SOON as fair Courtesy would let me quit
The courtly company in the banquet room
I sought thee. Well? Where hast thou been?
Blinded and sickened by the glare of lights
Which gloated on me, and the creeping gaze
That fastened, stifling me, upon my heart;
From the blood-heating dance, which caused life's deeps
In tidal storms to break their thunderous waves
Upon the shores resounding of mine ears
I took refreshment proffered by the breeze
In the cool garden walks.
Am I an ague, that thou so dost quake
Nay; it is the dance;
Or, 'tis a weariness-I know not what
Which bringeth terrors-but I know not whenceFormed formless from a void-I know not how ; Yet they do shake me.
Thou hast naught to fear.
So thou dost please me with compliance, child,
I am thy bulwark. Few the dangers be
Which dare encounter me in seeking thee.
I would obey thee, yea I would do all
That daughter, maiden may; ask me no more;
I pray, so please thee, ask me not to dance,
Let me not dance again!
Poor fawn! thou fleest the baying of applause.
Why, thou hast worship had enough this night
To place among the gods a rounded score
Of women, yet thou weepest. Dry these springs
If natural, or rather let them flow
Till all be spent. No woman needeth tears
Save those she maketh. Ingenerate, briny tears
Should have been wasted, and their sources drained,
And covered deep with that dry growing moss,
Indifference, whilst thou wert still a babe.
If thou wouldst see tears cause them to be shed.
These showers are timeless now like spring-tide rains
In autumn. This is thy true harvest-home.
Thy beauty buds have opened full of fruit,
And thou must gather it. Thy mother dieth
Of hunger; let her pluck thy waving grain.
She fainteth thirsting; from thy flowing press
Give her to drink and flood life's ebbing tides.
Unclad she quaketh perishing with cold;
Let her find warmth beneath thy burdened vines.
She blancheth with impatience, and its fires
Burn hot distress; pass thine untasted cup
From moist, unready lips to hers which scorch.
Give consolation from thy royal wealth.
My child! my child! give me King Herod's oath.
Let me appoint the tenor of thy claim
And I am fed, refreshed, clothed, and consoled.
Nay, plead not thou to me: I plead to thee,
If I with filial courtesy may dare,
Nor, not obedient, disobedient seem;
For I am straitened, know not how to turn,
Nor may deny, nor yet unperjured give.
There is a promise weighing on my soul,
Which I alone can lift with counterpoise
Of Herod's weighty oath.
Weigh'st thou thy promise against thy mother's prayer? Come, let me frame thy quest, straightway thou make it While wine yet firmly holdeth wreathed vines
Upon the eyes of Reason, and before
The weather of the royal mood shall change
From fair to foul. Thy bow of beauty bendeth
In odour-bearing clouds from misty bowls
About King Herod's head, and while he drinketh
Deep generosity and is a god
Omnipotent to give or to refuse,
He will unquestioning grant thy request.
This once, my mother, let me conquer thee
Nay, drive not from thee my love
Withstanding me. It is a thing alone,
A mother's love, without successor; dead,
Or fled, 'tis gone, and gone 'tis gone for aye.
There is not in the whole world of human loves
That which dare enter in to light the dark
And haunted void where lieth its sepulchre.
Such is my love; although, perchance, I have seemed
Cold and unloving, leaving thee alone
In Nature's school to have thy qualities
Spring and increase of their uncultured strength.
Believe not I have loved thee less, nor think
I have not laboured constantly for thee.
What but my love caused thee to learn the art
Which in itself concentrates every art
By woman found; which flasheth more than wit,
Enkindleth blood more than the burning eye
Half hid in heavy lids, as fire in smoke;
Inviteth more than smiles, than sighs enthralleth ;
Enchaineth reason more than linkèd words,
And lifteth tossing hearts more than the waves
Of love-moved, undulating melodies;
Which teacheth modesty to calculate,
And how conceal the least, the most display
Full ripened treasures of the Hesperides
Which she, in scarlet armour, gently guardeth ;
How hottest make imagination burn,
And from cold vacancy forge glowing charms;
But, chiefly, teacheth timid modesty
How best to hide her blushing self from view;
The art which now hath safely, quickly led
Thy beauty to a bloodless victory
Worthy an emperor and bloody fields,
The conquest of a king, a royal oath,
In worth a diadem, which thou wouldst lose
Through my supineness-
I do not blame thee for't; thou dost not know
The attributes of him whom thou wouldst save.
Thou know'st not how to chain thy heart's impulse
With chilling links of speculation, forged
From reason cold; nor yet hast learned the trick
To balance judgment on the silvery point
Of interest. Such wisdom cometh later;
But thou mayst take it from me in thy youth.
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