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THE SONS OF METANEIRA, by                    
First Line: Darkening the open door, in thought he gazed
Last Line: "the woman is not here. Thy fears were vain."


I

Darkening the open door, in thought he gazed
On his ripe meadows, on the mountain road,
On the still trees above the shaded well;
Then inward to the twilight room he turned
Where Metaneira sat --
"Strange that a woman
Who fears not child-bearing, neither the pain
Nor peril, cannot face, save panic-pale,
The bringing up of children day by day.
With danger courage comes, and with thine hour
Comes on brave yearnings for this child unborn,
But no heart comes for the safe homely years --
Small fingers at thy bosom, growing hands
That cling to thine, and running feet beside thee,
And face upturned to love thee with quick smiles.
The boy we have, what dread was thine to rear!
Yet he takes life as one who loves to live;
Joy is the breath of him. This other child
As fair, I think, befalls, if but thy fear
Cloud not his spirit."
Leaning from the low couch
She answered --
"I feared no danger, nor shunned pain;
I thought only of what a man may share
With woman, the precious burden of childhood --
Not the nine months, the birth more exquisite
Of the young soul slowly finding the world.
O Celeus, when I brood on the frail bark
We dare be pilot for, and blindly grope
With clumsy guesses toward the eternal shore,
I think how reckless in the eyes of gods
Human desire must seem, and human love.
So thinking, I feel terror and loneliness;
Then I reach out for help to thee, but thou
Answerest as though these were but simple things,
And life simple, and children in the world
No care."
"The gods who send desire," he said,
"Fear not to trust us with the incarnate dream.
But art thou lonely, Metaneira -- thou
Who wouldst not keep handmaid, nor slave nor free,
Near, if thy child need rearing? Lonely art thou?
Nay, jealous as the wild deer for thy young!
So fearful when the boy was born, and now
Thou hast sent thy woman away, even ere the birth.
Do I not know?"
"Celeus," she cried, "wherefore
Chide me for what is love? To thee the day
Brings a plain round, things simply to be done,
What happens, happens, and so the dreamless rest.
But I see what might happen, and the hours
Come fateful with hard choices, good and ill,
And the day's labor is, by taking thought,
To seize the good. Therefore with all my love
I watch the lightest breath the infant draws;
The ill that might molest him comes on me,
I feel the blow that falls not. What hireling
Cares for another's child so? Bruise and tumble
Are natural luck, they say; and the child's soul
Takes its luck too. I have sent them all away.
Nay, but the loneliness I feel is more --
A mystery that lifts me from the world,
A strangeness as if earth were not my home,
And our love but a visitant from afar."
Celeus with earnest eyes looked from the door,
And saw Eleusis under summer skies,
The meadows and the mountain road -- the world
Wherein he native was, and she was strange.
Then turning toward her --
"Thou art a wistful woman;
Dreams and weird thoughts are more to thee than breath,
And the unsecret earth before thee, thou
Veilest with phantoms, with imagined clouds.
Wherefore dost thou reach ever out from life
With eyes for what cannot be seen, with hearing
For whispers and echoes where none else hears sound?
Our loves, that made us one, in this alone,
Drive our two hearts asunder. Sorrow I see,
And mischief, yet the common fate is plain;
Nothing waylays nor haunts us; life, in itself
Clear, would ask but courage to be lived.
Earth is our brother, and light over all
Draws from our dust the destined fruit and bloom --
Dreams, fears and hopes, rooted in what we are.
So I have thought, and the one child we have
Through his seven years confirms me. Hast thou seen
How humanly he learns the arts whereby
Man and the gods within him build his world?
His hopes are better than the things he has,
And what he has, helps him to reach his hopes.
Nothing will harm him, no shadow threaten,
Save his own errors; nothing this child unborn
Will harm, if but the darkness of thy mood
Blight not its soul. Fate is man's handiwork,
I believe, whereon the gods look, and forgive,
And a dark fancy prophesying ill
Is but a true suspicion of ourselves;
The gods, whose eyes are clear, clearly behold
The seeds within us of our cherished doom;
They with immortal sorrow watch us all
Thwarting the good they will us; and most they grieve
When love like thine, exquisitely alert,
Brings headlong on its danger, fancy-framed."
She answered sadly -- "Celeus, the boy and thou
Feel not the mystery that oppresses me;
Would that I had thy nature, the sunshine,
The faith opening like earth after fresh rain;
But my love reaches, and I feel thy hand
Helping, but cannot find thy heart."
His hand
Reached out.
"I would a woman were here," he said,
"To share thy loneliness; I would the gods
Would send, however humble, a comrade for thee,
Comrade for thee, and helper for the child."
With large eyes she questioned him -- "A stranger?"

