HEPHAESTUS (standing before the statue of Pandora.) Not fashioned out of gold, like Hera's throne, Nor forged of iron like the thunderbolts
Of Zeus omnipotent, or other works
Wrought by my hands at Lemnos or Olympus, But moulded in soft clay, that unresisting
Yields itself to the touch, this lovely form
Before me stands, perfect in every part.
Not Aphrodite's self appeared more fair,
When first upwafted by caressing winds
She came to high Olympus, and the gods
Paid homage to her beauty. Thus her hair
Was cinctured; thus her floating drapery
Was like a cloud about her, and her face
Was radiant with the sunshine and the sea.
Not finished till I breathe the breath of life Into her nostrils, and she moves and speaks.
The form that thou hast fashioned out of clay Is of the earth and mortal; but the spirit, The life, the exhalation of my breath,
Is of diviner essence and immortal.
The gods shall shower on her their benefactions, She shall possess all gifts: the gift of song, The gift of eloquence, the gift of beauty, The fascination and the nameless charm That shall lead all men captive.
I hear the rushing of a mighty wind
Through all the halls and chambers of my house! Her parted lips inhale it, and her bosom
Heaves with the inspiration. As a reed
Beside a river in the rippling current
Bends to and fro, she bows or lifts her head. She gazes round about as if amazed;
She is alive; she breathes, but yet she speaks not!
What is this I see?
Have the Gods to four increased us
Who were only three?
Beautiful in form and feature,
Lovely as the day,
Can there be so fair a creature
Formed of common clay?
Clear as the waters of a brook that run Limpid and laughing in the summer sun! O golden hair that like a miser's treasure
In its abundance overflows the measure! O graceful form, that cloudlike floatest on With the soft, undulating gait of one
Who moveth as if motion were a pleasure!
By what name shall I call thee? Nymph or Muse, Callirrhoe or Urania? Some sweet name Whose every syllable is a caress
Would best befit thee; but I cannot choose, Nor do I care to choose; for still the same, Nameless or named, will be thy loveliness.EUPHROSYNE. Dowered with all celestial gifts, Skilled in every art
That ennobles and uplifts And delights the heart,
Fair on earth shall be thy fame As thy face is fair,
And Pandora be the name
Thou henceforth shalt bear.
HERMES (putting on his sandals.)
Much must he toil who serves the Immortal Gods, And I, who am their herald, most of all.
No rest have I, nor respite. I no sooner Unclasp the winged sandals from my feet, Than I again must clasp them, and depart Upon some foolish errand. But to-day
The errand is not foolish. Never yet
With greater joy did I obey the summons That sends me earthward. I will fly so swiftly That my caduceus in the whistling air
Shall make a sound like the Pandaean pipes, Cheating the shepherds; for to-day I go, Commissioned by high-thundering Zeus, to lead A maiden to Prometheus, in his tower, And by my cunning arguments persuade him To marry her. What mischief lies concealed In this design I know not; but I know
Who thinks of marrying hath already taken One step upon the road to penitence.
Such embassies delight me. Forth I launch On the sustaining air, nor fear to fall
Like Icarus, nor swerve aside like him Who drove amiss Hyperion's fiery steeds. I sink, I fly! The yielding element
Folds itself round about me like an arm, And holds me as a mother holds her child.
I hear the trumpet of Alectryon
Proclaim the dawn. The stars begin to fade, And all the heavens are full of prophecies And evil auguries. Blood-red last night I saw great Kronos rise; the crescent moon Sank through the mist, as if it were the scythe His parricidal hand had flung far down The western steeps. O ye Immortal Gods, What evil are ye plotting and contriving?
I cannot cross the threshold. An unseen And icy hand repels me. These blank walls Oppress me with their weight!
Powerful ye are,
But not omnipotent. Ye cannot fight Against Necessity. The Fates control you, As they do us, and so far we are equals!
Motionless, passionless, companionless, He sits there muttering in his beard. His voice Is like a river flowing underground!
It is I.
Dost thou not know me?
By thy winged cap
And winged heels I know thee. Thou art Hermes, Captain of thieves! Hast thou again been stealing The heifers of Admetus in the sweet
Meadows of asphodel? or Hera's girdle? Or the earth-shaking trident of Poseidon?
