 " But now to lovely Argos let us fare. 
 Too small a land this is become for thee, 
 And I may hope a greater sovereignty. 
 Who, by God's help, have done such mighty things. 
 Which I will tell thee of, while the wind sings 
 Amongst the shrouds of my rich-laden keel. 
 While by thy feet a god-given gift shall kneel, 
 My bride new won ; in such-like guise will we 
 Come back to him who gave us to the sea. 
 And make our peace and all ill blood forget, 
 That through long happy years thou mayst live yet." 
 
 Then did he take good Dictys by the hand. 
 And said, *' O righteous man, we leave this land. 
 Nor leave thee giftless for the welcoming 
 Thou gav'st us erst, nor for this other thing 
 That thou has wrought for us this happy tide ; 
 Therefore do thou as King herein abide. 
 And win Jove's love by helping in such wise 
 As thou didst us, folk sunk in miseries." 
 75 
 
So gave he kingdoms, as he took away. 
 For strong the God was in him on that day, 
 And the gods smiled to hear him ; yea, and she 
 Who armed him erst, then dealt so lovingly, 
 She caused the people's hearts towards him to yearn. 
 Who, thronging round, began somehow to learn 
 The story of his deeds, and cried aloud, 
 " Be thou our King ! " Then showed he to the crowd 
 Dictys his friend, and said, " I to my kin 
 Must go, mine heritage and goods to win. 
 And a king, deal with kings ; but yet see here 
 This royal man, my helpful friend and dear ; 
 Loved of the gods, surely he is of worth 
 For greater things." So saying he went forth 
 And mid their reverence, leading by the hand 
 His happy mother, turned unto the strand ; 
 And still the wondering folk with them must go. 
 And now such honour unto him would show. 
 That rather they would make him God than King ; 
 But while fresh carols round him these did sing 
 They came unto the low, sea-beaten sand ; 
 And Danae took the Syrian by the hand 
 And kissed her, full of joy that such an one 
 Should bear brave children to her godlike son : 
 Then Perseus gave commands, and on the shore 
 Great gifts they laid from out his plenteous store. 
 To glad King Dictys' eyes withal, and then 
 Bade farewell to him and his island men ; 
 And all took ship, and hoisting sail straightway, 
 Departed o'er the restless plain and grey. 
 
 76 
 
Now fair the wind was for a day and night, 
 But on the second day as it grew light, 
 And they were thinking that they soon should be 
 At Argos, rose a tempest on the sea. 
 And drave them from their course into a land 
 Far north thereof. So on the yellow sand 
 They hauled their ship, and thereto presently 
 The good folk of the country drew anigh, 
 To make their market ; and being asked, they said 
 That this was Thessaly, that strait paths led 
 Through rugged mountains to a fertile plain 
 Peneus watered, rich with many a fane : 
 That following down the stream they soon should come 
 Unto a mighty people's glorious home, 
 A god-loved ancient city, called of men 
 Larissa, and the time was fitting then 
 To go thereto, and there shall they have rest. 
 For now each comer was an honoured guest. 
 Because Teutamias, the Thessalian King, 
 His father dead with games was honouring. 
 
 Then to that city Perseus fain would go. 
 His might unto the gathered men to show ; 
 Desiring, too, to gather tidings there 
 Of how the old Acrisius yet might fare. 
 And if unto his scarce-seen Argive home 
 He in good peace might venture now to come. 
 So of the country folk he took fair steeds 
 And gave them gold, and goods for all their needs, 
 And with a trusty band with this intent 
 Through the rough passes of the hills he went. 
 Bearing his mother, and the Syrian may : 
 
 n 
 
As of a king's men deemed of his array, 
 
 When to the fertile peopled fields he came ; 
 
 But yet he bade that none should tell his name. 
 
 So coming to Larissa, all men thought, 
 
 That he who with him such great marvels brought 
 
 Was some great king, though scanty was his band ; 
 
 So honour did he get on every hand. 
 
 But when the games began, and none could win 
 
 A prize in any, if he played therein, 
 
 A greater name they gave him, saying, " What worth 
 
 In this poor age is left upon the earth 
 
 To do such deeds ? Surely no man this is. 
 
 But some god weary of the heavenly bliss." 
 
 At last, when all the other games were done. 
 Men fell to play at casting of the stone ; 
 And strong men cast it, mighty of their hands. 
 Bearers of great names in the Grecian lands : 
 But Perseus stood and watched the play alone. 
 Nor did he move when every man had thrown. 
 Then cried Teutamias, " Nameless one ! see now 
 How mightily these strong-armed heroes throw : 
 Canst thou prevail in this as in the rest?" 
 
 ** O King ! " said Perseus, " Now I think it best 
 To try the Fates no more ; I must be gone : 
 Therefore to-day thou seest me thus alone, 
 For in the house my white-armed damsels stay 
 To order matters for our homeward way." 
 
 "Nay, stranger," said the King, "but rather take 
 This golden garland for Teutamias' sake. 
 And try one cast : look, here I have with me 
 A well-loved guest, who is most fain to see 
 
 78 
 
Thy god-like strength, yea we will draw anigh 
 
 To watch the heavy stone like Jove's bolt fly 
 
 Forth from thine hand." Then Perseus smiled and said, 
 
 ** Nay then, be wary, and guard well thine head ! 
 
 For who of mortals knoweth where and when 
 
 The bolts of Jove shall smite down foolish men?" 
 
