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--- 문학:영문학:영국:키츠 [2020/08/18 23:51]
clayeryan@gmail.com
+++ 문학:영문학:영국:키츠 [2023/09/14 23:16] (현재)
clayeryan@gmail.com
@@ 줄 4: / 줄 4: @@
 ====== 존 키츠 (John Keats) 1795~1821 ======
+=====작품목록=====
+++++	1. When I Have Fears That I May Cease To Be	|
+<poem>
+When I have fears that I may cease to be
+Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
+Before high-piled books, in charactery,
+Hold like rich garners the full ripen'd grain;
+When I behold, upon the night's starr'd face,
+Huge cloudy symbols of a high romance,
+And think that I may never live to trace
+Their shadows, with the magic hand of chance;
+And when I feel, fair creature of an hour,
+That I shall never look upon thee more,
+Never have relish in the faery power
+Of unreflecting love;--then on the shore
+Of the wide world I stand alone, and think
+Till love and fame to nothingness do sink
+**내가 더 이상 존재하지 않을 수도 있다는 두려움을 가질 때**
+내가 더 이상 존재하지 않을 수도 있다는 두려움을 가질 때
+내 펜이 나의 넘쳐나는 생각을 수확하기 전에,
+높이 쌓인 책들이 넉넉한 곳간처럼,
+글자로써, 잘 여문 곡식알을 채우기 전에;
+별빛 박힌 밤하늘에 거대한 구름이 그리는,
+아기자기한 옛 이야기의 상징들을 바라보며,
+타고난 마술의 손으로 그 자취를 찾기 전에
+행여 내가 죽을지도 모른다는 생각이 들 때,
+또한 한 때 짧은 순간 만났던 아름다운 그대
+그대 다시는 보지 못하리라 느껴지고
+분별없는 사랑의 마술도 이제 끝이라고
+생각되어질 때, 나는 광막한 세계의
+해변에 외로이 서서 생각에 잠깁니다.
+사랑과 명예가 허무한 것이 될 때까지
+</poem>	++++
+++++	2. Ode To A Nightingale	|
+<poem>My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
+My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
+Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
+One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
+'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
+But being too happy in thine happiness,--
+That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees
+In some melodious plot
+Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
+Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
+O, for a draught of vintage! that hath been
+Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
+Tasting of Flora and the country green,
+Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
+O for a beaker full of the warm South,
+Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
+With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
+And purple-stained mouth;
+That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
+And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
+Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
+What thou among the leaves hast never known,
+The weariness, the fever, and the fret
+Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
+Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
+Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
+Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
+And leaden-eyed despairs,
+Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
+Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
+Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
+Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
+But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
+Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
+Already with thee! tender is the night,
+And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
+Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
+But here there is no light,
+Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
+Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
+I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
+Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
+But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
+Wherewith the seasonable month endows
+The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
+White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
+Fast fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
+And mid-May's eldest child,
+The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
+The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
+Darkling I listen; and, for many a time
+I have been half in love with easeful Death,
+Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
+To take into the air my quiet breath;
+Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
+To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
+While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
+In such an ecstasy!
+Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain--
+To thy high requiem become a sod.
+Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
+No hungry generations tread thee down;
+The voice I hear this passing night was heard
+In ancient days by emperor and clown:
+Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
+Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
+She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
+The same that oft-times hath
+Charm'd magic casements, opening on the foam
+Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
+Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
+To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
+Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
+As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
+Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
+Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
+Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
+In the next valley-glades:
+Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
+Fled is that music:--Do I wake or sleep?
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	3. To Autumn	|
+<poem>I
+Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
+Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
+Conspiring with him how to load and bless
+With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
+To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
+And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
+To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
+With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
+And still more, later flowers for the bees,
+Until they think warm days will never cease,
+For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
+II
+Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
+Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
+Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
+Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
+Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
+Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
+Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
+And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
+Steady thy laden head across a brook;
+Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
+Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
+III
+Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
+Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,--
+While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
+And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
+Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
+Among the river sallows, borne aloft
+Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
+And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
+Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
+The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
+And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	4. To Hope	|
+<poem>When by my solitary hearth I sit,
+And hateful thoughts enwrap my soul in gloom;
+When no fair dreams before my "mind's eye" flit,
+And the bare heath of life presents no bloom;
+Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
+And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!
+Whene'er I wander, at the fall of night,
+Where woven boughs shut out the moon's bright ray,
+Should sad Despondency my musings fright,
+And frown, to drive fair Cheerfulness away,
+Peep with the moonbeams through the leafy roof,
+And keep that fiend Despondence far aloof!
+Should Disappointment, parent of Despair,
+Strive for her son to seize my careless heart;
+When, like a cloud, he sits upon the air,
+Preparing on his spell-bound prey to dart:
+Chase him away, sweet Hope, with visage bright,
+And fright him as the morning frightens night!
+Whene'er the fate of those I hold most dear
+Tells to my fearful breast a tale of sorrow,
+O bright-eyed Hope, my morbidfancy cheer;
+Let me awhile thy sweetest comforts borrow:
+Thy heaven-born radiance around me shed,
+And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!
