| |
| THERE are who lord it o’er their fellow-men | |
| With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen | |
| Their baaing vanities, to browse away | |
| The comfortable green and juicy hay | |
| From human pastures; or, O torturing fact! | 5 |
| Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack’d | |
| Fire-branded foxes to sear up and singe | |
| Our gold and ripe-ear’d hopes. With not one tinge | |
| Of sanctuary splendour, not a sight | |
| Able to face an owl’s, they still are dight | 10 |
| By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests, | |
| And crowns, and turbans. With unladen breasts, | |
| Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mount | |
| To their spirit’s perch, their being’s high account, | |
| Their tiptop nothings, their dull skies, their thrones— | 15 |
| Amid the fierce intoxicating tones | |
| Of trumpets, shoutings, and belabour’d drums, | |
| And sudden cannon. Ah! how all this hums, | |
| In wakeful ears, like uproar past and gone— | |
| Like thunder clouds that spake to Babylon, | 20 |
| And set those old Chaldeans to their tasks.— | |
| Are then regalities all gilded masks? | |
| No, there are throned seats unscalable | |
| But by a patient wing, a constant spell, | |
| Or by ethereal things that, unconfin’d, | 25 |
| Can make a ladder of the eternal wind, | |
| And poise about in cloudy thunder-tents | |
| To watch the abysm-birth of elements. | |
| Aye, ’bove the withering of old-lipp’d Fate | |
| A thousand Powers keep religious state, | 30 |
| In water, fiery realm, and airy bourne; | |
| And, silent as a consecrated urn, | |
| Hold sphery sessions for a season due. | |
| Yet few of these far majesties, ah, few! | |
| Have bared their operations to this globe— | 35 |
| Few, who with gorgeous pageantry enrobe | |
| Our piece of heaven—whose benevolence | |
| Shakes hand with our own Ceres; every sense | |
| Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude, | |
| As bees gorge full their cells. And, by the feud | 40 |
| ’Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear, | |
| Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair | |
| Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest. | |
| When thy gold breath is misting in the west, | |
| She unobserved steals unto her throne, | 45 |
| And there she sits most meek and most alone; | |
| As if she had not pomp subservient; | |
| As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent | |
| Towards her with the Muses in thine heart; | |
| As if the ministring stars kept not apart, | 50 |
| Waiting for silver-footed messages. | |
| O Moon! the oldest shades ’mong oldest trees | |
| Feel palpitations when thou lookest in: | |
| O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din | |
| The while they feel thine airy fellowship. | 55 |
| Thou dost bless every where, with silver lip | |
| Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine, | |
| Couched in thy brightness, dream of fields divine: | |
| Innumerable mountains rise, and rise, | |
| Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes; | 60 |
| And yet thy benediction passeth not | |
| One obscure hiding-place, one little spot | |
| Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren | |
| Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken, | |
| And from beneath a sheltering ivy leaf | 65 |
| Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief | |
| To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps | |
| Within its pearly house.—The mighty deeps, | |
| The monstrous sea is thine—the myriad sea! | |
| O Moon! far-spooming Ocean bows to thee, | 70 |
| And Tellus feels his forehead’s cumbrous load. | |
| |
| Cynthia! where art thou now? What far abode | |
| Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine | |
| Such utmost beauty? Alas, thou dost pine | |
| For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale | 75 |
| For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail | |
| His tears, who weeps for thee. Where dost thou sigh? | |
| Ah! surely that light peeps from Vesper’s eye, | |
| Or what a thing is love! ’Tis She, but lo! | |
| How chang’d, how full of ache, how gone in woe! | 80 |
| She dies at the thinnest cloud; her loveliness | |
| Is wan on Neptune’s blue: yet there’s a stress | |
| Of love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees, | |
| Dancing upon the waves, as if to please | |
| The curly foam with amorous influence. | 85 |
| O, not so idle: for down-glancing thence | |
| She fathoms eddies, and runs wild about | |
| O’erwhelming water-courses; scaring out | |
| The thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and fright’ning | |
| Their savage eyes with unaccustomed lightning. | 90 |
| Where will the splendor be content to reach? | |
| O love! how potent hast thou been to teach | |
| Strange journeyings! Wherever beauty dwells, | |
| In gulf or aerie, mountains or deep dells, | |
| In light, in gloom, in star or blazing sun, | 95 |
| Thou pointest out the way, and straight ’tis won. | |
| Amid his toil thou gav’st Leander breath; | |
| Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death; | |
| Thou madest Pluto bear thin element; | |
| And now, O winged Chieftain! thou hast sent | 100 |
| A moon-beam to the deep, deep water-world, | |
To find Endymion.
On gold sand impearl’d | |
| With lily shells, and pebbles milky white, | |
| Poor Cynthia greeted him, and sooth’d her light | |
| Against his pallid face: he felt the charm | 105 |
| To breathlessness, and suddenly a warm | |
| Of his heart’s blood: ’twas very sweet; he stay’d | |
| His wandering steps, and half-entranced laid | |
| His head upon a tuft of straggling weeds, | |
| To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads, | 110 |
| Lashed from the crystal roof by fishes’ tails. | |
| And so he kept, until the rosy veils | |
| Mantling the east, by Aurora’s peering hand | |
| Were lifted from the water’s breast, and fann’d | |
| Into sweet air; and sober’d morning came | 115 |
| Meekly through billows:—when like taper-flame | |
| Left sudden by a dallying breath of air, | |
| He rose in silence, and once more ’gan fare | |
Along his fated way.