II

All glamour, golden beauty arched with blue,
Eleusis, vale of peace, enchanted lay --
Meadows, and by the mountain road one house,
Dark trees, and 'neath their shadow a clear well,
And far away the immeasurable sea
Faint-sounding; drunk with autumn savors, earth
Rich harvest-scent was breathing, and burnt leaves --
When down the road a lonely wanderer came,
An aged form, that step by step between
Some place far back and some place far beyond
Measured the weariness. Grey was her hair,
Her eyes were grieving, her firm lips were proud;
Her body, tall and stately, mantle-wrapped,
Majestic swayed like wheat in summer wind,
As slowly to the wellside she drew near --
There darkly paused, with folded patient hands,
Fixed as a carven stone.
Over the world
The magic gleam shone brighter, the low sun,
Slanting, reached to the grass beneath the trees
And robbed the well of shadow, save where still
The woman stood. Suddenly from the house
A radiant boy came running with light foot,
Balancing on his shoulder a water-jar --
Then at the shadow waiting unawares,
Marble-like, with bowed and grieving head,
He curbed his dancing mood and walked sedate,
Shamefaced before a stranger. While he drew,
She watched in silence till the jar was full,
Then in low tones that thrilled with pleasure-pain
Like the delirious chill from autumn fields
Swift after sunset --
"Doth thy mother live,
A rich woman, that without envy looks
On strangers' children? Who of yon wide house
Is master?"
Brimming with joy to share, "Celeus,
Whose son I am, Triptolemus," he cried.
"Hark, dost thou hear my one brother weeping, born
This very day?"
He paused for sheer delight,
And she, kindling with sudden hope -- "What woman
Ministers to thy mother and the child?
Where is thy father? Run to him -- bid him say
If there be timely service I can do.
Service that wisdom asks and practised hands;
Tell him, brief is the shelter age desires,
But long the recompense of pity endures."
Eagerly on his errand sped the boy,
Tasting a new adventure; soon he brought
His father, walking slow, whose earnest words
Challenged her --
"Woman, what thing of grief art thou,
Shadowing these waters with unbidden gloom?
What thing of grief and age, that dost desire
To handle joy newborn?"
Her quiet voice
Like a soft rainfall sang --
"Bitter the bread
The stranger eats and earns not; gods nor men
Who suffer alms are free; let me but serve.
Only to abide a little, to be still,
To seek for nothing, to buy with quiet hands
A quiet heart" --
"Quietness and to spare,"
Celeus broke in, "room by the hearth enough,
And work enough; abide here, since thou wilt."
When he had spoke, the boy, as if to unfold
Kindness out of the scant and measured words,
Reached for her hand and slowly toward the home,
Silently to the doorway, brought her. There
With lifted arms of prophecy she prayed --
"To all this house the immortal gods be friends,
And chiefly to this lad, who gave me rest.
Master of field and meadow shall he be,
To plow, to plant, to reap -- him and his sons
The earth obey forever!"
His boyhood felt
Exquisite shadowed beauty, earth under stars;
Her words startled like bird-notes in the dawn;
Suddenly for her presence the house seemed small.

