THE LOVE OF ALCESTIS.

Midst sunny grass-clad meads that slope adown

To lake Boebeis stands an ancient town,

Where dwelt of old a lord of Thessaly,

The son of Pheres and fair Clymene,

Who had to name Admetus: long ago

The dwellers by the lake have ceased to know

His name, because the world grows old, but then

He was accounted great among great men;

Young, strong, and godlike, lacking nought at all

Of gifts that unto royal men might fall

In those old simple days, before men went

To gather unseen harm and discontent,

Along with all the alien merchandise

That rich folk need, too restless to be wise.

Now on the fairest of all autumn eves,

When midst the dusty, crumpled, dying leaves

The black grapes showed, and every press and vat

Was newly scoured, this King Admetus sat

Among his people, wearied in such wise

By hopeful toil as makes a paradise

Of the rich earth; for light and far away

Seemed all the labour of the coming day,

And no man wished for more than then he had,

Nor with another's mourning was made glad.

There in the pillared porch, their supper done,

They watched the fair departing of the sun;

The while the soft-eyed well-girt maidens poured

The joy of life from out the jars long stored

Deep in the earth, while little like a king,

As we call kings, but glad with everything,

The wise Thessalian sat and blessed his life,

So free from sickening fear and foolish strife.

But midst the joy of this festivity,

Turning aside he saw a man draw nigh,

Along the dusty grey vine-bordered road

That had its ending at his fair abode;

He seemed e'en from afar to set his face

Unto the King's adornéd reverend place,

And like a traveller went he wearily,

And yet as one who seems his rest to see.

A staff he bore, but nowise was he bent

With scrip or wallet; so withal he went

Straight to the King's high seat, and standing near,

Seemed a stout youth and noble, free from fear,

But peaceful and unarmed; and though ill clad,

And though the dust of that hot land he had

Upon his limbs and face, as fair was he

As any king's son you might lightly see,

Grey-eyed and crisp-haired, beautiful of limb,

And no ill eye the women cast on him.

But kneeling now, and stretching forth his hand,

He said, “O thou, the king of this fair land,

Unto a banished man some shelter give,

And help me with thy goods that I may live:

Thou hast good store, Admetus, yet may I,

Who kneel before thee now in misery,

Give thee more gifts before the end shall come

Than all thou hast laid safely in thine home.”

“Rise up, and be my guest,” Admetus said,

“I need no gifts for this poor gift of bread,

The land is wide, and bountiful enow.

What thou canst do, to-morrow thou shalt show,

And be my man, perchance; but this night rest

Not questioned more than any passing guest.

Yea, even if a great king thou hast spilt,

Thou shall not answer aught but as thou wilt.”

Then the man rose and said, “O King, indeed

Of thine awarded silence have I need,

Nameless I am, nameless what I have done

Must be through many circles of the sun.

But for to-morrow — let me rather tell

On this same eve what things I can do well,

And let me put mine hand in thine and swear

To serve thee faithfully a changing year;

Nor think the woods of Ossa hold one beast

That of thy tenderest yearling shall make feast,

Whiles that I guard thy flocks, and thou shalt bear

Thy troubles easier when thou com'st to hear

The music I can make. Let these thy men

Witness against me if I fail thee, when

War falls upon thy lovely land and thee.”

Then the King smiled, and said, “So let it be,

Well shalt thou serve me, doing far less than this,

Nor for thy service due gifts shalt thou miss:

Behold I take thy faith with thy right hand,

Be thou true man unto this guarded land.

Ho ye! take this my guest, find raiment meet

Wherewith to clothe him; bathe his wearied feet,

And bring him back beside my throne to feast.”

But to himself he said, “I am the least

Of all Thessalians if this man was born

In any earthly dwelling more forlorn

Than a king's palace.”

Then a damsel slim

Led him inside, nought loth to go with him,

And when the cloud of steam had curled to meet

Within the brass his wearied dusty feet,

She from a carved press brought him linen fair,

And a new-woven coat a king might wear,

And so being clad he came unto the feast,

But as he came again, all people ceased

What talk they held soever, for they thought

A very god among them had been brought;

And doubly glad the king Admetus was

At what that dying eve had brought to pass,

And bade him sit by him and feast his fill.