Far had he roam’d, | |
| With nothing save the hollow vast, that foam’d | 120 |
| Above, around, and at his feet; save things | |
| More dead than Morpheus’ imaginings: | |
| Old rusted anchors, helmets, breast-plates large | |
| Of gone sea-warriors; brazen beaks and targe; | |
| Rudders that for a hundred years had lost | 125 |
| The sway of human hand; gold vase emboss’d | |
| With long-forgotten story, and wherein | |
| No reveller had ever dipp’d a chin | |
| But those of Saturn’s vintage; mouldering scrolls, | |
| Writ in the tongue of heaven, by those souls | 130 |
| Who first were on the earth; and sculptures rude | |
| In ponderous stone, developing the mood | |
| Of ancient Nox;—then skeletons of man, | |
| Of beast, behemoth, and leviathan, | |
| And elephant, and eagle, and huge jaw | 135 |
| Of nameless monster. A cold leaden awe | |
| These secrets struck into him; and unless | |
| Dian had chaced away that heaviness, | |
| He might have died: but now, with cheered feel, | |
| He onward kept; wooing these thoughts to steal | 140 |
| About the labyrinth in his soul of love. | |
| |
| “What is there in thee, Moon! that thou shouldst move | |
| My heart so potently? When yet a child | |
| I oft have dried my tears when thou hast smil’d. | |
| Thou seem’dst my sister: hand in hand we went | 145 |
| From eve to morn across the firmament. | |
| No apples would I gather from the tree, | |
| Till thou hadst cool’d their cheeks deliciously: | |
| No tumbling water ever spake romance, | |
| But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance: | 150 |
| No woods were green enough, no bower divine, | |
| Until thou liftedst up thine eyelids fine: | |
| In sowing time ne’er would I dibble take, | |
| Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake; | |
| And, in the summer tide of blossoming, | 155 |
| No one but thee hath heard me blithly sing | |
| And mesh my dewy flowers all the night. | |
| No melody was like a passing spright | |
| If it went not to solemnize thy reign. | |
| Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain | 160 |
| By thee were fashion’d to the self-same end; | |
| And as I grew in years, still didst thou blend | |
| With all my ardours: thou wast the deep glen; | |
| Thou wast the mountain-top—the sage’s pen— | |
| The poet’s harp—the voice of friends—the sun; | 165 |
| Thou wast the river—thou wast glory won; | |
| Thou wast my clarion’s blast—thou wast my steed— | |
| My goblet full of wine—my topmost deed:— | |
| Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon! | |
| O what a wild and harmonized tune | 170 |
| My spirit struck from all the beautiful! | |
| On some bright essence could I lean, and lull | |
| Myself to immortality: I prest | |
| Nature’s soft pillow in a wakeful rest. | |
| But, gentle Orb! there came a nearer bliss— | 175 |
| My strange love came—Felicity’s abyss! | |
| She came, and thou didst fade, and fade away— | |
| Yet not entirely; no, thy starry sway | |
| Has been an under-passion to this hour. | |
| Now I begin to feel thine orby power | 180 |
| Is coming fresh upon me: O be kind, | |
| Keep back thine influence, and do not blind | |
| My sovereign vision.—Dearest love, forgive | |
| That I can think away from thee and live!— | |
| Pardon me, airy planet, that I prize | 185 |
| One thought beyond thine argent luxuries! | |
| How far beyond!” At this a surpris’d start | |
| Frosted the springing verdure of his heart; | |
| For as he lifted up his eyes to swear | |
| How his own goddess was past all things fair, | 190 |
| He saw far in the concave green of the sea | |
| An old man sitting calm and peacefully. | |
| Upon a weeded rock this old man sat, | |
| And his white hair was awful, and a mat | |
| Of weeds were cold beneath his cold thin feet; | 195 |
| And, ample as the largest winding-sheet, | |
| A cloak of blue wrapp’d up his aged bones, | |
| O’erwrought with symbols by the deepest groans | |
| Of ambitious magic: every ocean-form | |
| Was woven in with black distinctness; storm, | 200 |
| And calm, and whispering, and hideous roar | |
| Were emblem’d in the woof; with every shape | |
| That skims, or dives, or sleeps, ’twixt cape and cape. | |
| The gulphing whale was like a dot in the spell, | |
| Yet look upon it, and ’twould size and swell | 205 |
| To its huge self; and the minutest fish | |
| Would pass the very hardest gazer’s wish, | |
| And show his little eye’s anatomy. | |
| Then there was pictur’d the regality | |
| Of Neptune; and the sea nymphs round his state, | 210 |
| In beauteous vassalage, look up and wait. | |
| Beside this old man lay a pearly wand, | |
| And in his lap a book, the which he conn’d | |
| So stedfastly, that the new denizen | |
| Had time to keep him in amazed ken, | 215 |
| To mark these shadowings, and stand in awe. | |
| |
| The old man rais’d his hoary head and saw | |
| The wilder’d stranger—seeming not to see, | |
| His features were so lifeless. Suddenly | |
| He woke as from a trance; his snow-white brows | 220 |
| Went arching up, and like two magic ploughs | |
| Furrow’d deep wrinkles in his forehead large, | |
| Which kept as fixedly as rocky marge, | |
| Till round his wither’d lips had gone a smile. | |
| Then up he rose, like one whose tedious toil | 225 |
| Had watch’d for years in forlorn hermitage, | |
| Who had not from mid-life to utmost age | |
| Eas’d in one accent his o’er-burden’d soul, | |
| Even to the trees. He rose: he grasp’d his stole, | |
| With convuls’d clenches waving it abroad, | 230 |
| And in a voice of solemn joy, that aw’d | |
| Echo into oblivion, he said:— | |
| |
| “Thou art the man! Now shall I lay my head | |
| In peace upon my watery pillow: now | |
| Sleep will come smoothly to my weary brow. | 235 |
| O Jove! I shall be young again, be young! | |
| O shell-borne Neptune, I am pierc’d and stung | |
| With new-born life! What shall I do? Where go, | |
| When I have cast this serpent-skin of woe?— | |
| I’ll swim to the syrens, and one moment listen | 240 |
| Their melodies, and see their long hair glisten; | |
| Anon upon that giant’s arm I’ll be, | |
| That writhes about the roots of Sicily: | |
| To northern seas I’ll in a twinkling sail, | |
| And mount upon the snortings of a whale | 245 |
| To some black cloud; thence down I’ll madly sweep | |
| On forked lightning, to the deepest deep, | |
| Where through some sucking pool I will be hurl’d | |
| With rapture to the other side of the world! | |
