For mad is the heart of Love, And gold the gleam of his wing; And all to the spell thereof Bend, when he makes his spring; All life that is wild and young In mountain and wave and stream, All that of earth is sprung, Or breathes in the red sunbeam; Yea, and Mankind. O'er all a royal throne, Cyprian, Cyprian, is thine alone! A VOICE FROM THE CLOUD O thou that rulest in Aegeus' Hall, I charge thee, hearken! Yea, it is I, Artemis, Virgin of God most High. Thou bitter King, art thou glad withal For thy murdered son? For thine ear bent low to a lying Queen, For thine heart so swift amid things unseen? Lo, all may see what end thou hast won! Go, sink thine head in the waste abyss; Or aloft to another world than this, Birdwise with wings, Fly far to thine hiding, Far over this blood that clots and clings; For in righteous men and in holy things No rest is thine nor abiding! [_The cloud has become stationary in the air._] Hear, Theseus, all the story of thy grief! Verily, I bring but anguish, not relief; Yet, 'twas for this I came, to show how high And clean was thy son's heart, that he may die Honoured of men; aye, and to tell no less The frenzy, or in some sort the nobleness, Of thy dead wife. One Spirit there is, whom we That know the joy of white virginity, Most hate in heaven. She sent her fire to run In Phaedra's veins, so that she loved thy son. Yet strove she long with love, and in the stress Fell not, till by her Nurse's craftiness Betrayed, who stole, with oaths of secrecy, To entreat thy son. And he, most righteously, Nor did her will, nor, when thy railing scorn Beat on him, broke the oath that he had sworn, For God's sake. And thy Phaedra, panic-eyed, Wrote a false writ, and slew thy son, and died, Lying; but thou wast nimble to believe! [THESEUS, _at first bewildered, then dumfounded, now utters a deep groan._] It stings thee, Theseus?--Nay, hear on and grieve Yet sorer. Wottest thou three prayers were thine Of sure fulfilment, from thy Sire divine? Hast thou no foes about thee, then, that one-- Thou vile King!--must be turned against thy son? The deed was thine. Thy Sea-born Sire but heard The call of prayer, and bowed him to his word. But thou in his eyes and in mine art found Evil, who wouldst not think, nor probe, nor sound The deeps of prophet's lore, nor day by day Leave Time to search; but swifter than man may, Let loose the curse to slay thine innocent son! THESEUS O Goddess, let me die!