And thou, Prometheus; say, hast thou again Been stealing fire from Helios' chariot-wheels To light thy furnaces?
Why comest thou hither So early in the dawn?
The Immortal Gods Know naught of late or early. Zeus himself The omnipotent hath sent me.
The Gods and all their gifts. If they have sent her It is for no good purpose.
Could she bring on thy house, who is a woman?
The Gods are not my friends, nor am I theirs. Whatever comes from them, though in a shape As beautiful as this, is evil only.
Who art thou?
One who, though to thee unknown, Yet knoweth thee.
Prometheus the unfortunate; to whom
Both Gods and men have shown themselves ungrateful. When every spark was quenched on every hearth Throughout the earth, I brought to man the fire And all its ministrations. My reward Hath been the rock and vulture.
But the Gods
At last relent and pardon.
They relent not;
They pardon not; they are implacable, Revengeful, unforgiving!
As a pledge
Of reconciliation they have sent to thee This divine being, to be thy companion, And bring into thy melancholy house
The sunshine and the fragrance of her youth.
I need them not. I have within myself All that my heart desires; the ideal beauty Which the creative faculty of mind Fashions and follows in a thousand shapes More lovely than the real. My own thoughts Are my companions; my designs and labors And aspirations are my only friends.
Decide not rashly. The decision made Can never be recalled. The Gods implore not, Plead not, solicit not; they only offer Choice and occasion, which once being passed Return no more. Dost thou accept the gift?
No gift of theirs, in whatsoever shape It comes to me, with whatsoever charm To fascinate my sense, will I receive. Leave me.
We leave thee to thy vacant dreams, and all The silence and the solitude of thought, The endless bitterness of unbelief, The loneliness of existence without love.
How the Titan, the defiant, The self-centred, self-reliant, Wrapped in visions and illusions, Robs himself of life's best gifts! Till by all the storm-winds shaken, By the blast of fate o'ertaken, Hopeless, helpless, and forsaken, In the mists of his confusions To the reefs of doom he drifts!
Sorely tried and sorely tempted, From no agonies exempted, In the penance of his trial, And the discipline of pain;
Often by illusions cheated, Often baffled and defeated In the tasks to be completed, He, by toil and self-denial, To the highest shall attain.
Tempt no more the noble schemer; Bear unto some idle dreamer This new toy and fascination, This new dalliance and delight! To the garden where reposes Epimetheus crowned with roses, To the door that never closes Upon pleasure and temptation, Bring this vision of the night!
HERMES (returning to Olympus.)
As lonely as the tower that he inhabits, As firm and cold as are the crags about him, Prometheus stands. The thunderbolts of Zeus Alone can move him; but the tender heart Of Epimetheus, burning at white heat,
Hammers and flames like all his brother's forges! Now as an arrow from Hyperion's bow,
My errand done, I fly, I float, I soar
Into the air, returning to Olympus.
O joy of motion! O delight to cleave
The infinite realms of space, the liquid ether, Through the warm sunshine and the cooling cloud, Myself as light as sunbeam or as cloud!
With one touch of my swift and winged feet, I spurn the solid earth, and leave it rocking As rocks the bough from which a bird takes wing.
Beautiful apparition! go not hence! Surely thou art a Goddess, for thy voice Is a celestial melody, and thy form Self-poised as if it floated on the air! No Goddess am I, nor of heavenly birth, But a mere woman fashioned out of clay And mortal as the rest.
Thy face is fair;
There is a wonder in thine azure eyes
That fascinates me. Thy whole presence seems A soft desire, a breathing thought of love. Say, would thy star like Merope's grow dim If thou shouldst wed beneath thee?
Ask me not;
I cannot answer thee. I only know The Gods have sent me hither.
And thus believing am most fortunate. It was not Hermes led thee here, but Eros, And swifter than his arrows were thine eves In wounding me. There was no moment's space Between my seeing thee and loving thee. O, what a telltale face thou hast! Again I see the wonder in thy tender eyes.
They do but answer to the love in thine, Yet secretly I wonder thou shouldst love me. Thou knowest me not.
Perhaps I know thee better
Than had I known thee longer. Yet it seems That I have always known thee, and but now Have found thee. Ah, I have been waiting long. How beautiful is this house! The atmosphere Breathes rest and comfort, and the many chambers Seem full of welcomes.