III

Autumn to winter, winter drew to spring,
And comfortable became her ways, like all
Love-service wrought by customary hands.
Sap in the vein, soft-stirring with the year,
And kindling at her presence, human love;
Strange wants unrealized, hungers of heart,
Mystical poverties of soul, she filled;
Even as common field-flowers casually
Borrow the sun and use the earth and sky,
The household without reckoning dwelt with her.
But when to autumn the year turned again
And the old poignant beauty filled the world,
The mother Metaneira, spirit-quick
Felt the home troubled with awe wonderful.
She pondered long these motions of vague fear,
Still troubled more, till in a twilight mood
She broke them to her husband and the boy,
Under the spell of her strange insight rising
Maenad-mad, -- wild eyes and haunted face;
With the intense flame of passionate thought
Her fragile body quivered as she spoke --
"Who is this phantom, this weird wayfarer,
Ye two brought in to aid me? Know ye not
The Shining Ones oft hide in human forms,
And darker spirits, brooding mischief, oft
Resemble to betray us?"
Celeus frowned;
"She is a quiet phantom, grant her that!
All that haunt us, the gods make old like her,
So quiet and so wise! Summer and winter
Has not her faithful toil prospered the year?
What strangeness has she done?"
Poised among fears,
Perplexed to choose, the mother hesitated,
Then answered not his question but her own thoughts --
"She loves the child, she loves, but not as we
Love it, not with a simple heart; secrets
We cannot guess at, her deep manner hides;
Her service steals upon us like a spell,
Yet something fugitive in all she does,
Some touch of marvel, some too perfect skill,
Makes helpless those she helps. Oft she escapes,
As though her mood were hampered by our eyes,
And strangely broods or dreams or works alone.
Now for two nights, with the first dusk, I saw her
Stealthily watch me, -- then the cradled babe
She lifted to her breast and made pretense
To soothe, though it slept sound, -- then to the hall
Yonder carried the child, and slyly drew
The bolts, I heard them creak, in the closed door."
Celeus, still unpersuaded, comforted her --
"The skill of old hands is another youth;
Youth is the earliest magic, and the last
Is practice, nothing more; this woman's skill
Came with her years, but sorrow makes her strange."
Instant upon the word, as at the return
Of half-forgotten fear, the mother cried --
"What is this sorrow, then, that shadows her?
A human grief with time unfolds to love,
And tears that are not shame are shared at last,
But all the kindness of our house melts not
The silence from her lips; -- she may not will
Mischief, but power she has, she pilots fate --
Were not her words prophetic for the boy
That named him master of meadows and of fields,
Whom the earth should obey? Did not the grain
Ripen miraculous where she bade him sow?
Did not the grove she planted, the young trees,
Thrive beyond hope? Weird blessings fall on us,
Yet rather would I lose the alien gift
Than dread the lurking debt still to be paid."
Wondering at his mother, the young boy
Pleaded, suddenly eloquent out of love --
"All that she taught me, of earth and sun and showers,
Of seed and tilth and gathering of the grain,
To others I could teach -- no weird secret,
But simple knowledge waiting to be used.
The things that beauty touches become strange,
I heard her say; the strangeness thou dost fear,
Is it not beauty?"
The mother, following her dread,
Hearing him not -- "Only a little while,
A little while ago I found her gazing
On the bare fields as one looks on the dead,
And from her moving lips came soft, wild words:
'O loveliness (she whispered) rapt away!
Who now, thy face beholding, gathers joy?
Ay me, the joy that from eternal love
Up from my bosom flowing bloomed in thee!
The wheat, the poppy languish meadow-shorn,
The summer dies. O thou that canst not languish,
Maiden lost, Immortal One!'" --
The voice
Of Metaneira faltered and grew faint,
Uttering the remembered cry; but Celeus
With deeper pity reproved her perverse mood --
"Hast thou not heard of lost loves in the world,
Of hearths vacant, of hopes precious but vain?
She in her years is wounded with old sorrows;
This babe of ours, soft-breathing on her breast,
Brings back through tears the frail unburied ghost,
Some girl long dead, whom grief hath made divine.
Ah, Metaneira, that having lost no child
Knowest not the faithful pain, the abiding grief!"
"And wouldst thou lose him," Metaneira cried,
"The babe that helpless lies on her strange heart?
Have I not said, when the day ends she carries
To yonder room the sleeping child away,
Stealing with furtive glances, and with guile
Barring the door? Now hearken! Underneath
And over, by the hinges, through the latch,
Sharp gleams shoot out, long blades of eerie light,
That all but pierce the nailed and paneled wood.
After a space the light fades, stealthily
The latch withdraws, and with too perfect care
She enters crooning slumber-songs -- O clear
The triumph in her face, the evil shining!
And when I take the child, dim meadow-scent,
Damp odors, flood etherial o'er my brain,
And the child's eyes, on more than infant depths
Brooding, grow wonderful with calm -- Celeus!
See now," she cried, "the light streams through the door!"
Flinging her fragile body, she burst the latch,
And frenzied saw the woman holding outstretched
The child, and waves of weird light washing it,
Fire that from the hearth seemed not to flame,
But like a rolling sea filled the whole room.
One glimpse -- and Metaneira, crazed with love,
Tore fiercely from those hands the flame-wrapped babe.
Then from the earth the woman rose, a queen
Celestial, young and fair; the glowing sea
Ebbed from the room into her burning heart,
As to its source, and beautiful was her wrath.
Light-giving. And Metaneira stood aghast.