+Should e'er unhappy love my bosom pain,
+From cruel parents, or relentless fair;
+O let me think it is not quite in vain
+To sigh out sonnets to the midnight air!
+Sweet Hope, ethereal balm upon me shed,
+And wave thy silver pinions o'er my head!
+In the long vista of the years to roll,
+Let me not see our country's honour fade:
+O let me see our land retain her soul,
+Her pride, her freedom; and not freedom's shade.
+From thy bright eyes unusual brightness shed---
+Beneath thy pinions canopy my head!
+Let me not see the patriot's high bequest,
+Great Liberty! how great in plain attire!
+With the base purple of a court oppress'd,
+Bowing her head, and ready to expire:
+But let me see thee stoop from heaven on wings
+That fill the skies with silver glitterings!
+And as, in sparkling majesty, a star
+Gilds the bright summit of some gloomy cloud;
+Brightening the half veil'd face of heaven afar:
+So, when dark thoughts my boding spirit shroud,
+Sweet Hope, celestial influence round me shed,
+Waving thy silver pinions o'er my head!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	5. Ode To Psyche	|
+<poem>
+O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
+By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,
+And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
+Even into thine own soft-conched ear:
+Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see
+The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes?
+I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly,
+And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,
+Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side
+In deepest grass, beneath the whisp'ring roof
+Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran
+A brooklet, scarce espied:
+Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed,
+Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian,
+They lay calm-breathing, on the bedded grass;
+Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;
+Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade adieu,
+As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,
+And ready still past kisses to outnumber
+At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love:
+The winged boy I knew;
+But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?
+His Psyche true!
+O latest born and loveliest vision far
+Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy!
+Fairer than Ph{oe}be's sapphire-region'd star,
+Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
+Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
+Nor altar heap'd with flowers;
+Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan
+Upon the midnight hours;
+No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
+From chain-swung censer teeming;
+No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
+Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
+O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
+Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
+When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
+Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
+Yet even in these days so far retir'd
+From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
+Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
+I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspir'd.
+So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
+Upon the midnight hours;
+Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
+From swinged censer teeming;
+Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat
+Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
+Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
+In some untrodden region of my mind,
+Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
+Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind:
+Far, far around shall those dark-cluster'd trees
+Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep;
+And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
+The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep;
+And in the midst of this wide quietness
+A rosy sanctuary will I dress
+With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain,
+With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
+With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign,
+Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:
+And there shall be for thee all soft delight
+That shadowy thought can win,
+A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
+To let the warm Love in!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	6. On The Grasshopper And Cricket	|
+<poem>
+The poetry of earth is never dead:
+When all the birds are faint with the hot sun,
+And hide in cooling trees, a voice will run
+From hedge to hedge about the new-mown mead;
+That is the Grasshopper's—he takes the lead
+In summer luxury,—he has never done
+With his delights; for when tired out with fun
+He rests at ease beneath some pleasant weed.
+The poetry of earth is ceasing never:
+On a lone winter evening, when the frost
+Has wrought a silence, from the stove there shrills
+The Cricket's song, in warmth increasing ever,
+And seems to one in drowsiness half lost,
+The Grasshopper's among some grassy hills.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	7. Ode On A Grecian Urn	|
+<poem>
+Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
+Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
+Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
+A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
+What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
+Of deities or mortals, or of both,
+In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
+What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
+What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
+What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
+Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
+Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
+Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
+Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
+Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
+Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
+Bold Lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
+Though winning near the goal yet, do not grieve;
+She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
+For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
+Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
+Your leaves, nor ever bid the Spring adieu;
+And, happy melodist, unwearied,
+For ever piping songs for ever new;
+More happy love! more happy, happy love!
+For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
+For ever panting, and for ever young;
+All breathing human passion far above,
+That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
+A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
+Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
+To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
+Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
+And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
+What little town by river or sea shore,
+Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
+Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
+And, little town, thy streets for evermore
+Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
+Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
+O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
+Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
+With forest branches and the trodden weed;
+Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
+As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
+When old age shall this generation waste,
+Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
+Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
+"Beauty is truth, truth beauty,--that is all
+Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know."
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	8. On First Looking Into Chapman's Homer	|	<poem>
+Much have I travell'd in the realms of gold,
+And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
+Round many western islands have I been
+Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
+Oft of one wide expanse had I been told
+That deep-brow'd Homer ruled as his demesne;
+Yet did I never breathe its pure serene
+Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
+Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
+When a new planet swims into his ken;
+Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
+He star'd at the Pacific--and all his men
+Look'd at each other with a wild surmise--
+Silent, upon a peak in Darien.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	9. La Belle Dame Sans Merci	|	<poem>
+Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
+Alone and palely loitering;
+The sedge is wither'd from the lake,
+And no birds sing.
+Ah, what can ail thee, wretched wight,
+So haggard and so woe-begone?
