VII. THE HOUSE OF EPIMETHEUS. PANDORA. LEFT to myself I wander as I will, And as my fancy leads me, through this house, No mansion of Olympus, framed to be The habitation of the Immortal Gods, Can be more beautiful. And this is mine And more than this, the love wherewith he crowns me. As if impelled by powers invisible Unto this spacious hall. All corridors But open into it. Yon mysterious chest Forbids. Ah me! The secret then is safe. A crowd of shadowy faces from the mirrors Would be repeated, and the secret seen She walks to the other side of the hall. My feet are weary, wandering to and fro, Who is my dawn, my day, my Helios. Throws herself upon a couch, and falls asleep. ZEPHYRUS. Come from thy caverns dark and deep, All sense of hearing and of sight And quietude of sleep! Set all thy silent sentinels. But open wide the Gate of Horn, CHORUS OF DREAMS FROM THE IVORY GATE. Ye sentinels of sleep, It is in vain ye keep Your drowsy watch before the Ivory Gate; Though closed the portal seems, The airy feet of dreams Ye cannot thus in walls incarcerate. We phantoms are and dreams. As ministers of the infernal powers; And Night, behold! we thus Elude your watchful wardens on the towers! From gloomy Tartarus The Fates have summoned us A tale to fan the fire Of her insane desire To know a secret that the Gods would keep. This passion, in their ire, To vex mankind with evils manifold, So that disease and pain O'er the whole earth may reign, And nevermore return the Age of Gold. PANDORA, waking. A voice said in my sleep: "Do not delay: These faces in the mirrors Are but the shadows and phantoms of myself; They cannot help nor hinder. No one sees me, Save the all-seeing Gods, who, knowing good And knowing evil, have created me Such as I am, and filled me with desire Of knowing good and evil like themselves. She approaches the chest. I hesitate no longer. Weal or woe, Or life or death, the moment shall decide. She lifts the lid. A dense mist rises from the chest, and fills the room. PANDORA falls senseless on the floor. Storm with out. CHORUS OF DREAMS FROM THE GATE OF HORN. Yes, the moment shall decide! It already hath decided; And the secret once confided |