IV

Slowly a sad, majestic voice began,
"Blind, like all mortals! Ye withhold the gods
From their unfinished blessings. Know ye me?
Demeter; from vain walking in this world
To find the lost Persephone, Pluto's bride,
Hither I came, and here for a little rest,
A little quietness to sorrow in,
I laid my godhood by, and hid myself
In human poverty and mortal years.
Could ye not guess, such blessings as I brought
Come only from the gods? First I bestowed
On yonder lad the mastery of earth.
The labors that men do beneath the sun
Shall be for him no burden but sheer joy;
He shall have knowledge of this world as it is,
He shall love what is kindred to his fate,
He shall know men, and he shall know his gods.
But for this other child, this dreaming babe
That stirred the memory of my ancient heart,
I would have furnished immortality.
So frail he seemed, so pitiful, so pure,
And time so stern a teacher, and the path
So rough, where he must stumble, fall by fall
Painfully fashioning his eternal soul --
To spare him, I desired, -- to make his days
All of such moments as the happiest men
Dream only at their best. Here by the fire
I washed in deathless love the mortal mind,
And fast the god grew in him, till your fear
Ruined the heavenly will. Now he shall be
Master of nothing, but dreams shall master him.
A pilgrim of confusion shall he be;
Two worlds alternate shall be his, but rest
In neither; painfully shall his hand, his eye,
On the obdurate face of things lay hold,
The while his dreams look on what never was;
And for he cannot tell the twain apart,
Madness and ecstasy shall envelope him,
Out of the world he finds but will not see,
Building a world he sees but cannot find.
Yea, from his love the things he loves shall come,
And from his fear shall come the things he fears.
Nothing that is shall teach him what it is --
Pain of this world, still knocking at the door,
Nor grief that stabs, nor joy that comforts him;
He shall be strange to thee, for all thy love,
And for thy sake, for him all things be strange;
Whate'er he loves shall whisper him farewell,
And waft him on the exile of his dream --
A human face, a shining on the sea,
The cold moon, or the still march of stars,
If but the inexorable beauty call,
Eternity, rising in him like a tide,
Shall from their bases lift and set afloat
The stranded accidents of time."
She ceased,
The light died from the room, and she was gone.
But Metaneira heard, far-off, the voice
Of Celeus, like a sound breaking on sleep --
"The woman is not here. Thy fears were vain."





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