| O, I am full of gladness! Sisters three, | 250 |
| I bow full hearted to your old decree! | |
| Yes, every god be thank’d, and power benign, | |
| For I no more shall wither, droop, and pine. | |
| Thou art the man!” Endymion started back | |
| Dismay’d; and, like a wretch from whom the rack | 255 |
| Tortures hot breath, and speech of agony, | |
| Mutter’d: “What lonely death am I to die | |
| In this cold region? Will he let me freeze, | |
| And float my brittle limbs o’er polar seas? | |
| Or will he touch me with his searing hand, | 260 |
| And leave a black memorial on the sand? | |
| Or tear me piece-meal with a bony saw, | |
| And keep me as a chosen food to draw | |
| His magian fish through hated fire and flame? | |
| O misery of hell! resistless, tame, | 265 |
| Am I to be burnt up? No, I will shout, | |
| Until the gods through heaven’s blue look out!— | |
| O Tartarus! but some few days agone | |
| Her soft arms were entwining me, and on | |
| Her voice I hung like fruit among green leaves: | 270 |
| Her lips were all my own, and—ah, ripe sheaves | |
| Of happiness! ye on the stubble droop, | |
| But never may be garner’d. I must stoop | |
| My head, and kiss death’s foot. Love! love, farewel! | |
| Is there no hope from thee? This horrid spell | 275 |
| Would melt at thy sweet breath.—By Dian’s hind | |
| Feeding from her white fingers, on the wind | |
| I see thy streaming hair! and now, by Pan, | |
| I care not for this old mysterious man!” | |
| |
| He spake, and walking to that aged form, | 280 |
| Look’d high defiance. Lo! his heart ’gan warm | |
| With pity, for the grey-hair’d creature wept. | |
| Had he then wrong’d a heart where sorrow kept? | |
| Had he, though blindly contumelious, brought | |
| Rheum to kind eyes, a sting to human thought, | 285 |
| Convulsion to a mouth of many years? | |
| He had in truth; and he was ripe for tears. | |
| The penitent shower fell, as down he knelt | |
| Before that care-worn sage, who trembling felt | |
| About his large dark locks, and faultering spake: | 290 |
| |
| “Arise, good youth, for sacred Phoebus’ sake! | |
| I know thine inmost bosom, and I feel | |
| A very brother’s yearning for thee steal | |
| Into mine own: for why? thou openest | |
| The prison gates that have so long opprest | 295 |
| My weary watching. Though thou know’st it not, | |
| Thou art commission’d to this fated spot | |
| For great enfranchisement. O weep no more; | |
| I am a friend to love, to loves of yore: | |
| Aye, hadst thou never lov’d an unknown power | 300 |
| I had been grieving at this joyous hour | |
| But even now most miserable old, | |
| I saw thee, and my blood no longer cold | |
| Gave mighty pulses: in this tottering case | |
| Grew a new heart, which at this moment plays | 305 |
| As dancingly as thine. Be not afraid, | |
| For thou shalt hear this secret all display’d, | |
| Now as we speed towards our joyous task.” | |
| |
| So saying, this young soul in age’s mask | |
| Went forward with the Carian side by side: | 310 |
| Resuming quickly thus; while ocean’s tide | |
| Hung swollen at their backs, and jewel’d sands | |
Took silently their foot-prints.
“My soul stands | |
| Now past the midway from mortality, | |
| And so I can prepare without a sigh | 315 |
| To tell thee briefly all my joy and pain. | |
| I was a fisher once, upon this main, | |
| And my boat danc’d in every creek and bay; | |
| Rough billows were my home by night and day,— | |
| The sea-gulls not more constant; for I had | 320 |
| No housing from the storm and tempests mad, | |
| But hollow rocks,—and they were palaces | |
| Of silent happiness, of slumberous ease: | |
| Long years of misery have told me so. | |
| Aye, thus it was one thousand years ago. | 325 |
| One thousand years!—Is it then possible | |
| To look so plainly through them? to dispel | |
| A thousand years with backward glance sublime? | |
| To breathe away as ’twere all scummy slime | |
| From off a crystal pool, to see its deep, | 330 |
| And one’s own image from the bottom peep? | |
| Yes: now I am no longer wretched thrall, | |
| My long captivity and moanings all | |
| Are but a slime, a thin-pervading scum, | |
| The which I breathe away, and thronging come | 335 |
| Like things of yesterday my youthful pleasures. | |
| |
| “I touch’d no lute, I sang not, trod no measures: | |
| I was a lonely youth on desert shores. | |
| My sports were lonely, ’mid continuous roars, | |
| And craggy isles, and sea-mew’s plaintive cry | 340 |
| Plaining discrepant between sea and sky. | |
| Dolphins were still my playmates; shapes unseen | |
| Would let me feel their scales of gold and green, | |
| Nor be my desolation; and, full oft, | |
| When a dread waterspout had rear’d aloft | 345 |
| Its hungry hugeness, seeming ready ripe | |
| To burst with hoarsest thunderings, and wipe | |
| My life away like a vast sponge of fate, | |
| Some friendly monster, pitying my sad state, | |
| Has dived to its foundations, gulph’d it down, | 350 |
| And left me tossing safely. But the crown | |
| Of all my life was utmost quietude: | |
| More did I love to lie in cavern rude, | |
| Keeping in wait whole days for Neptune’s voice, | |
| And if it came at last, hark, and rejoice! | 355 |
| There blush’d no summer eve but I would steer | |
| My skiff along green shelving coasts, to hear | |
| The shepherd’s pipe come clear from aery steep, | |
| Mingled with ceaseless bleatings of his sheep: | |
| And never was a day of summer shine, | 360 |
| But I beheld its birth upon the brine: | |
| For I would watch all night to see unfold | |
| Heaven’s gates, and Aethon snort his morning gold | |
| Wide o’er the swelling streams: and constantly | |
| At brim of day-tide, on some grassy lea, | 365 |
| My nets would be spread out, and I at rest. | |
| The poor folk of the sea-country I blest | |
| With daily boon of fish most delicate: | |
| They knew not whence this bounty, and elate | |
| Would strew sweet flowers on a sterile beach. | 370 |
| |
| “Why was I not contented? Wherefore reach | |
| At things which, but for thee, O Latmian! | |
| Had been my dreary death? Fool! I began | |
| To feel distemper’d longings: to desire | |
| The utmost privilege that ocean’s sire | 375 |
| Could grant in benediction: to be free | |
| Of all his kingdom. Long in misery | |
| I wasted, ere in one extremest fit | |
| I plung’d for life or death. To interknit | |
| One’s senses with so dense a breathing stuff | 380 |