 So said he, and withal the King drew nigh. 
 And with him an old man, who anxiously 
 Peered round him as if looking for a foe. 
 Then Perseus made him ready for the throw. 
 But even as he stooped the stone to raise. 
 The old man said, '* That I the more may praise 
 This hero's cast, come to the other end 
 And we shall see the hill of granite send 
 The earth and stones up as its course is spent." 
 So then beyond the furthest cast they went 
 By some three yards, and stood aside ; but now 
 Since it was evening and the sun was low 
 Its beams were in their eyes, nor could they see 
 If Perseus moved or not, then restlessly 
 Looking this way or that, the ancient man, 
 Gathering his garments up, in haste began 
 To cross the place, but when a warning shout 
 Rang in his ears, then wavering and in doubt 
 He stopped, and scarcely had he time to hear 
 A second cry of horror and of fear, 
 Ere crushed, and beaten down upon the ground. 
 The end of all his weary life he found. 
 
 Then women shrieked, and strong men shouted out, 
 And Perseus ran to those that drew about 
 The slain old man, and asked them of his name, 
 79 
 
But the King, eyeing him as nigh he came, 
 
 Said, " This we know, and thy hid name we know. 
 
 For certainly thou art his fated foe. 
 
 His very daughter's strange-begotten son. 
 
 The child the sea cast up, the dreaded one. 
 
 This was Acrisius, who for fear of thee 
 
 Shut up thy mother by the sounding sea ; 
 
 This was the man, who, for the very dread 
 
 Of meeting thee, from lovely Argos fled 
 
 To be my guest. Nay, let thy sharp sword bide 
 
 Within its sheath, the world is fair and wide. 
 
 Nor have we aught to do to thee for this ; 
 
 Go then in peace, and live in woe or bliss 
 
 E'en as thou mayst, but stay with us no more. 
 
 Because we fear the gods may plague us sore 
 
 For this thy deed, though they would have it so.'* 
 
 Then soberly thenceforth did Perseus go 
 Unto his folk, and straightly told them all 
 That on that luckless day had chanced to fall ; 
 Wondering thereat, there made they no delay. 
 But down unto the sea they took their way ; 
 And much did Danae ponder as they went 
 How the high gods had wrought out their intent. 
 And thinking on these things she needs must sigh 
 For pity of her sweet life passing by. 
 
 But when they reached the border of the sea, 
 Then Perseus said, " Though all unwittingly 
 I slew this man, and though perchance of right 
 His throne is mine, yet never will I fight 
 Against the just gods, and I fear the stain 
 
 80 
 
Of kindred blood, if slaying him I gain 
 
 His kingdom and the city of my birth : 
 
 Now, therefore, since the gods have made the earth 
 
 Most fair in many places, let us go 
 
 Where'er the god-sent fated wind shall blow 
 
 The ship, that carries one the high gods love. 
 
 But first the armed lovely maid of Jove 
 
 Here let us worship, on this yellow beach, 
 
 That her, my helper erst, we may beseech 
 
 To grant us much, and first of all things, this, 
 
 A land where we may dwell awhile in bliss." 
 
 They heard him gladly, for the most of those 
 Were young, and yet by mishaps and by foes 
 Had learned to think the world a weary thing ; 
 So round about the altar did they sing 
 And feasted well, and when the day came round 
 Once more, they went a-shipboard to the sound 
 Of trumpets and heart-moving melody. 
 And gave their rich keel to the restless sea. 
 
 Then for four days before the wind they drove. 
 Until at last in sight a new land hove 
 Their pilot called the coast of Argolis, 
 That rich in cattle and in horses is. 
 
 But landing there had Perseus' godlike fame 
 Gone on before him, and the people came 
 And cried upon him for their King and lord. 
 The people's saving shield and conquering sword ; 
 So in that land he failed not to abide. 
 And there with many rites he purified 
 His fated hands of that unlooked-for guilt : 
 And there a town within a while he built 
 8i 
 
Men call Mycens. Peaceful grew the land 
 
 The while the ivory rod was in his hand, 
 
 For robbers fled, and good men still waxed strong, 
 
 And in no house was any sound of wrong, 
 
 Until the Golden Age seemed there to be, 
 
 So steeped the land was in felicity. 
 
 Time past, and there his wife and mother died. 
 And he, no god, must lie down by their side, 
 While Alceus his first son reigned after him, 
 A conquering king, and fair, and strong of limb. 
 
 But long ere this he did not fail to lay 
 The sacred things that brought him on his way 
 Within Minerva's temple ; there with awe 
 'Twixt silver bars, all folk these marvels saw. 
 But not for long, for on the twentieth day 
 From the fair temple were they snatched away 
 Though by the armed priests guarded faithfully. 
 But still the empty wallet there did lie 
 Wherein had Perseus borne the head with him. 
 Which still when his great deeds were waxing dim, 
 Hung in the Maiden's temple near the shrine. 
 And folk would pour before it oil and wine. 
 
 And know besides, that from that very year 
 Those who are wise say that the Maid doth bear 
 Amidst her shield that awful snaky head 
 Whereby so many heedless ones are dead. 
 
 82 
 
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 JUL 23 1988 
 
 
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