They not only seem,
But truly are. This dwelling and its master Belong to thee.
Here let me stay forever! There is a spell upon me.
Art the enchantress, and I feel thy power Envelop me, and wrap my soul and sense In an Elysian dream.
O, let me stay.
How beautiful are all things round about me, Multiplied by the mirrors on the walls!
What treasures hast thou here! Yon oaken chest, Carven with figures and embossed with gold, Is wonderful to look upon! What choice
And precious things dost thou keep hidden in it?
Hast thou never Lifted the lid?
The oracle forbids.
Safely concealed there from all mortal eyes Forever sleeps the secret of the Gods.
Seek not to know what they have hidden from thee, Till they themselves reveal it.
Let us go forth from this mysterious place. The garden walks are pleasant at this hour; The nightingales among the sheltering boughs Of populous and many-nested trees
Shall teach me how to woo thee, and shall tell me By what resistless charms or incantations They won their mates.
CHORUS OF THE EUMENIDES. What the Immortals
Confide to thy keeping,
Tell unto no man;
Waking or sleeping,
Closed be thy portals
To friend as to foeman.
Silence conceals it;
The word that is spoken Betrays and reveals it; By breath or by token The charm may be broken.
With shafts of their splendors The Gods unforgiving
Pursue the offenders,
The dead and the living!
Fortune forsakes them, Nor earth shall abide them, Nor Tartarus hide them; Swift wrath overtakes them!
With useless endeavor, Forever, forever,
Is Sisyphus rolling
His stone up the mountain! Immersed in the fountain, Tantalus tastes not
The water that wastes not! Through ages increasing The pangs that afflict him, With motion unceasing The wheel of Ixion
Shall torture its victim!
Yon snow-white cloud that sails sublime in ether Is but the sovereign Zeus, who like a swan Flies to fair-ankled Leda!
Ixion's cloud, the shadowy shape of Hera, That bore the Centaurs.
CHORUS OF BIRDS.
Gently swaying to and fro,
Rocked by all the winds that blow, Bright with sunshine from above Dark with shadow from below, Beak to beak and breast to breast In the cradle of their nest, Lie the fledglings of our love.
Hark! listen! Hear how sweetly overhead
The feathered flute-players pipe their songs of love, And echo answers, love and only love.
CHORUS OF BIRDS.
Every flutter of the wing, Every note of song we sing, Every murmur, every tone, Is of love and love alone.
Who would not love, if loving she might be Changed like Callisto to a star in heaven?
Ah, who would love, if loving she might be Like Semele consumed and burnt to ashes?
Hermes taught me;
He told me all the history of the Gods.
CHORUS OF REEDS. Evermore a sound shall be In the reeds of Arcady, Evermore a low lament
Of unrest and discontent,
As the story is retold
Of the nymph so coy and cold, Who with frightened feet outran The pursuing steps of Pan.
The pipe of Pan out of these reeds is made, And when he plays upon it to the shepherds They pity him, so mournful is the sound. Be thou not coy and cold as Syrinx was.
'T is my brother's voice;
A sound unwelcome and inopportune As was the braying of Silenus' ass, Once heard in Cybele's garden.
Let me go.
I would not be found here. I would not see him.
CHORUS OF DRYADES. Haste and hide thee,
Ere too late,
In these thickets intricate; Lest Prometheus
See and chide thee,
Lest some hurt
Or harm betide thee, Haste and hide thee!
Who was it fled from here? I saw a shape Flitting among the trees.
O Epimetheus! Is it then in vain
That I have warned thee? Let me now implore. Thou harborest in thy house a dangerous guest.
I judge thee not; for thou art more than man; Thou art descended from Titanic race, And hast a Titan's strength, and faculties That make thee godlike; and thou sittest here Like Heracles spinning Omphale's flax, And beaten with her sandals.
O my brother!
Thou drivest me to madness with thy taunts.
And me thou drivest to madness with thy follies. Come with me to my tower on Caucasus: See there my forges in the roaring caverns, Beneficent to man, and taste the joy
That springs from labor. Read with me the stars, And learn the virtues that lie hidden in plants, And all things that are useful.
O my brother!
I am not as thou art. Thou dost inherit
Our father's strength, and I our mother's weakness: The softness of the Oceanides,
The yielding nature that cannot resist.