| Might seem a work of pain; so not enough | |
| Can I admire how crystal-smooth it felt, | |
| And buoyant round my limbs. At first I dwelt | |
| Whole days and days in sheer astonishment; | |
| Forgetful utterly of self-intent; | 385 |
| Moving but with the mighty ebb and flow. | |
| Then, like a new fledg’d bird that first doth shew | |
| His spreaded feathers to the morrow chill, | |
| I tried in fear the pinions of my will. | |
| ’Twas freedom! and at once I visited | 390 |
| The ceaseless wonders of this ocean-bed. | |
| No need to tell thee of them, for I see | |
| That thou hast been a witness—it must be | |
| For these I know thou canst not feel a drouth, | |
| By the melancholy corners of that mouth. | 395 |
| So I will in my story straightway pass | |
| To more immediate matter. Woe, alas! | |
| That love should be my bane! Ah, Scylla fair! | |
| Why did poor Glaucus ever—ever dare | |
| To sue thee to his heart? Kind stranger-youth! | 400 |
| I lov’d her to the very white of truth, | |
| And she would not conceive it. Timid thing! | |
| She fled me swift as sea-bird on the wing, | |
| Round every isle, and point, and promontory, | |
| From where large Hercules wound up his story | 405 |
| Far as Egyptian Nile. My passion grew | |
| The more, the more I saw her dainty hue | |
| Gleam delicately through the azure clear: | |
| Until ’twas too fierce agony to bear; | |
| And in that agony, across my grief | 410 |
| It flash’d, that Circe might find some relief— | |
| Cruel enchantress! So above the water | |
| I rear’d my head, and look’d for Phoebus’ daughter. | |
| Aeaea’s isle was wondering at the moon:— | |
| It seem’d to whirl around me, and a swoon | 415 |
| Left me dead-drifting to that fatal power. | |
| |
| “When I awoke, ’twas in a twilight bower; | |
| Just when the light of morn, with hum of bees, | |
| Stole through its verdurous matting of fresh trees. | |
| How sweet, and sweeter! for I heard a lyre, | 420 |
| And over it a sighing voice expire. | |
| It ceased—I caught light footsteps; and anon | |
| The fairest face that morn e’er look’d upon | |
| Push’d through a screen of roses. Starry Jove! | |
| With tears, and smiles, and honey-words she wove | 425 |
| A net whose thraldom was more bliss than all | |
| The range of flower’d Elysium. Thus did fall | |
| The dew of her rich speech: “Ah! Art awake? | |
| O let me hear thee speak, for Cupid’s sake! | |
| I am so oppress’d with joy! Why, I have shed | 430 |
| An urn of tears, as though thou wert cold dead; | |
| And now I find thee living, I will pour | |
| From these devoted eyes their silver store, | |
| Until exhausted of the latest drop, | |
| So it will pleasure thee, and force thee stop | 435 |
| Here, that I too may live: but if beyond | |
| Such cool and sorrowful offerings, thou art fond | |
| Of soothing warmth, of dalliance supreme; | |
| If thou art ripe to taste a long love dream; | |
| If smiles, if dimples, tongues for ardour mute, | 440 |
| Hang in thy vision like a tempting fruit, | |
| O let me pluck it for thee.” Thus she link’d | |
| Her charming syllables, till indistinct | |
| Their music came to my o’er-sweeten’d soul; | |
| And then she hover’d over me, and stole | 445 |
| So near, that if no nearer it had been | |
| This furrow’d visage thou hadst never seen. | |
| |
| “Young man of Latmos! thus particular | |
| Am I, that thou may’st plainly see how far | |
| This fierce temptation went: and thou may’st not | 450 |
| Exclaim, How then, was Scylla quite forgot? | |
| |
| “Who could resist? Who in this universe? | |
| She did so breathe ambrosia; so immerse | |
| My fine existence in a golden clime. | |
| She took me like a child of suckling time, | 455 |
| And cradled me in roses. Thus condemn’d, | |
| The current of my former life was stemm’d, | |
| And to this arbitrary queen of sense | |
| I bow’d a tranced vassal: nor would thence | |
| Have mov’d, even though Amphion’s harp had woo’d | 460 |
| Me back to Scylla o’er the billows rude. | |
| For as Apollo each eve doth devise | |
| A new appareling for western skies; | |
| So every eve, nay every spendthrift hour | |
| Shed balmy consciousness within that bower. | 465 |
| And I was free of haunts umbrageous; | |
| Could wander in the mazy forest-house | |
| Of squirrels, foxes shy, and antler’d deer, | |
| And birds from coverts innermost and drear | |
| Warbling for very joy mellifluous sorrow— | 470 |
To me new born delights!
“Now let me borrow, | |
| For moments few, a temperament as stern | |
| As Pluto’s sceptre, that my words not burn | |
| These uttering lips, while I in calm speech tell | |
| How specious heaven was changed to real hell. | 475 |
| |
| “One morn she left me sleeping: half awake | |
| I sought for her smooth arms and lips, to slake | |
| My greedy thirst with nectarous camel-draughts; | |
| But she was gone. Whereat the barbed shafts | |
| Of disappointment stuck in me so sore, | 480 |
| That out I ran and search’d the forest o’er. | |
| Wandering about in pine and cedar gloom | |
| Damp awe assail’d me; for there ’gan to boom | |
| A sound of moan, an agony of sound, | |
| Sepulchral from the distance all around. | 485 |
| Then came a conquering earth-thunder, and rumbled | |
| That fierce complain to silence: while I stumbled | |
| Down a precipitous path, as if impell’d. | |
| I came to a dark valley.—Groanings swell’d | |
| Poisonous about my ears, and louder grew, | 490 |
| The nearer I approach’d a flame’s gaunt blue, | |
| That glar’d before me through a thorny brake. | |
| This fire, like the eye of gordian snake, | |
| Bewitch’d me towards; and I soon was near | |
| A sight too fearful for the feel of fear: | 495 |
| In thicket hid I curs’d the haggard scene— | |
| The banquet of my arms, my arbour queen, | |
| Seated upon an uptorn forest root; | |
| And all around her shapes, wizard and brute, | |
| Laughing, and wailing, groveling, serpenting, | 500 |
| Shewing tooth, tusk, and venom-bag, and sting! | |
| O such deformities! Old Charon’s self, | |
| Should he give up awhile his penny pelf, | |
| And take a dream ’mong rushes Stygian, | |
| It could not be so phantasied. Fierce, wan, | 505 |
| And tyrannizing was the lady’s look, | |
| As over them a gnarled staff she shook. | |
| Oft-times upon the sudden she laugh’d out, | |
| And from a basket emptied to the rout | |
| Clusters of grapes, the which they raven’d quick | 510 |
| And roar’d for more; with many a hungry lick | |
| About their shaggy jaws. Avenging, slow, | |
