Wherefore record the travail of the soul Through darkness to grey light, the cloudy war, The austere calm, the bitter victory? It seemed that I had mastered fate, and held, Still with shut eyes, the passion of my heart Compressed, and cast the election of my will Into that scale made heavy with the woe Of all the world, and fair relinquished lives. Suddenly the broad sea was vibrated, And the air shaken with confused noise Not like the steadfast plash and creak of oars, And higher on my foot the ripple slid. The monster was abroad beneath the sun. This therefore was the moment--could my soul Sustain her trial? And the soul replied A swift, sure ‘Yes’: yet must I look forth once, Confront my anguish, nor drop blindly down From horror into horror: and I looked-- O thou deliverance, thou bright victory I saw thee, and was saved! The middle air Was cleft by thy impatience of revenge, Thy zeal to render freedom to things bound: The conquest sitting on thy brow, the joy Of thy unerring flight became to me Nowise mere hope, but full enfranchisement. A sculptor of the isles has carved the deed Upon a temple’s frieze; the maiden chained Lifts one free arm across her eyes to hide The terror of the moment, and her head Sideways averted writhes the slender neck: While with a careless grace in flying curve, And glad like Hermes in his aery poise, Toward the gaping throat a youth extends The sword held lightly. When to sacrifice I pass at morn with my tall Sthenelos, I smile, but do not speak. No! when my gaze First met him I was saved; because the world Could hold so brave a creature I was free: Here one had come with not my father’s eyes Which darkened to the clamour of the crowd, And gave a grieved assent; not with the eyes Of anguish-stricken Cassiopeia, dry And staring as I passed her to the boat. Was not the beauty of his strength and youth Warrant for many good things in the world Which could not be so poor while nourishing him? What faithlessness of heart could countervail The witness of that brow? What dastard chains? Did he not testify of sovereign powers O’ermatching evil, awful charities Which save and slay, the terror of clear joy, Unquenchable intolerance of ill, Order subduing chaos, beauty pledged To conquest of all foul deformities? And was there need to turn my head aside, I, who had one sole thing to do, no more, To watch the deed? I know the careless grace My Perseus wears in manage of the steed, Or shooting the swift disc: not such the mode Of that victorious moment of descent When the large tranquil might his soul contains Was gathered for a swift abolishment Of proud brute-tyranny. He seemed in air A shining spear which hisses in its speed And smites through boss and breastplate. Did he see Andromeda, who never glanced at her But set his face against the evil thing? I know not; yet one truth I may not doubt How ere the wallowing monster blind and vast Turned a white belly to the sun, he stood Beside me with some word of comfort strong Nourishing the heart like choral harmonies. O this was then my joy, that I could give A soul not saved from wretched female fright, Or anarchy of self-abandoned will, But one which had achieved deliverance, And wrought with shaping hands among the stuff Which fate presented. Had I shrunk from Death? Might I not therefore unashamed accept-- In a calm wonder of unfaltering joy-- Life, the fair gift he laid before my feet? Somewhat a partner of his deed I seemed; His equal? Nay, yet upright at his side Scarce lower by a head and helmet’s height Touching my Perseus’ shoulder.