The Lament of Ceres

HAS the beamy Spring shone out anew?
Reassumes the Earth her primal mien?
Yes, once more the rivulets are blue:
Yes, once more the sunny hills are green.
On the mirror-floor of Ocean's wave
Cloudlessly the face of Phoebus lies;
Blandlier the Zephyr-pinions wave;
Bud and plantling ope their little eyes.
Music trills from every grove and glen,
And I hear the Oread in the grot
Sing, " Thy flowers, indeed, return agen,

But thy Daughter, she returneth not!"
Ah! how long I wander sadly over,
Desolately over Earth's bare held!
Titan! Titan! canst thou not discover
Where my Loved, my Vanished, lies concealed?
None of all thy lamps, of all thy rays,
Lights the dear, dear Countenance for me;
Even the Day, which all on earth displays,
Nowhere shows me her I sigh to see.
Hast thou, Jupiter, from these fond arms

Pitilessly torn my lovely one?
Or has Pluto borne away her charms
To the death cold Flood of Acheron?
Downwards to the blackly-rolling River
Who will bear my message-word of woe?
Into Charon's bark, which floats for ever,
None save spectral shadows dare to go.
Hidden from each flesh-imprisoned soul
Lies alway the nightbegirdled Shore:
Long as Styx hath yet been known to roll,

Shape of Life his waters never bore.
Thousand headlong pathways hurry thither —
Back alone to Light is no return;
Scarce a sigh comes faintly wafted hither,
Whispering of her lot for whom I mourn.
Earthsprung mothers, of an earthly name,
Doomed to die because of Pyrrha born,
Follow joyously through Death and Flame,
Nurslings from their loving bosoms torn.
Thus doth reigning Jupiter command —

"None of Mine shall pass the Phantomportal:"
Wherefore, Parcae, must your iron hand
Sternly spare the God and the Immortal?
Ah! down, down into the Night of Nights
Rather hurl me from Olympus' brow:
Why revere in me the Goddess' rights?
Are they not the Mother's tortures now?
Sways my child in joyless pomp beneath
On the throne, beside her sable Spouse?
Gladly, gladly would I plunge in Death,

There to seek the Queen of Pluto's House.
Ah! her eyes, a very Fount of Tears,
Aching for the goldbright Light in vain,
Wandering wistfully to far-off Spheres,
Fain would meet the Mother's glance again.
Never! never! till the Depths rejoice
In the awakened might of Pity's spoil;
Never! never! until Mercy's voice
Echoes through the sunken Dome of Hell.
Vain, vain wish, and idly-wasted wailing!

Ever in the one bright Track away
Phrebus calmly wheels his never-failing
Chariot; Jupiter is Lord for aye;
Lord, and Lord of Happiness and Light:
Darkness flung no shadow on his throne
When I lost her in the dead of Night,
"When my soul was left to weep alone,
Till above the black abysmal Well
Young Aurora's fairy tints shall glow,
And till Iris gilds the gloom of Hell

By the glory of her painted Bow.
And is naught remaining by the Mother?
No fond pledge of reminiscence here?
Naught to say the Severed love each other?
Naught in memory from the Hand so dear?
Is there, then, no holy link of union
Found between the Child and Mother more?
Hold the Left-in-Life no sweet communion
With the wanderers on the Phantomshore?
No! nor sundered for eternal years

Must we languish — she shall yet be mine:
Lo! in pity to the Mother's tears,
Heaven accords a Symbol and a Sign.
Soon as Autumn dies, and Winter's blast
From the North is chillily returning,
Soon as leaf and flower their hues have cast
And in nakedness the trees are mourning,
Then from out Vertumnus' lavish Horn
Slowly, silently, the Gift I take
Overcharged with Life — the golden Corn —

As mine Offering to the Stygian Lake.
Into Earth I sink the Seed with sadness,
And it lies upon my daughter's heart;
Thus an emblem of my grief and gladness,
Of my love and anguish I impart.
When the handmaid Hours, in circling duty,
Once again lead round the bowery Spring,
Then upbounding Life and newborn Beauty
Unto all that died the Sun shall bring.
Lo! the germ that lay from eyes of Mortals

Longwhile coffined by the Earth's cold bosom,
Blushes as it bursts the clayey Portals,
With the dyes of Heaven on its blossom.
While the stem, ascending, skyward towers,
Bashfully the fibres shun the Light,
Thus to rear my tender ones the Powers
Both of Heaven and Earth in love unite.
Halfway in the Land where Life rejoices,
Halfway in the Nightworld of the tomb,
These to me are blessed Herald-voices,

Earthward wafted up from Orcus' gloom.
Yea, though dungeoned in the Hell of Hells,
Would I from the deep Abyss infernal
Hear the silver peal whose music swells
Gently from these blossoms, young and vernal,
Singing that where old in rayless blindness
Darklingly the Mournerphantoms move,
Even there are bosoms filled with kindness,
Even there are hearts alive with love.
O, my Flowers! that round the mead so sunny,

Odonrloaded, freshly bloom and blow,
Here I bless you! May redundant honey
Ever down your chalicepetals flow!
Flowers! I'll bathe you in celestial Light,
Blent with colours from the Rainbow borrowed;
All your bells shall glisten with the bright
Hues that play around Aurora's forehead!
So, whene'er the days of Springtime roll,
When the Autumn pours her yellow treasures,
May each bleeding heart and loving soul
Read in you my mingled pains and pleasures!