| Anon she took a branch of mistletoe, | |
| And emptied on’t a black dull-gurgling phial: | |
| Groan’d one and all, as if some piercing trial | 515 |
| Was sharpening for their pitiable bones. | |
| She lifted up the charm: appealing groans | |
| From their poor breasts went sueing to her ear | |
| In vain; remorseless as an infant’s bier | |
| She whisk’d against their eyes the sooty oil. | 520 |
| Whereat was heard a noise of painful toil, | |
| Increasing gradual to a tempest rage, | |
| Shrieks, yells, and groans of torture-pilgrimage; | |
| Until their grieved bodies ’gan to bloat | |
| And puff from the tail’s end to stifled throat: | 525 |
| Then was appalling silence: then a sight | |
| More wildering than all that hoarse affright; | |
| For the whole herd, as by a whirlwind writhen, | |
| Went through the dismal air like one huge Python | |
| Antagonizing Boreas,—and so vanish’d. | 530 |
| Yet there was not a breath of wind: she banish’d | |
| These phantoms with a nod. Lo! from the dark | |
| Came waggish fauns, and nymphs, and satyrs stark, | |
| With dancing and loud revelry,—and went | |
| Swifter than centaurs after rapine bent.— | 535 |
| Sighing an elephant appear’d and bow’d | |
| Before the fierce witch, speaking thus aloud | |
| In human accent: “Potent goddess! chief | |
| Of pains resistless! make my being brief, | |
| Or let me from this heavy prison fly: | 540 |
| Or give me to the air, or let me die! | |
| I sue not for my happy crown again; | |
| I sue not for my phalanx on the plain; | |
| I sue not for my lone, my widow’d wife; | |
| I sue not for my ruddy drops of life, | 545 |
| My children fair, my lovely girls and boys! | |
| I will forget them; I will pass these joys; | |
| Ask nought so heavenward, so too—too high: | |
| Only I pray, as fairest boon, to die, | |
| Or be deliver’d from this cumbrous flesh, | 550 |
| From this gross, detestable, filthy mesh, | |
| And merely given to the cold bleak air. | |
| Have mercy, Goddess! Circe, feel my prayer!” | |
| |
| That curst magician’s name fell icy numb | |
| Upon my wild conjecturing: truth had come | 555 |
| Naked and sabre-like against my heart. | |
| I saw a fury whetting a death-dart; | |
| And my slain spirit, overwrought with fright, | |
| Fainted away in that dark lair of night. | |
| Think, my deliverer, how desolate | 560 |
| My waking must have been! disgust, and hate, | |
| And terrors manifold divided me | |
| A spoil amongst them. I prepar’d to flee | |
| Into the dungeon core of that wild wood: | |
| I fled three days—when lo! before me stood | 565 |
| Glaring the angry witch. O Dis, even now, | |
| A clammy dew is beading on my brow, | |
| At mere remembering her pale laugh, and curse. | |
| “Ha! ha! Sir Dainty! there must be a nurse | |
| Made of rose leaves and thistledown, express, | 570 |
| To cradle thee my sweet, and lull thee: yes, | |
| I am too flinty-hard for thy nice touch: | |
| My tenderest squeeze is but a giant’s clutch. | |
| So, fairy-thing, it shall have lullabies | |
| Unheard of yet; and it shall still its cries | 575 |
| Upon some breast more lily-feminine. | |
| Oh, no—it shall not pine, and pine, and pine | |
| More than one pretty, trifling thousand years; | |
| And then ’twere pity, but fate’s gentle shears | |
| Cut short its immortality. Sea-flirt! | 580 |
| Young dove of the waters! truly I’ll not hurt | |
| One hair of thine: see how I weep and sigh, | |
| That our heart-broken parting is so nigh. | |
| And must we part? Ah, yes, it must be so. | |
| Yet ere thou leavest me in utter woe, | 585 |
| Let me sob over thee my last adieus, | |
| And speak a blessing: Mark me! thou hast thews | |
| Immortal, for thou art of heavenly race: | |
| But such a love is mine, that here I chase | |
| Eternally away from thee all bloom | 590 |
| Of youth, and destine thee towards a tomb. | |
| Hence shalt thou quickly to the watery vast; | |
| And there, ere many days be overpast, | |
| Disabled age shall seize thee; and even then | |
| Thou shalt not go the way of aged men; | 595 |
| But live and wither, cripple and still breathe | |
| Ten hundred years: which gone, I then bequeath | |
| Thy fragile bones to unknown burial. | |
| Adieu, sweet love, adieu!”—As shot stars fall, | |
| She fled ere I could groan for mercy. Stung | 600 |
| And poisoned was my spirit: despair sung | |
| A war-song of defiance ’gainst all hell. | |
| A hand was at my shoulder to compel | |
| My sullen steps; another ’fore my eyes | |
| Moved on with pointed finger. In this guise | 605 |
| Enforced, at the last by ocean’s foam | |
| I found me; by my fresh, my native home. | |
| Its tempering coolness, to my life akin, | |
| Came salutary as I waded in; | |
| And, with a blind voluptuous rage, I gave | 610 |
| Battle to the swollen billow-ridge, and drave | |
| Large froth before me, while there yet remain’d | |
| Hale strength, nor from my bones all marrow drain’d. | |
| |
| “Young lover, I must weep—such hellish spite | |
| With dry cheek who can tell? While thus my might | 615 |
| Proving upon this element, dismay’d, | |
| Upon a dead thing’s face my hand I laid; | |
| I look’d—’twas Scylla! Cursed, cursed Circe! | |
| O vulture-witch, hast never heard of mercy? | |
| Could not thy harshest vengeance be content, | 620 |
| But thou must nip this tender innocent | |
| Because I lov’d her?—Cold, O cold indeed | |
| Were her fair limbs, and like a common weed | |
| The sea-swell took her hair. Dead as she was | |
| I clung about her waist, nor ceas’d to pass | 625 |
| Fleet as an arrow through unfathom’d brine, | |
| Until there shone a fabric crystalline, | |
| Ribb’d and inlaid with coral, pebble, and pearl. | |
| Headlong I darted; at one eager swirl | |
| Gain’d its bright portal, enter’d, and behold! | 630 |
| ’Twas vast, and desolate, and icy-cold; | |
| And all around—But wherefore this to thee | |
| Who in few minutes more thyself shalt see?— | |
| I left poor Scylla in a niche and fled. | |
| My fever’d parchings up, my scathing dread | 635 |
| Met palsy half way: soon these limbs became | |
| Gaunt, wither’d, sapless, feeble, cramp’d, and lame. | |
| |
| “Now let me pass a cruel, cruel space, | |
| Without one hope, without one faintest trace | |
| Of mitigation, or redeeming bubble | 640 |
| Of colour’d phantasy; for I fear ’twould trouble | |
| Thy brain to loss of reason: and next tell | |
| How a restoring chance came down to quell | |
One half of the witch in me.
