Poems (Sackville)/Pan and the Maiden
POEMS
PAN AND THE MAIDEN
Scene I.—A deep wood in Spring
The Maiden
Pan, I have sought thee leaving the hot world,And all the skein of tangled nights and days—The mirth, the tears, the impotence of man,Because I am very weary, and my heartWaastes for thee, longing sadly for cool gladesAnd pleasant speech of leaves and quiet air.(She pauses.) I am tired, I am tired, oh, Pan! the gods have sownNew growths of men and days—new harvestings,And the new fields are scattered with strange seed,And there are sterile songs and wasted breath,And Beauty is a thing divorced from Life.(She sinks on the moss.)Hast thou forgotten, Pan, the days that were—The quickening of woods, the tumult and fresh joyOf budding fields, the wild expectant handsOf living new-born things which yearned to thee,The melodies frail reeds gave forth—desireOf Love, mad ecstasy of song—faun-feetWhich danced tumultuous over bounding moss?Hast thou forgotten? Art thou sleeping, Pan? And are thy glades deserted, and no moreShall the delicious joy and surging mirthOf laughing woodland women sound again?Has it become a dream, a dream to thee—And are thy lips hushed and the ancient hopes,And all the happy moments of the world?
Pan (in the distance)
The old days call me with familiar lips.
The Maiden
I who am one with thee and bound with tiesInextricable of life to all the woods—My heart the heart of saplings and my bloodFull of the warm desire of Spring for earth,Now call upon thee, Pan, and all live thingsCall on thee with dumb lips and pleading eyes,Speechless and longing for thee. Slumber not Lest the world die—lest the world die, oh, Pan!
Pan
One calls me from the unforgotten years.
The Maiden
Oh, Pan! the years are very sorrowful—There is no splendour now amongst the gods.There is no beauty of words, nor any moreDoes song pour forth from ripe Olympian lips—And like a dream forgotten are the gods;And like a ruined dream their temples are,And sadder than the eyes of HecateThe Gorgon eyes of sorrow freeze the world,Crushing the soul of man and all good days.
Pan
I come. I come—one calls me—I must hear—
The Maiden
Surely, oh, Pan! though all the great gods sleptStill thou wouldst hearken—nay, thou slumberest not,Because the fields still quicken and the rainFalls with a kindly freshness on the land,And trees bear blossom, and the woods are fullOf manifold deep life and echoing sounds—Fluting of wood-birds, buzz of drowsy flies,Shy creatures crouching in the undergrowth,Wild thickets bearing fruit and laden boughs—Is not thy great existence evidentIn all this Nature, since if thou wert dead—If thou wert dead there would be no more life,But barren deserts—overwhelming floods,And forests crowned with no sweet growth of green,But hollow winds and empty silences.
Pan
The ancient years are living, and the songs—
The Maiden
And now thy splendour fills me and the greatAnd sacred glory of thy words—the airConceals thy breath—thy thoughts enclose the world.This leaf I touch is a wise thought of thine;And all the grass a-tremble 'neath my foot,And all the eloquent soft speech of leavesIs thine, and most inseparable from thee.
Pan
Oh, Woman! from the gulf of banished TimeYou called, and my sleep left me—and I came.
The Maiden
I am afraid, oh, Pan! have mercy on me!
Pan
Who fears the gods when they command not fear?
The Maiden
Ah, Pan! the woods are slipping, slipping from me!Pan
Dost thou fear love and speech of ancient days?
The Maiden
The fear of thee is heavy on me, Pan!
Pan
Fear not, the old times live and the old speech.
The Maiden>
The new days blind me, burn me, fetter me!
Pan
Cast all their glamour from thee—I am here.
The Maiden
This is the travail of death which brings forth Life,
Pan
Pan dies not, nor the memory of Pan—The great gods sleep—they shall not always sleep—Nor shall the world lose Beauty till it die.
