Atalanta

“Milanion, seven years ago this day You overcame me by a golden fraud, Traitor, and see I crown your cup with flowers, With violets and white sorrel from dim haunts,-- A fair libation--ask you to what God? To Artemis, to Artemis my Queen.

Not by my will did you escape the spear Though piteous I might be for your glad life, Husband, and for your foolish love: the Gods Who heard your vows had care of you: I stooped Half toward the beauty of the shining thing Through some blind motion of an instant joy,-- As when our babe reached arms to pluck the moon A great, round fruit between dark apple-boughs,-- And half, marking your wile, to fling away Needless advantage, conquer carelessly, And pass the goal with one light finger-touch Just while you leaned forth the bent body’s length To reach it. Could I guess I strove with three, With Aphrodite, Eros, and the third-- Milanion? There upon the maple-post Your right hand rested: the event had sprung Complete from darkness, and possessed the world Ere yet conceived: upon the edge of doom I stood with foot arrested and blind heart, Aware of nought save some unmastered fate And reddening neck and brow. I heard you cry ‘Judgment, both umpires!’ saw you stand erect, Panting, and with a face so glad, so great It shone through all my dull bewilderment A beautiful uncomprehended joy, One perfect thing and bright in a strange world. But when I looked to see my father shamed, A-choke with rage and words of proper scorn, He nodded, and the beard upon his breast Pulled twice or thrice, well-pleased, and laughed aloud, And while the wrinkles gathered round his eyes Cried ‘Girl, well done! My brother’s son retain Shrewd head upon your shoulders! Maidens ho! A veil for Atalanta, and a zone Male fingers may unclasp! Lead home the bride, Prepare the nuptial chamber!’ At his word My life turned round: too great the shame had grown With all men leagued to mock me. Could I stay, Confront the vulgar gladness of the world At high emprise defeated, a free life Tethered, light dimmed, a virtue singular Subdued to ways of common use and wont? Must I become the men’s familiar jest, The comment of the matron-guild? I turned, I sought the woods, sought silence, solitude, Green depths divine, where the soft-footed ounce Lurks, and the light deer comes and drinks and goes, Familiar paths in which the mind might gain Footing, and haply from a vantage-ground Drive this new fate an arm’s-length, hand’s-breadth off A little while, till certitude of sight And strength returned.

At evening I went back, Walked past the idle groups at gossipry, Sought you, and laid my hand upon your wrist, Drew you apart, and with no shaken voice Spoke, while the swift, hard strokes my heart out-beat Seemed growing audible, ‘Milanion, I am your wife for freedom and fair deeds: Choose: am I such an one a man could love? What need you? Some soft song to soothe your life, Or a clear cry at daybreak?’ And I ceased. How deemed you that first moment? That the Gods Had changed my heart? That I since morn had grown Haunter of Aphrodite’s golden shrine, Had kneeled before the victress, vowed my vow, Besought her pardon, ‘Aphrodite, grace! Accept the rueful Atalanta’s gifts, Rose wreaths and snow-white doves’?

In the dim woods There is a sacred place, a solitude Within their solitude, a heart of strength Within their strength. The rocks are heaped around A goblet of great waters ever fed By one swift stream which flings itself in air With all the madness, mirth and melody Of twenty rivulets gathered in the hills Where might escapes in gladness. Here the trees Strike deeper roots into the heart of earth, And hold more high communion with the heavens; Here in the hush of noon the silence broods More full of vague divinity; the light Slow-changing and the shadows as they shift Seem characters of some inscrutable law, And one who lingers long will almost hope The secret of the world may be surprised Ere he depart. It is a haunt beloved Of Artemis, the echoing rocks have heard Her laughter and her lore, and the brown stream Flashed, smitten by the splendour of her limbs. Hither I came; here turned, and dared confront Pursuing thoughts; here held my life at gaze, If ruined at least to clear loose wrack away, Study its lines of bare dismantlement, And shape a strict despair. With fixed hard lips, Dry-eyed, I set my face against the stream To deal with fate; the play of woven light Gleaming and glancing on the rippled flood Grew to a tyranny; and one visioned face Would glide into the circle of my sight, Would glide and pass away, so glad, so great The imminent joy it brought seemed charged with fear. I rose, and paced from trunk to trunk, brief track This way and that; at least my will maintained Her law upon my limbs; they needs must turn At the appointed limit. A keen cry Rose from my heart--‘Toils of the world grow strong, ‘Yield strength, yield strength to rend them to my hands; ‘Be thou apparent, Queen! in dubious ways ‘Lo my feet fail; cry down the forest glade, ‘Pierce with thy voice the tangle and dark boughs, ‘Call, and I follow thee.’

What things made up Memorial for the Presence of the place Thenceforth to hold? Only the torrent’s leap Endlessly vibrating, monotonous rhythm Of the swift footstep pacing to and fro, Only a soul’s reiterated cry Under the calm, controlling, ancient trees, And tutelary ward and watch of heaven Felt through steep inlets which the upper airs Blew wider.

On the grass at last I lay Seized by a peace divine, I know not how; Passive, yet never so possessed of power, Strong, yet content to feel not use my strength Sustained a babe upon the breasts of life Yet armed with adult will, a shining spear. O strong deliverance of the larger law Which strove not with the less! impetuous youth Caught up in ampler force of womanhood! Co-operant ardours of joined lives! the calls Of heart to heart in chase of strenuous deeds! Virgin and wedded freedom not disjoined, And loyal married service to my Queen!

Husband, have lesser gains these seven good years Been yours because you chose no gracious maid Whose hands had woven in the women’s room Many fair garments, while her dreaming heart Had prescience of the bridal; one whose claims, Tender exactions feminine, had pleased Fond husband, one whose gentle gifts had pleased, Soft playful touches, little amorous words, Untutored thoughts that widened up toward yours, With trustful homage of uplifted eyes, And sweetest sorrows lightly comforted? Have we two challenged each the other’s heart Too highly? Have our joys been all too large, No gleaming gems on finger or on neck A man may turn and touch caressingly, But ampler than this heaven we stand beneath-- Wide wings of Presences august? Our lives, Were it not better they had stood apart A little space, letting the sweet sense grow Of distance bridged by love? Had that full calm,-- I may not question since you call it true,-- Found in some rightness of a woman’s will, Been gladder through perturbing touch of doubt, By brief unrest made exquisitely aware Of all its dear possession? Have our eyes Met with too calm directness--soul to soul Turned with the unerroneous long regard, Until no stuff remains for dreams to weave, Nought but unmeasured faithfulness, clear depths Pierced by the sun, and yielding to the eye Which searches, yet not fathoms? Did my lips Lay on your lips too great a pledge of love With awe too rapturous? Teach me how I fail, Recount what things your life has missed through me, Appease me with new needs; my strength is weak Trembling toward perfect service.”

In her eyes Tears stood and utterance ceased. Wondering the boy Parthenopœus stopped his play and gazed.