On a day, | |
| Sitting upon a rock above the spray, | 645 |
| I saw grow up from the horizon’s brink | |
| A gallant vessel: soon she seem’d to sink | |
| Away from me again, as though her course | |
| Had been resum’d in spite of hindering force— | |
| So vanish’d: and not long, before arose | 650 |
| Dark clouds, and muttering of winds morose. | |
| Old Eolus would stifle his mad spleen, | |
| But could not: therefore all the billows green | |
| Toss’d up the silver spume against the clouds. | |
| The tempest came: I saw that vessel’s shrouds | 655 |
| In perilous bustle; while upon the deck | |
| Stood trembling creatures. I beheld the wreck; | |
| The final gulphing; the poor struggling souls: | |
| I heard their cries amid loud thunder-rolls. | |
| O they had all been sav’d but crazed eld | 660 |
| Annull’d my vigorous cravings: and thus quell’d | |
| And curb’d, think on’t, O Latmian! did I sit | |
| Writhing with pity, and a cursing fit | |
| Against that hell-born Circe. The crew had gone, | |
| By one and one, to pale oblivion; | 665 |
| And I was gazing on the surges prone, | |
| With many a scalding tear and many a groan, | |
| When at my feet emerg’d an old man’s hand, | |
| Grasping this scroll, and this same slender wand. | |
| I knelt with pain—reached out my hand—had grasp’d | 670 |
| These treasures—touch’d the knuckles—they unclasp’d— | |
| I caught a finger: but the downward weight | |
| O’erpowered me—it sank. Then ’gan abate | |
| The storm, and through chill aguish gloom outburst | |
| The comfortable sun. I was athirst | 675 |
| To search the book, and in the warming air | |
| Parted its dripping leaves with eager care. | |
| Strange matters did it treat of, and drew on | |
| My soul page after page, till well-nigh won | |
| Into forgetfulness; when, stupefied, | 680 |
| I read these words, and read again, and tried | |
| My eyes against the heavens, and read again. | |
| O what a load of misery and pain | |
| Each Atlas-line bore off!—a shine of hope | |
| Came gold around me, cheering me to cope | 685 |
| Strenuous with hellish tyranny. Attend! | |
| For thou hast brought their promise to an end. | |
| |
| “In the wide sea there lives a forlorn wretch, | |
| Doom’d with enfeebled carcase to outstretch | |
| His loath’d existence through ten centuries, | 690 |
| And then to die alone. Who can devise | |
| A total opposition? No one. So | |
| One million times ocean must ebb and flow, | |
| And he oppressed. Yet he shall not die, | |
| These things accomplish’d:—If he utterly | 695 |
| Scans all the depths of magic, and expounds | |
| The meanings of all motions, shapes, and sounds; | |
| If he explores all forms and substances | |
| Straight homeward to their symbol-essences; | |
| He shall not die. Moreover, and in chief, | 700 |
| He must pursue this task of joy and grief | |
| Most piously;—all lovers tempest-tost, | |
| And in the savage overwhelming lost, | |
| He shall deposit side by side, until | |
| Time’s creeping shall the dreary space fulfil: | 705 |
| Which done, and all these labours ripened, | |
| A youth, by heavenly power lov’d and led, | |
| Shall stand before him; whom he shall direct | |
| How to consummate all. The youth elect | |
| Must do the thing, or both will be destroy’d.”— | 710 |
| |
| “Then,” cried the young Endymion, overjoy’d, | |
| “We are twin brothers in this destiny! | |
| Say, I intreat thee, what achievement high | |
| Is, in this restless world, for me reserv’d. | |
| What! if from thee my wandering feet had swerv’d, | 715 |
| Had we both perish’d?”—“Look!” the sage replied, | |
| “Dost thou not mark a gleaming through the tide, | |
| Of divers brilliances? ’tis the edifice | |
| I told thee of, where lovely Scylla lies; | |
| And where I have enshrined piously | 720 |
| All lovers, whom fell storms have doom’d to die | |
| Throughout my bondage.” Thus discoursing, on | |
| They went till unobscur’d the porches shone; | |
| Which hurryingly they gain’d, and enter’d straight. | |
| Sure never since king Neptune held his state | 725 |
| Was seen such wonder underneath the stars. | |
| Turn to some level plain where haughty Mars | |
| Has legion’d all his battle; and behold | |
| How every soldier, with firm foot, doth hold | |
| His even breast: see, many steeled squares, | 730 |
| And rigid ranks of iron—whence who dares | |
| One step? Imagine further, line by line, | |
| These warrior thousands on the field supine:— | |
| So in that crystal place, in silent rows, | |
| Poor lovers lay at rest from joys and woes.— | 735 |
| The stranger from the mountains, breathless, trac’d | |
| Such thousands of shut eyes in order plac’d; | |
| Such ranges of white feet, and patient lips | |
| All ruddy,—for here death no blossom nips. | |
| He mark’d their brows and foreheads; saw their hair | 740 |
| Put sleekly on one side with nicest care; | |
| And each one’s gentle wrists, with reverence, | |
Put cross-wise to its heart.
“Let us commence, | |
| Whisper’d the guide, stuttering with joy, even now.” | |
| He spake, and, trembling like an aspen-bough, | 745 |
| Began to tear his scroll in pieces small, | |
| Uttering the while some mumblings funeral. | |
| He tore it into pieces small as snow | |
| That drifts unfeather’d when bleak northerns blow; | |
| And having done it, took his dark blue cloak | 750 |
| And bound it round Endymion: then struck | |
| His wand against the empty air times nine.— | |
| “What more there is to do, young man, is thine: | |
| But first a little patience; first undo | |
| This tangled thread, and wind it to a clue. | 755 |
| Ah, gentle! ’tis as weak as spider’s skein; | |
| And shouldst thou break it—What, is it done so clean? | |
| A power overshadows thee! Oh, brave! | |
| The spite of hell is tumbling to its grave. | |
| Here is a shell; ’tis pearly blank to me, | 760 |
| Nor mark’d with any sign or charactery— | |
| Canst thou read aught? O read for pity’s sake! | |
| Olympus! we are safe! Now, Carian, break | |
| This wand against yon lyre on the pedestal.” | |
| |
| ’Twas done: and straight with sudden swell and fall | 765 |
| Sweet music breath’d her soul away, and sigh’d | |
| A lullaby to silence.—“Youth! now strew | |
| These minced leaves on me, and passing through | |
| Those files of dead, scatter the same around, | |
| And thou wilt see the issue.”—’Mid the sound | 770 |
| Of flutes and viols, ravishing his heart, | |
| Endymion from Glaucus stood apart, | |
| And scatter’d in his face some fragments light. | |
| How lightning-swift the change! a youthful wight | |
| Smiling beneath a coral diadem, | 775 |
| Out-sparkling sudden like an upturn’d gem, | |
| Appear’d, and, stepping to a beauteous corse, | |
| Kneel’d down beside it, and with tenderest force | |
| Press’d its cold hand, and wept—and Scylla sigh’d! | |
| Endymion, with quick hand, the charm applied— | 780 |
| The nymph arose: he left them to their joy, | |
| And onward went upon his high employ, | |
| Showering those powerful fragments on the dead. | |
| And, as he pass’d, each lifted up its head, | |
| As doth a flower at Apollo’s touch. | 785 |
| Death felt it to his inwards; ’twas too much: | |
| Death fell a weeping in his charnel-house. | |
| The Latmian persever’d along, and thus | |
| All were re-animated. There arose | |
| A noise of harmony, pulses and throes | 790 |
| Of gladness in the air—while many, who | |
| Had died in mutual arms devout and true, | |
| Sprang to each other madly; and the rest | |
| Felt a high certainty of being blest. | |
| They gaz’d upon Endymion. Enchantment | 795 |
| Grew drunken, and would have its head and bent. | |
| Delicious symphonies, like airy flowers, | |
| Budded, and swell’d, and, full-blown, shed full showers | |
| Of light, soft, unseen leaves of sounds divine. | |
| The two deliverers tasted a pure wine | 800 |
| Of happiness, from fairy-press ooz’d out. | |
| Speechless they eyed each other, and about | |
| The fair assembly wander’d to and fro, | |
| Distracted with the richest overflow | |
Of joy that ever pour’d from heaven.