Assert thyself; rise up to thy full height; Shake from thy soul these dreams effeminate, These passions born of indolence and ease. Resolve, and thou art free. But breathe the air Of mountains, and their unapproachable summits Will lift thee to the level of themselves. EPIMETHEUS.
The roar of forests and of waterfalls, The rushing of a mighty wind, with loud And undistinguishable voices calling, Are in my ear!
CHORUS OF OREADES.
Centuries old are the monntains; Their foreheads wrinkled and rifted Helios crowns by day,
Pallid Selene by night;
From their bosoms uptossed
The snows are driven and drifted, Like Tithonus' beard
Streaming dishevelled and white.
Thunder and tempest of wind Their trumpets blow in the vastness; Phantoms of mist and rain,
Cloud and the shadow of cloud, Pass and repass by the gates
Of their inaccessible fastness; Ever unmoved they stand,
Solemn, eternal, and proud,
VOICES OF THE WATERS. Flooded by rain and snow In their inexhaustible sources, Swollen by affluent streams Hurrying onward and hurled Headlong over the crags, The impetuous water-courses, Rush and roar and plunge Down to the nethermost world.
Say, have the solid rocks
Into streams of silver been melted, Flowing over the plains,
Spreading to lakes in the fields? Or have the mountains, the giants, The ice-helmed, the forest-belted, Scattered their arms abroad; Flung in the meadows their shields?
VOICES OF THE WINDS.
High on their turreted cliffs
That bolts of thunder have shattered, Storm-winds muster and blow
Trumpets of terrible breath;
Then from the gateways rush,
And before them routed and scattered Sullen the cloud-rack flies,
Pale with the pallor of death.
Onward the hurricane rides,
And flee for shelter the shepherds; White are the frightened leaves, Harvests with terror are white; Panic seizes the herds,
And even the lions and leopards, Prowling no longer for prey,
Crouch in their caverns with fright.
VOICES OF THE FOREST.
Guarding the mountains around Majestic the forests are standing, Bright are their crested helms, Dark is their armor of leaves; Filled with the breath of freedom Each bosom subsiding, expanding, Now like the ocean sinks, Now like the ocean upheaves.
Planted firm on the rock,
With foreheads stern and defiant, Loud they shout to the winds, Loud to the tempest they call; Naught but Olympian thunders, That blasted Titan and Giant, Them can uproot and o'erthrow, Shaking the earth with their fall.
CHORUS OF OREADES.
These are the Voices Three
Of winds and forests and fountains, Voices of earth and of air,
Murmur and rushing of streams, Making together one sound,
The mysterious voice of the mountains, Waking the sluggard that sleeps, Waking the dreamer of dreams.
These are the Voices Three, That speak of endless endeavor, Speak of endurance and strength, Triumph and fulness of fame, Sounding about the world,
An inspiration forever,
Stirring the hearts of men, Shaping their end and their aim.
Left to myself I wander as I will,
And as my fancy leads me, through this house, Nor could I ask a dwelling more complete Were I indeed the Goddess that he deems me. No mansion of Olympus, framed to be
The habitation of the Immortal Gods,
Can be more beautiful. And this is mine
And more than this, the love wherewith he crowns me. As if impelled by powers invisible
And irresistible, my steps return
Unto this spacious hall. All corridors
And passages lead hither, and all doors
But open into it. Yon mysterious chest
Attracts and fascinates me. Would I knew
What there lies hidden! But the oracle
Forbids. Ah me! The secret then is safe.
So would it be if it were in my keeping.
A crowd of shadowy faces from the mirrors That line these walls are watching me. I dare not Lift up the lid. A hundred times the act
Would be repeated, and the secret seen
By twice a hundred incorporeal eyes.
My feet are weary, wandering to and fro, My eyes with seeing and my heart with waiting. I will lie here and rest till he returns, Who is my dawn, my day, my Helios.(Throws herself upon a couch, and falls asleep.)
Come from thy caverns dark and deep. O son of Erebus and Night;
All sense of hearing and of sight Enfold in the serene delight
And quietude of sleep!
Set all the silent sentinels
To bar and guard the Ivory Gate, And keep the evil dreams of fate And falsehood and infernal hate Imprisoned in their cells.