So there they sat till all the world was still,

And‘ twixt the pillars their red torches’ shine

Held forth unto the night a joyous sign.

So henceforth did this man at Pheræ dwell,

And what he set his hand to wrought right well,

And won much praise and love in everything,

And came to rule all herdsmen of the King;

But for two things in chief his fame did grow;

And first that he was better with the bow

Than any‘ twixt Olympus and the sea,

And then that sweet, heart-piercing melody

He drew out from the rigid-seeming lyre,

And made the circle round the winter fire

More like to heaven than gardens of the May.

So many a heavy thought he chased away

From the King's heart, and softened many a hate,

And choked the spring of many a harsh debate;

And, taught by wounds, the snatchers of the wolds

Lurked round the gates of less well-guarded folds.

Therefore Admetus loved him, yet withal,

Strange doubts and fears upon his heart did fall;

For morns there were when he the man would meet,

His hair wreathed round with bay and blossoms sweet,

Gazing distraught into the brightening east,

Nor taking heed of either man or beast,

Or anything that was upon the earth.

Or sometimes, midst the hottest of the mirth,

Within the King's hall, would he seem to wake

As from a dream, and his stringed tortoise take

And strike the cords unbidden, till the hall

Filled with the glorious sound from wall to wall,

Trembled and seemed as it would melt away,

And sunken down the faces weeping lay

That erewhile laughed the loudest; only he

Stood upright, looking forward steadily

With sparkling eyes as one who cannot weep,

Until the storm of music sank to sleep.

But this thing seemed the doubtfullest of all

Unto the King, that should there chance to fall

A festal day, and folk did sacrifice

Unto the gods, ever by some device

The man would be away: yet with all this

His presence doubled all Admetus’ bliss,

And happy in all things he seemed to live,

And great gifts to his herdsman did he give.

But now the year came round again to spring,

And southward to Iolchos went the King;

For there did Pelias hold a sacrifice

Unto the gods, and put forth things of price

For men to strive for in the people's sight;

So on a morn of April, fresh and bright,

Admetus shook the golden-studded reins,

And soon from windings of the sweet-banked lanes

The south wind blew the sound of hoof and wheel,

Clatter of brazen shields and clink of steel

Unto the herdsman's ears, who stood awhile

Hearkening the echoes with a godlike smile,

Then slowly gat him foldwards, murmuring,

“Fair music for the wooing of a King.”

But in six days again Admetus came,

With no lost labour or dishonoured name;

A scarlet cloak upon his back he bare

A gold crown on his head, a falchion fair

Girt to his side; behind him four white steeds,

Whose dams had fed full in Nisæan meads;

All prizes that his valiant hands had won

Within the guarded lists of Tyro's son.

Yet midst the sound of joyous minstrelsy

No joyous man in truth he seemed to be;

So that folk looking on him said, “Behold,

The wise King will not show himself too bold

Amidst his greatness: the gods too are great,

And who can tell the dreadful ways of fate?”

Howe'er it was, he gat him through the town,

And midst their shouts at last he lighted down

At his own house, and held high feast that night;

And yet by seeming had but small delight

In aught that any man could do or say:

And on the morrow, just at dawn of day,

Rose up and clad himself, and took his spear.

And in the fresh and blossom-scented air

Went wandering till he reach Boebeis’ shore;

Yet by his troubled face set little store

By all the songs of birds and scent of flowers;

Yea, rather unto him the fragrant hours

Were grown but dull and empty of delight.

So going, at the last he came in sight

Of his new herdsman, who that morning lay

Close by the white sand of a little bay

The teeming ripple of Boebeis lapped;

There he in cloak of white-wooled sheepskin wrapped

Against the cold dew, free from trouble sang,

The while the heifers’ bells about him rang

And mingled with the sweet soft-throated birds

And bright fresh ripple: listen, then, these words

Will tell the tale of his felicity,

Halting and void of music though they be.