'What think you, sister:' thus one envious fiend To other spake upon their homeward route, 'What of the story that our wit hath glean'd Of this mysterious lover, who can shoot In thirty days from beardless youth to prime, With wisdom in his face before his time, And snowy locks upon his head to boot? 2 'Ay,' said the other, 'true, she lied not well; And thence I gather knows no more than we: For surely 'tis a spirit insensible To whom she is wedded, one she cannot see. 'Tis that I fear; for if 'tis so, her child Will be a god, and she a goddess styled, Which, though I die to let it, shall not be. 3 'Lament we thus no longer. Come, consult What may be done.' And home they came at night, Yet not to rest, but of their plots occult Sat whispering on their beds; and ere 'twas light Resolving on the deed coud not defer; But roused the sleeping house with sudden stir, And sallied forth alone to work their spite. 4 And with the noon were climb'd upon the peak, And swam down on the Zephyr as before; But now with piercing cry and doleful shriek They force their entrance through the golden door, Feigning the urgency of bitter truth; Such as deforms a friendly face with ruth, When kindness may not hide ill tidings more. 5 Then Psyche when she heard their wailful din, And saw their countenances wan and worn With travel, vigil, and disfiguring sin, Their hair dishevel'd and their habits torn, For trembling scarce coud ask what ill had hapt; And they alert with joy to see her trapt, Launch'd forth amain, and on their drift were borne. 6 'O Psyche, happiest certainly and blest Up to this hour,' they said, 'thou surely wert, Being of thy fearful peril unpossest; Which now we would not tell but to avert. But we in solemn truth thy spouse have found To be the dragon of this mountain ground, Who holds thee here to work thy shame and hurt. 7 'As yesternight we rode upon the wind He issued to pursue us from the wood; We saw his back, that through the tree-tops finn'd, His fiery eyes glared from their wrinkl'd hood. Lo, now betimes the oracle, which said How to the savage beast thou shouldst be wed, Is plainly for thy safety understood. 8 'Long time hath he been known to all that dwell Upon the plain; but now his secret lair Have we discover'd, which none else coud tell: Though many women fallen in his snare Hath he enchanted; who, tradition saith, Taste love awhile, ere to their cruel death They pass in turn upon the summits bare. 9