But open wide the Gate of Horn, Whence, beautiful as planets, rise The dreams of truth, with starry eyes, And all the wondrous prophecies And visions of the morn.
CHORUS OF DREAMS FROM THE IVORY GATE. Ye sentinels of sleep,
It is in vain ye keep
Your drowsy watch before the Ivory Gate; Though closed the portal seems,
The airy feet of dreams
As ministers of the infernal powers; O son of Erebus
And Night, behold! we thus
To whisper in her ear, who lies asleep, A tale to fan the fire
Of her insane desire
To vex mankind with evils manifold, So that disease and pain
O'er the whole earth may reign,
And nevermore return the Age of Gold. PANDORA (waking).
A voice said in my sleep: "Do not delay: Do not delay; the golden moments fly! The oracle hath forbidden; yet not thee Doth it forbid, but Epimetheus only!" I am alone. These faces in the mirrors Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself; They cannot help nor hinder. No one sees me, Save the all-seeing Gods, who, knowing good And knowing evil, have created me
Such as I am, and filled me with desire Of knowing good and evil like themselves.
(She lifts the lid. A dense mist rises from the chest, and fills the room. PANDORA falls senseless on the floor. Storm without.)
CHORUS OF DREAMS FROM THE GATE OF HORN. Yes, the moment shall decide!
It already hath decided;
And the secret once confided
To the keeping of the Titan
Now is flying far and wide,
Whispered, told on every side,
To disquiet and to frighten.
Fever of the heart and brain, Sorrow, pestilence, and pain, Moans of anguish, maniac laughter, All the evils that hereafter
Shall afflict and vex mankind, All into the air have risen
From the chambers of their prison; Only Hope remains behind.
The storm is past, but it hath left behind it
Ruin and desolation. All the walks
Are strewn with shattered boughs; the birds are silent; The flowers, downtrodden by the wind, lie dead; The swollen rivulet sobs with secret pain,
The melancholy reeds whisper together
As if some dreadful deed had been committed They dare not name, and all the air is heavy
With an unspoken sorrow! Premonitions,
Foreshadowings of some terrible disaster
Oppress my heart. Ye Gods, avert the omen!
PANDORA (coming from the house).
O Epimetheus, I no longer dare
To lift mine eyes to thine, nor hear thy voice, Being no longer worthy of thy love.
I dare not speak of it. EPIMETHEUS.
Thy pallor and thy silence terrify me!
I have brought wrath and ruin on thy house! My heart hath braved the oracle that guarded The fatal secret from us, and my hand Lifted the lid of the mysterious chest!
Mine is the fault not thine. On me shall fall The vengeance of the Gods, for I betrayed Their secret when, in evil hour, I said It was a secret; when, in evil hour,
I left thee here alone to this temptation. Why did I leave thee?
Why didst thou return?
Eternal absence would have been to me The greatest punishment. To be left alone And face to face with my own crime, had been Just retribution. Upon me, ye Gods,
Let all your vengeance fall!
On thee and me.
I do not love thee less for what is done, And cannot be undone. Thy very weakness Hath brought thee nearer to me, and henceforth My love will have a sense of pity in it,
Making it less a worship than before.
Pity me not; pity is degradation. Love me and kill me.
Thou art a Goddess still!
I am a woman;
And the insurgent demon in my nature, That made me brave the oracle, revolts At pity and compassion. Let me die; What else remains for me?
Youth, hope, and love:
To build a new life on a ruined life,
To make the future fairer than the past, And make the past appear a troubled dream. Even now in passing through the garden walks Upon the ground I saw a fallen nest
Ruined and full of rain; and over me
Beheld the uncomplaining birds already Busy in building a new habitation.
May the Eumenides
Put out their torches and behold us not, And fling away their whips of scorpions And touch us not.
Me let them punish.
Only through punishment of our evil deeds, Only through suffering, are we reconciled To the immortal Gods and to ourselves.
CHORUS OF THE EUMENIDES.
Never shall souls like these
Escape the Eumenides,
The daughters dark of Acheron and Night! Unquenched our torches glare,
Our scourges in the air
Into its former self returns again; For every guilty deed
Holds in itself the seed
Hath purified them with his heavenly fires; Then what was lost is won,
And the new life begun,