Poems (Storrie)/The Draught of Life
The Draught of Life.
She held a crystal chalice in her hands, A chalice, brimming' to its carven lip With clearest water. Such an icy draught As men, with starting eyes, and burning lips, That mouth in agony the brazen sands Of sun-cursed deserts, dream of, and go mad. She held it from her, lifting tear-wet eyes To one who sat above, and bent to hear Her prayer, and answered with a gathering frown: "A change for thee? Some other draught than this To quench thy thirst and satisfy thy soul? Did'st not thou come, a few short seasons back To claim, as was thy right, thy draught of life, And did I not, complying with the hot Impetuous passion of thy eager youth, Then bid thee choose, and did'st thou not—None hindering—none coercing—stretch thine hand And choose from all the rest, this very cup From which thou now dost turn so loathingly, To cry with tears for any draught but this? What meanest thou?" Then quick she cried, "Oh, stern and changeless one! I was so young—How could I know? I dreamed I knew, and knew not. Then it seemed to me All draughts were equal. How could I divine That this, which looks so clear and sparkles so, Should prove so tasteless? Ah, then—pity me And give me hut a little flask of wine That I may drink, and feel between my lips Its heavenly flavour."The Arbiter looked down upon the face Uplifted to him, marked the lovely curves Of chin and forehead, and the magic gloom Of dark eyes raying lustre, thro' a fringe Of darker lashes, marked the mouth's red bow Apart with pleading, and the slender form A flower on tip-toe, reaching towards the sun—Himself—yet sternly spake: "Oh, foolish one, The draught thou hast is needful for thee—sweet And pure, an element of life, the source and spring And vivifying power of every draught That ever was, or ever yet can be; The vintage of the skies! so good and pure That man may live from strong and happy youth To age as happy, and across his lips Let not another liquid pass, and thou Did'st take it gladly, joyfully, yet now, Tho' still the chalice brims as full and clear As if thou had'st not drunk, thou comest here To bid me give thee other. Why is this?" With passion vexed the dark eyes sudden flashed Through lifted lashes, and a mounting flame Across the velvet texture of the cheek Turned lilies into roses. Dashing down The crystal chalice till its fragments rang A hundred death-knells on the marble floor And shivered into silence, while there ran Across her spurning feet the limpid tide To flow away and fade to nothingness In far-off corners, hotly cried the maid: "I will not have it! Flat and flavourless, I hate—I loathe it. Long a tasteless draught Have I been drinking, deeming it was Life, While others quaff the rich and ruddy juice Of wealthy vineyards mellow with the warmth Of garnered summers, and the poignant charm Of far-off countries, where the very air Is fragrant with romance, and every night, In chiselled silver, mimics every day's Full burnished gold, and every honied breeze Can whisper secrets to the dreaming fields, And every flower that nods a perfumed head Is full of passion. Oh! from such a land What generous floods, blood-red and golden-brown And amber-tinted fill the happy veins With sweet, mysterious magic! Give not me Thy 'vintage of the skies,' so cold, so pale, So wan and spiritless, but let me taste The rich enchantments that I know must lie In other draughts."
The stern brow of the Arbiter relaxed In pity for her. "Dost thou deem," he said, "That passion and romance are always hid In alien ways? A clearer spirit dwelt In thy pellucid water than is found In any wine, however rare it be, And deep, within the heart of homely things A kernel lies that hath the power to bud And blossom into beauty if the eye Hath wit to find it. And thy chalice held All goodness in solution, Purity And Cleanliness, and power to satisfy All healthy thirst; Affection, deep and true, That long outlives the passion thou dost crave; And Duty plain, and pleasant that will bring A fairer guerdon than the phantom charms Romance may promise, and Tranquility, A flavour hard to find in any draught, However rich." Then, marking how her eyes Impatient wandered, sighingly he gave Into her hands a goblet, ruby red, Wherein a quivering sunbeam prisoned lay And glinted fitfully. A fragrance rare As incense, delicate and fine, was borne Half fainting on the air. "Take then this draught, Since so thy will is set. Yet know that he Who lacketh wine may live to know he lacks, But whoso lacketh water—better far He had not lived at all. Yet, since so soon It palled upon thy senses, and became So hateful to thee, that, impetuous, thou Hast cast it from thee, take for thy life-draught This other—Nay!—but thank me not until Thou see'st how it serves thee." Silence fell As, light as summer rain that pattering falls A moment and is gone, her footsteps passed Along the corridor. With head erect And eyes agleam, triumphantly she bore Her prize away, already feeling through Her every vivid sense its magic steal.
Scarce Time had ta'en upon his endless march A step or two before the Arbiter, Still seated on his high and lonely throne, With thought swathed like a bandage o'er his eyes, Saw, as with drooping wing all silently The Evening stole on velvet-sandalled feet Into his court—a slender figure come As soft as Evening's self. As reeds that lie Along the marshes, after hurtling winds Have fiercely smit them, broken not—but bent, And set no longer on their slender stems To sway in poise so exquisitely true, Their very weakness seems the grace of strength—So was the lissom figure. As a bud Unsheathed by human fingers coarse and rude, Forestalling Nature's delicate designs,For ever blighting by their carnal touch A fragile purity—so was the face, And o'er the shadowy floor on trembling knees, With little hands outstretched, and darkened eyes She searched each separate vein that threaded through The polished marble for some little nook, Some hollow, haply at a pillar's foot Wherein a pool, or, e'en a single drop Of water might have lodged—in vain, in vain! And from his lofty seat the Arbiter Though seasoned to the sight of human woe, Drew close the bandage o'er his eyes and held His bated breath to keep from shuddering.