GNATHO

Gnatho, Satyr, homing at dusk,

Trotting home like a tired dog,

By mountain slopes‘ twixt the junipers

And flamed oleanders near the sea,

Found a girl-child asleep in a fleece,

Frail as wax, golden and rose;

Whereat at first he skipt aside

And stayed him, nosing and peering, whereto

Next he crept, softly breathing,

Blinking his fear. None was there

To guard; the sun had dipt in the sea,

Faint fire empurpled the flow

Of heaving water; no speck, no hint

Of oar or wing on the main, on the deep

Sky, empty as a great shell,

Fainting in its own glory. This thing,

This rare breath, this miracle —

Alone with him in the world! His

To wonder, fall to, with craning eyes

Fearfully daring; next, since it moved not,

Stooping, to handle, to stroke, to peer upon

Closely, nosing its tender length,

Doglike snuffing — at last to kiss

In reverence wonderful, lightlier far

Than thistledown falls, brushing the Earth.

But the child awoke and, watching him, cried not,

Cruddled visage, choppy hands,

Blinking eyes, red-litten, astare,

Horns and feet — nay, crowed and strained

To reach this wonder.

As one a glass

Light as foam, hued like the foam,

A breath-bubble of fire, will carry,

He in arms lifted his freight,

Looking wonderfully upon it

With scarce a breath, and humbleness

To be so brute ebbed to the flood

Of pride in his new assuréd worth —

Trusted so, who could be vile?

So to his cave in the wood he bore her,

Fleeting swift as a fear thro’ the dark trees.

There in the silence of tall trees,

Under the soaring shafts,

Far beneath the canopied leafage,

In the forest whisper, the thick silences;

Or on the wastes

Of sheltered mountains where the spires

Of solemn cypress frame the descent

Upon the blue, and open to sea —

Here grew Ianthe maiden slim

With none to spy but this gnarled man-brute;

Most fair, most hid, like a wood-flower

Slim for lack of light; so she grew

In flowering line of limb

And flower of face, retired and shy,

Urged by the bland air; unknown,

Lonely and lovely, husbanding

Her great possessions — hers now,

Another's when he cared to claim them.

For thus went life: to lead the herds

Of pricking deer she saw the great stags

Battle in empty glades, then mate;

Thus on the mountains chose the bears,

And in the woods she heard the wolves

Anguishing in their loves

Thro’ the dense nights, far in the forest.

And so collected went she, and sure

Her time would come and with it her master.

But Gnatho watcht her under his brows

When she lay heedless, spilling beauty —

How ever lovelier, suppler, sleeker,

How more desirable, how near;

How rightly his, how surely his —

Then gnaw'd his cheek and turn'd his head.

For unsuspect, some dim forbidding

Rose within him and knockt at his heart

And said, Not thine, but for reverence.

And some wild horror desperate drove him,

Suing a pardon from unknown Gods

For untold trespass, to seek the sea,

Upon whose shore, to whose cool breathing

He'd stretch his arms, broken with strife

Of self and self; and all that water

Steadfast lapt and surged. Came tears

To furrow his cheeks, came strength to return

To her, and bear with longer breath

Her sweet familiarities, blind

Obedience to nascent blind desire —

Till again he lookt and burn'd again.

Thus his black ferment boil'd. O’ nights

He'd dream and revel frenziedly

As with the love-stung nymphs. Awake,

In a chill sweat, he'd tear at himself,

Claw at his flesh and leap in the brook,

Drench the red embers of his vice

Into a mass abhorred. Clean then,

He'd seek his bed and pass unscath'd

The bower of fern where the sleek limbs

Of white Ianthe, mesht in her hair,

Lay lax in sleep. But Gnatho now

Saw only God, as on some still peak

Snowy and lonely under the stars

We look, and see God in all that calm.

One night of glamour, under a moon

That seemed to steep the air with gold,

They two sat stilly and watcht the sea

Tremulously heaving over a path

Of light like a river of molten gold.

Warm blew the breeze to land; she lean'd

Her idle head, idly played

Her fingers in his belt, and he

Embracing held her, yielding, subdued;

Sideways saw the curve of her cheek,

Downcast lashes, droopt lip

Which seem'd to court his pleasure —

Then

On waves of fire came racing his needs

With zest of rage to possess and tear

That which his frenzy, maskt as love,

Courted: so he lean'd to her ear,

Thrilled in torrents hoarse his case —

“Love, I burn, I burn!

Slake me, love!” He raved in whisper.

And she lookt up with her wide full eyes,

Saying, “My love!” and yielded herself.

Deep night settled on hill and plain,

The moon went out, the concourse of stars

Lay strewn above, and with golden eyes

Peered on them lockt. Far and faint

The great stags belled; far and faint

Quested the wolves; the leopards’ howling

Lent desolation to night; and low

The night-jar purr'd. At sea one light

Swayed restlessly, and on the rocks

Sounded the tireless lapping deep.

Lockt they lay thro’ all the silences.

Dawn stole in with whimper of rain

And a wailing wind from the sea —

Gray sea, gray dawn and scurrying clouds

And scud of rain. The fisher boat,

The sands, the headlands fringed with broom

And tamarisk were blotted.

Alone,

Caged in the mist of earth

That beat his torment back to himself,

So that in vain he sought for the Gods,

And lifted up hands in vain

To witness this white wreck prone and still —

Gnatho the Satyr blinkt on his work.