——“Away!” | 805 |
| Shouted the new-born god; “Follow, and pay | |
| Our piety to Neptunus supreme!”— | |
| Then Scylla, blushing sweetly from her dream, | |
| They led on first, bent to her meek surprise, | |
| Through portal columns of a giant size, | 810 |
| Into the vaulted, boundless emerald. | |
| Joyous all follow’d, as the leader call’d, | |
| Down marble steps; pouring as easily | |
| As hour-glass sand—and fast, as you might see | |
| Swallows obeying the south summer’s call, | 815 |
| Or swans upon a gentle waterfall. | |
| |
| Thus went that beautiful multitude, nor far, | |
| Ere from among some rocks of glittering spar, | |
| Just within ken, they saw descending thick | |
| Another multitude. Whereat more quick | 820 |
| Moved either host. On a wide sand they met, | |
| And of those numbers every eye was wet; | |
| For each their old love found. A murmuring rose, | |
| Like what was never heard in all the throes | |
| Of wind and waters: ’tis past human wit | 825 |
| To tell; ’tis dizziness to think of it. | |
| |
| This mighty consummation made, the host | |
| Mov’d on for many a league; and gain’d, and lost | |
| Huge sea-marks; vanward swelling in array, | |
| And from the rear diminishing away,— | 830 |
| Till a faint dawn surpris’d them. Glaucus cried, | |
| “Behold! behold, the palace of his pride! | |
| God Neptune’s palaces!” With noise increas’d, | |
| They shoulder’d on towards that brightening east. | |
| At every onward step proud domes arose | 835 |
| In prospect,—diamond gleams, and golden glows | |
| Of amber ’gainst their faces levelling. | |
| Joyous, and many as the leaves in spring, | |
| Still onward; still the splendour gradual swell’d. | |
| Rich opal domes were seen, on high upheld | 840 |
| By jasper pillars, letting through their shafts | |
| A blush of coral. Copious wonder-draughts | |
| Each gazer drank; and deeper drank more near: | |
| For what poor mortals fragment up, as mere | |
| As marble was there lavish, to the vast | 845 |
| Of one fair palace, that far far surpass’d, | |
| Even for common bulk, those olden three, | |
| Memphis, and Babylon, and Nineveh. | |
| |
| As large, as bright, as colour’d as the bow | |
| Of Iris, when unfading it doth shew | 850 |
| Beyond a silvery shower, was the arch | |
| Through which this Paphian army took its march, | |
| Into the outer courts of Neptune’s state: | |
| Whence could be seen, direct, a golden gate, | |
| To which the leaders sped; but not half raught | 855 |
| Ere it burst open swift as fairy thought, | |
| And made those dazzled thousands veil their eyes | |
| Like callow eagles at the first sunrise. | |
| Soon with an eagle nativeness their gaze | |
| Ripe from hue-golden swoons took all the blaze, | 860 |
| And then, behold! large Neptune on his throne | |
| Of emerald deep: yet not exalt alone; | |
| At his right hand stood winged Love, and on | |
| His left sat smiling Beauty’s paragon. | |
| |
| Far as the mariner on highest mast | 865 |
| Can see all round upon the calmed vast, | |
| So wide was Neptune’s hall: and as the blue | |
| Doth vault the waters, so the waters drew | |
| Their doming curtains, high, magnificent, | |
| Aw’d from the throne aloof;—and when storm-rent | 870 |
| Disclos’d the thunder-gloomings in Jove’s air; | |
| But sooth’d as now, flash’d sudden everywhere, | |
| Noiseless, sub-marine cloudlets, glittering | |
| Death to a human eye: for there did spring | |
| From natural west, and east, and south, and north, | 875 |
| A light as of four sunsets, blazing forth | |
| A gold-green zenith ’bove the Sea-God’s head. | |
| Of lucid depth the floor, and far outspread | |
| As breezeless lake, on which the slim canoe | |
| Of feather’d Indian darts about, as through | 880 |
| The delicatest air: air verily, | |
| But for the portraiture of clouds and sky: | |
| This palace floor breath-air,—but for the amaze | |
| Of deep-seen wonders motionless,—and blaze | |
| Of the dome pomp, reflected in extremes, | 885 |
Globing a golden sphere.
