So entering by the golden gate, or e'er The marvel of their hither flight had waned, Fresh wonder took them now, for everywhere Their eyes that lit on beauty were enchain'd; And Psyche's airy service, as she bade, Perform'd its magic office, and display'd The riches of the palace where she reign'd. 8 And through the perfumed chambers they were led, And bathed therein; and after, set to sup, Were upon dreamlike delicacies fed, And wine more precious than its golden cup. Till seeing nothing lack'd and naught was theirs, Their happiness fell from them unawares, And bitter envy in their hearts sprang up. 9 At last one said 'Psyche, since not alone Thou livest here in joy, as well we wot, Who is the man who should these wonders own, Or god, I say, and still appeareth not? What is his name? What rank and guise hath he, Whom winds and spirits serve, who honoureth thee Above all others in thy blissful lot?' 10 But Psyche when that wistful speech she heard Was ware of all her spouse had warn'd her of: And uttering a disingenuous word, Said 'A youth yet unbearded is my love; He goeth hunting on the plains to-day, And with his dogs hath wander'd far away; And not till eve can he return above.' 11 Then fearing to be nearer plied, she rose And brought her richest jewels one by one, Bidding them choose and take whate'er they chose; And beckoning the Zephyr spake anon That he should waft her sisters to the peak; The which he did, and, ere they more coud speak, They rose on high, and in the wind were gone. 12 Nor till again they came upon the road, Which from the mountain shoulder o'er the plain Led to the city of their sire's abode, Found they their tongues, though full of high disdain Their hearts were, but kept silence, till the strength Of pride and envious hatred burst at length In voice, and thus the elder gan complain: 13 'Cruel and unjust fortune! that of three Sisters, whose being from one fountain well'd, Exalts the last so high from her degree, And leaves the first to be so far excel'd. My husband is a poor and niggard churl To him, whoe'er he be, that loves the girl. Oh! in what godlike state her house is held!' 14 'Ay,' said the other, 'to a gouty loon Am I not wedded? Lo! thy hurt is mine: But never call me woman more, if soon I cannot lure her from her height divine. Nay, she shall need her cunning wit to save The wealth of which so grudgingly she gave; Wherefore thy hand and heart with me combine. 15