The Maiden
Oh, Pan! thy words are fruitful memoriesAnd madden me with thoughts of ardent daysAnd Greek nights, insatiate when the astonished woodsWoke 'neath the maddened overwhelming cry Of satyrs, and the air reeled, and the shoutOf Bacchanalian laughter twined itselfWith silences of night, and the uncurledWild vines burst forth in leaf and made a greenAnd reckless arbour over the warm land,And there was sound of flutes and pleasant pipes.
Pan
Exchange these memories for a newer bliss!
The Maiden
Oh, Pan! the gods rejoiced and laughed, and cried'Behold the strength of Pan'—thy kisses liveStill, still upon my lips constraining me—And they have quivered on my lips these yearsThrough all the changes which have veiled my soul— Through all the manifold great waves of Time—And bid me cleave to thee, a creature wroughtOf woods and wilds and pastures and sweet shades.
Pan
And thou shalt come, oh, well-beloved of Pan!Seeing Pan's kiss is stronger than strong years,And still the forest is green and still the rootsBear grain and blossom, and the woods shall cleaveEven to thy heart and thou shalt wander forth,An evident woodland spirit, and thy lifeBecome a portion of the life of Pan.
The Maiden
Oh, Pan! there is great tumult at my heart—Madness of life and all my words seem fraughtWith wind and eloquent passion of green leaves. But oh! the years which lie betwixt us nowWeigh mournfully upon me, and the thoughtOf new things veils the ancient—Pan, forgive,The unimagined shades of life are on me,And even now there cleaves a Love to me—No boy of Aphrodite, but a thingTerrible, grave, with deep, imploring eyes,Which calls me to it for a last farewell.
Pan
Even Aphrodite slumbers, and her Loves.
The Maiden
And I must seek it, Pan, and bid farewell,Else it would haunt me and its eyes becomeFires, nor could any coolness of the woodsNor fragrance quench the intolerable light.But if I seek it, showing how my heartIs only thine, and how the woods lay hold And draw me to them, then, oh, Pan, its strengthMay wither and its ardent breath grow noughtBut sleep among all sleeping human things.
Pan
Go not, lest the sad music of the worldCompel your spirit utterly from me.
The Maiden
No music, Pan, in all the world is strongTo dim thy music in me. I whose lifeFirst shaped itself upon thy lips—a noteConceived of music growing visibleFrom very excess of rapture. (Great art thouTo bind thy singing round all gods and men.Hast thou forgotten how the god of song,The marvellous Apollo, lay all day,Motionless, dazed with visions, whilst thy notes Led him through groves and labyrinths of sweet soundTill all his wise and beautiful heart was lostAnd tangled in the melody?—how thenShall I prove stronger than he and feel thy songNo more but cleave unto strange words and worksAnd alien, infidel hearts, and lose all love,All knowledge of thee, Pan? Such things are not.
Pan
Go, since the spirit of the world is weak,Cold are the joys, the sorrows of the world,And I am Pan! and stronger than all gods.
Scene II.—A terrace overlooking woods and hills
The Lover
Even as God's thought first formed and wrought the worldWith colour and sun and seas and hills and woods,So has my soul conceived and brought forth LoveAnd formed a world of Love where all fair thingsAre born, and plaintive music and low words.
The Maiden
The clouds are stiller than the hills to-night.
The Lover
They are filled with exquisite peace and no desire.
The Maiden
The woods seem living in the living night.
The Lover
They hold the gentle longing of the world.
The Maiden
I hear the distant lonely voice of waves—
The Lover
Infinite seas of Love surround the world.
The Maiden
And voices calling through the gloom—not sprungFrom aught of human nor sorrowful, but gladWith all the unpunished ecstasy of dreams,And strange delirious joy of woods and hills.
The Lover
What cry is this—what lives are these, what mirth?
The Maiden
The cry of the unchangeable gods who sendA message to the world through thoughtless lips—The lives illimitable of strange hosts,Dim denizens of undiscovered glades,Impenetrable seas and drowsy hills—Of these the mirth I hear—of these the joy!