They stood in dreams | |
| Till Triton blew his horn. The palace rang; | |
| The Nereids danc’d; the Syrens faintly sang; | |
| And the great Sea-King bow’d his dripping head. | |
| Then Love took wing, and from his pinions shed | 890 |
| On all the multitude a nectarous dew. | |
| The ooze-born Goddess beckoned and drew | |
| Fair Scylla and her guides to conference; | |
| And when they reach’d the throned eminence | |
| She kist the sea-nymph’s cheek,—who sat her down | 895 |
| A toying with the doves. Then,—“Mighty crown | |
| And sceptre of this kingdom!” Venus said, | |
| “Thy vows were on a time to Nais paid: | |
| Behold!”—Two copious tear-drops instant fell | |
| From the God’s large eyes; he smil’d delectable, | 900 |
| And over Glaucus held his blessing hands.— | |
| “Endymion! Ah! still wandering in the bands | |
| Of love? Now this is cruel. Since the hour | |
| I met thee in earth’s bosom, all my power | |
| Have I put forth to serve thee. What, not yet | 905 |
| Escap’d from dull mortality’s harsh net? | |
| A little patience, youth! ’twill not be long, | |
| Or I am skilless quite: an idle tongue, | |
| A humid eye, and steps luxurious, | |
| Where these are new and strange, are ominous. | 910 |
| Aye, I have seen these signs in one of heaven, | |
| When others were all blind; and were I given | |
| To utter secrets, haply I might say | |
| Some pleasant words:—but Love will have his day. | |
| So wait awhile expectant. Pr’ythee soon, | 915 |
| Even in the passing of thine honey-moon, | |
| Visit my Cytherea: thou wilt find | |
| Cupid well-natured, my Adonis kind; | |
| And pray persuade with thee—Ah, I have done, | |
| All blisses be upon thee, my sweet son!”— | 920 |
| Thus the fair goddess: while Endymion | |
| Knelt to receive those accents halcyon. | |
| |
| Meantime a glorious revelry began | |
| Before the Water-Monarch. Nectar ran | |
| In courteous fountains to all cups outreach’d; | 925 |
| And plunder’d vines, teeming exhaustless, pleach’d | |
| New growth about each shell and pendent lyre; | |
| The which, in disentangling for their fire, | |
| Pull’d down fresh foliage and coverture | |
| For dainty toying. Cupid, empire-sure, | 930 |
| Flutter’d and laugh’d, and oft-times through the throng | |
| Made a delighted way. Then dance, and song, | |
| And garlanding grew wild; and pleasure reign’d. | |
| In harmless tendril they each other chain’d, | |
| And strove who should be smother’d deepest in | 935 |
Fresh crush of leaves.
O ’tis a very sin | |
| For one so weak to venture his poor verse | |
| In such a place as this. O do not curse, | |
| High Muses! let him hurry to the ending. | |
| |
| All suddenly were silent. A soft blending | 940 |
| Of dulcet instruments came charmingly; | |
And then a hymn.
“KING of the stormy sea! | |
| Brother of Jove, and co-inheritor | |
| Of elements! Eternally before | |
| Thee the waves awful bow. Fast, stubborn rock, | 945 |
| At thy fear’d trident shrinking, doth unlock | |
| Its deep foundations, hissing into foam. | |
| All mountain-rivers lost, in the wide home | |
| Of thy capacious bosom ever flow. | |
| Thou frownest, and old Eolus thy foe | 950 |
| Skulks to his cavern, ’mid the gruff complaint | |
| Of all his rebel tempests. Dark clouds faint | |
| When, from thy diadem, a silver gleam | |
| Slants over blue dominion. Thy bright team | |
| Gulphs in the morning light, and scuds along | 955 |
| To bring thee nearer to that golden song | |
| Apollo singeth, while his chariot | |
| Waits at the doors of heaven. Thou art not | |
| For scenes like this: an empire stern hast thou; | |
| And it hath furrow’d that large front: yet now, | 960 |
| As newly come of heaven, dost thou sit | |
| To blend and interknit | |
| Subdued majesty with this glad time. | |
| O shell-borne King sublime! | |
| We lay our hearts before thee evermore— | 965 |
| We sing, and we adore! | |
| |
| “Breathe softly, flutes; | |
| Be tender of your strings, ye soothing lutes; | |
| Nor be the trumpet heard! O vain, O vain; | |
| Not flowers budding in an April rain, | 970 |
| Nor breath of sleeping dove, nor river’s flow,— | |
| No, nor the Eolian twang of Love’s own bow, | |
| Can mingle music fit for the soft ear | |
| Of goddess Cytherea! | |
| Yet deign, white Queen of Beauty, thy fair eyes | 975 |
| On our souls’ sacrifice. | |
| |
| “Bright-winged Child! | |
| Who has another care when thou hast smil’d? | |
| Unfortunates on earth, we see at last | |
| All death-shadows, and glooms that overcast | 980 |
| Our spirits, fann’d away by thy light pinions. | |
| O sweetest essence! sweetest of all minions! | |
| God of warm pulses, and dishevell’d hair, | |
| And panting bosoms bare! | |
| Dear unseen light in darkness! eclipser | 985 |
| Of light in light! delicious poisoner! | |
| Thy venom’d goblet will we quaff until | |
| We fill—we fill! | |
And by thy Mother’s lips——”
Was heard no more | |
| For clamour, when the golden palace door | 990 |
| Opened again, and from without, in shone | |
| A new magnificence. On oozy throne | |
| Smooth-moving came Oceanus the old, | |
| To take a latest glimpse at his sheep-fold, | |
| Before he went into his quiet cave | 995 |
| To muse for ever—Then a lucid wave, | |
| Scoop’d from its trembling sisters of mid-sea, | |
| Afloat, and pillowing up the majesty | |
| Of Doris, and the Egean seer, her spouse— | |
| Next, on a dolphin, clad in laurel boughs, | 1000 |
| Theban Amphion leaning on his lute: | |
| His fingers went across it—All were mute | |
| To gaze on Amphitrite, queen of pearls, | |
And Thetis pearly too.—
The palace whirls | |
| Around giddy Endymion; seeing he | 1005 |
| Was there far strayed from mortality. | |
| He could not bear it—shut his eyes in vain; | |
| Imagination gave a dizzier pain. | |
| “O I shall die! sweet Venus, be my stay! | |
| Where is my lovely mistress? Well-away! | 1010 |
| I die—I hear her voice—I feel my wing—” | |
| At Neptune’s feet he sank. A sudden ring | |
| Of Nereids were about him, in kind strife | |
| To usher back his spirit into life: | |
| But still he slept. At last they interwove | 1015 |
| Their cradling arms, and purpos’d to convey | |
| Towards a crystal bower far away. | |
| |
| Lo! while slow carried through the pitying crowd, | |
| To his inward senses these words spake aloud; | |
| Written in star-light on the dark above: | 1020 |
| Dearest Endymion! my entire love! | |
| How have I dwelt in fear of fate: ’tis done— | |
| Immortal bliss for me too hast thou won. | |
| Arise then! for the hen-dove shall not hatch | |
| Her ready eggs, before I’ll kissing snatch | 1025 |
| Thee into endless heaven. Awake! awake! | |
| |
| The youth at once arose: a placid lake | |
| Came quiet to his eyes; and forest green, | |
| Cooler than all the wonders he had seen, | |
| Lull’d with its simple song his fluttering breast. | 1030 |
| How happy once again in grassy nest! | |
| |
| See Notes. |
| |