The Lover
The old gods pass—and the old ways of men—Theirs was the earth, and lust of Beauty and Life,Theirs was the earth a little while, and softSweet perfumes and cool temples and wild loves— A little time of laughter and warm breath,A little space of pleasure and strained lips,And afterwards the world put on new thoughts,And the gods passed away like fallen foam,And one great sacred spirit held the world.
The Maiden
No, no! they are potent still—they are potent still—Nor any alien island in far seasHolds them—but in their ancient Halls of MirthThey slumber, and their dreams are quickening firesWhich hold the world from barrenness and death.
The Lover
Why are your eyes wild with a pagan light—A strange and passionate language on your lips?
The Maiden
I am of them—I am of them—and nowI must depart, and I must wander forthThrough other fairer paths and holier woods.I am not of this world, nor have my feetBeen glad in fruitful pastures—nor has LifeSeemed gracious unto me since Grecian days,When Beauty lived and the old gods were strong.
The Lover
Oh! my beloved, you are strange to-night.
The Maiden
I sprang from them—my life is a mere noteBorn of the windy music of Pan's reeds—With happy feet I clove the forest shades,Lived, loved, breathed, laughed and slept beneath green boughs. Then through the years I wandered, died and livedAnd died and lived again, full of new thoughts,New loves and new desires, but evermorePan's seal was set upon me. Hold me not,For I have seen him and his lips reviveThe old earth-madness in me, and my eyesHave gazed on him again and mine has grownThe soul of woods once more, and never strengthOf atheist hearts shall break or mar the bond.
The Lover
You speak a thing disastrous—fraught with ill.
The Maiden
The old and passionate gods were dear to me—My spirit is the spirit of a faun—The wild vines and the ivy cling to me, And the long tendrils wind around my heartSo that no other thought may sojourn there.
The Lover
The gods are perished—utterly undone.
The Maiden
They live, but now they slumber and the worldSlumbers, but soon the petals of Time's flowerShall blossom forth with colour and soft scent,And like a rose shall overspread all lands.
The Lover
You have brought fire and anguish through the years,Malicious flames to sear and torture me.
The Maiden
Be glad, because I bid farewell to you, And I shall be most joyous if your loveUnwinds its coils of passion from my life,Not fettering it, and I would have it sleepForgetting me with reasonable heart.
The Lover
This is an evil and a foolish thing—Pan is not strong—Pan is not strong as Love.
The Maiden
Pan can break Love and fetter Love with bonds.
The Lover
The ancient yearning is alive in you,But I am strong with the new growth of days.
The Maiden
Alas! the growth is sad of the new day!Yet think not I am heedless of your love— Leaving it lightly as a thing outworn.I should have withered in my lonelinessHad you not come with life and pitying love,Had you not brought new love, new life to me.
The Lover
I gave you all I had and all my soul.
The Maiden
Ah! sweet, ah! sweet the day I saw you first.
The Lover
Then was I conscious first of Life, and lived.
The Maiden
I knew Life first when first you touched my hand.
The Lover
I dared not think of you except in dreams—
The Maiden
I writhed to feel that you could never love me.
The Lover
My love walked timidly with doubtful steps.
The Maiden
And mine wept silent tears because Love came not.
The Lover
You seemed too sacred for the speech of man—
The whole world's mystic heart was in your eyes.
The Maiden
You read the whole world's lonely sadness there.
The Lover
What followed on that sadness when we kissed?
The Maiden
The transformation of all worlds and stars.
The Lover
Ah! God, the peril, the peril, the madness of it—Now it must pass, now it must pass—ah, God!
The Maiden
Would you could read my heart and understand!
The Lover
Oh! my beloved—is it nought to youThe first imperfect sighs, which breathed of Love,Timidly, daring but to live—no more—The clasping of hot hands which burned to meet,The mingling of tired lips which sobbed to kiss—The life that makes its own eternity—What is the god's wild rapture to this thing?
The Maiden
I love you—oh, I love you—blame me not!
The Lover
The gods have nothing left to give, the worldFaints even before my love, and we shall die,Beloved, if you will, and cast our soulsUpon the eternal never-ending wavesWhich beat around the awful feet of God.
The Maiden
Oh! I am fearful of your words—they burn.
The Lover
Or we will leave the greyness of sad daysAnd seek those countries of the god's first birth,Where the tired sky yearns downwards to green trees, Raise Pan a temple and a dwelling-placeWrought of cold marble twined about with flowers,Wild woodland plants, vines, sinuous ivy stems,And on his altars sacrificial grainShall burn, and incense scent the heavy air—That he seeing we forget him not may grantForgiveness and accomplishment of joy.
The Maiden
Pan needs no temple fairer than the world—The whole world is his temple and the treesHis wreathed columns, and the fields are his,Glowing with living offerings and prayers,The scent of earth his incense—but he cravesAll tremulous woodland hearts to blend with him,And mine is full of woodland ecstasy.
The Lover
And mine of bitter agony and death.
The Maiden
Ah! turn your heart to Pan, and seek him too.
The Lover
I have drunk deep the bitter wine of Life,And in my breast are wells of human tears,Such as Pan tastes not, and my eyes have scannedWords more profound than you can comprehend—Words not of you nor of the thoughtless gods—And I shall perish by a subtler death,A subtler wound than you can ever know.
The Maiden
I love you—oh, I love you, and my heartHas known, it too, pale images of death—And deeper thoughts, and holier hopes than those Which filled it when the dancing fauns of PanRoused Bacchanalian laughter in the woods.
The Lover
Beloved, we are thirsting each for each,But you are dazed with evil, and strange dreams;Yet seek strong shelter in my soul, for youWill surely crave amongst these alien livesFamiliar sanctuary—you will grieveFor known accustomed days, the human lips,The comforting speech of tears, the dear desires,Close days of mortal rapture. They are hard,These gods—they are warm with superficial warmth,And since they reigned the world has tasted pain,
The Maiden
Oh! I shall sorrow for you, sorrow for you— Almost I wish I had not bowed to Pan—And yet—and yet—
The Lover
Look on the woods no more—See the great moon has risen, and her lightForgets the evil of men, and all their wrongAnd folly 'sinks to some forgotten dream,Some empty, fevered vision of waste hours,And all this thing is but a perished dreamYou have dreamt, sweet, and this alone is true—My arms about you and my soul; your soul,And Love, and a great gladness born of Love.
The Maiden
Hold me close—close—I dare not raise my eyes.
The lover
You are mine—you are mine—fear not, the gods were strong But love has overwrought the ancient godsAnd seared their cruelty with a present flame.
The Maiden
Take me away, I dare not linger here—(Echoes and sounds of voices rise from the woods.)Ah! what is that—ah! what is that? The sound—The old familiar sound of woodland mirth!
The Lover
It is the tumult of the evening wind.
The Maiden
Their feet are dancing, are dancing, and the swardPulses beneath innumerable feet—See, see the wild gleam of the Mænad's hair! Pan lives—Pan lives—Pan lives—Pan lives to- night!The fauns awake, the satyrs dance to-night—Oh, tingling blood which stings and whirls me on,And hurls me to them—loose me—let me go.
The Lover
Never! I hold you fast—you shall not leave me!
The Maiden
This one night, only this night, I will return—Oh, my beloved! I will come again,But now my limbs are mad to wind themselvesWith branches of the vine—the kiss of PanBurns on my lips, it burns my soul away— Oh—oh, look not upon me, for your eyesAre terrible—mournful, and your mouth is sad,And tortures me—Pan calls—Pan calls. I dare notStay any longer with your lips and eyes.
The Lover
Though I shall die, you shall not leave me now!(She breaks away from him.)
The Maiden
Farewell—farewell, your love has fallen from me,And there is nothing left for me save mirthAnd tumult of woods and pastures and wild lives.(She darts off.)
The Lover
You shall not leave me, though I die, you shall not—(He follows her.)
A Voice in the Distance
I come, oh, Pan! I come—