+The squirrel's granary is full,
+And the harvest's done.
+I see a lily on thy brow,
+With anguish moist and fever dew;
+And on thy cheek a fading rose
+Fast withereth too.
+I met a lady in the meads
+Full beautiful, a faery's child;
+Her hair was long, her foot was light,
+And her eyes were wild.
+I set her on my pacing steed,
+And nothing else saw all day long;
+For sideways would she lean, and sing
+A faery's song.
+I made a garland for her head,
+And bracelets too, and fragrant zone;
+She look'd at me as she did love,
+And made sweet moan.
+She found me roots of relish sweet,
+And honey wild, and manna dew;
+And sure in language strange she said,
+I love thee true.
+She took me to her elfin grot,
+And there she gaz'd and sighed deep,
+And there I shut her wild sad eyes--
+So kiss'd to sleep.
+And there we slumber'd on the moss,
+And there I dream'd, ah woe betide,
+The latest dream I ever dream'd
+On the cold hill side.
+I saw pale kings, and princes too,
+Pale warriors, death-pale were they all;
+Who cry'd--"La belle Dame sans merci
+Hath thee in thrall!"
+I saw their starv'd lips in the gloam
+With horrid warning gaped wide,
+And I awoke, and found me here
+On the cold hill side.
+And this is why I sojourn here
+Alone and palely loitering,
+Though the sedge is wither'd from the lake,
+And no birds sing.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	10. To My Brothers	|	<poem>
+Small, busy flames play through the fresh-laid coals,
+And their faint cracklings o'er our silence creep
+Like whispers of the household gods that keep
+A gentle empire o'er fraternal souls.
+And while for rhymes I search around the poles,
+Your eyes are fixed, as in poetic sleep,
+Upon the lore so voluble and deep,
+That aye at fall of night our care condoles.
+This is your birthday, Tom, and I rejoice
+That thus it passes smoothly, quietly:
+Many such eves of gently whispering noise
+May we together pass, and calmly try
+What are this world's true joys,—ere the great Voice
+From its fair face shall bid our spirits fly.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	11. On The Sea	|	<poem>
+It keeps eternal whisperings around
+Desolate shores, and with its mighty swell
+Gluts twice ten thousand caverns, till the spell
+Of Hecate leaves them their old shadowy sound.
+Often 'tis in such gentle temper found,
+That scarcely will the very smallest shell
+Be moved for days from whence it sometime fell,
+When last the winds of heaven were unbound.
+Oh ye! who have your eye-balls vexed and tired,
+Feast them upon the wideness of the Sea;
+Oh ye! whose ears are dinned with uproar rude,
+Or fed too much with cloying melody,—
+Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood
+Until ye start, as if the sea-nymphs choired!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	12. To Sleep	|	<poem>
+O soft embalmer of the still midnight,
+Shutting, with careful fingers and benign,
+Our gloom-pleas'd eyes, embower'd from the light,
+Enshaded in forgetfulness divine:
+O soothest Sleep! if so it please thee, close
+In midst of this thine hymn my willing eyes,
+Or wait the "Amen," ere thy poppy throws
+Around my bed its lulling charities.
+Then save me, or the passed day will shine
+Upon my pillow, breeding many woes,--
+Save me from curious Conscience, that still lords
+Its strength for darkness, burrowing like a mole;
+Turn the key deftly in the oiled wards,
+And seal the hushed Casket of my Soul.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	13. To Solitude	|	<poem>
+O solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
+Let it not be among the jumbled heap
+Of murky buildings; climb with me the steep,—
+Nature's observatory—whence the dell,
+Its flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
+May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
+'Mongst boughs pavillion'd, where the deer's swift leap
+Startles the wild bee from the fox-glove bell.
+But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
+Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
+Whose words are images of thoughts refin'd,
+Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
+Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
+When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	14. The Human Seasons	|	<poem>
+Four Seasons fill the measure of the year;
+There are four seasons in the mind of man:
+He has his lusty Spring, when fancy clear
+Takes in all beauty with an easy span:
+He has his Summer, when luxuriously
+Spring's honied cud of youthful thought he loves
+To ruminate, and by such dreaming high
+Is nearest unto heaven: quiet coves
+His soul has in its Autumn, when his wings
+He furleth close; contented so to look
+On mists in idleness--to let fair things
+Pass by unheeded as a threshold brook.
+He has his Winter too of pale misfeature,
+Or else he would forego his mortal nature.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	15. On Leaving Some Friends At An Early Hour	|	<poem>
+Give me a golden pen, and let me lean
+On heaped-up flowers, in regions clear, and far;
+Bring me a tablet whiter than a star,
+Or hand of hymning angel, when 'tis seen
+The silver strings of heavenly harp atween:
+And let there glide by many a pearly car
+Pink robes, and wavy hair, and diamond jar,
+And half-discovered wings, and glances keen.
+The while let music wander round my ears,
+And as it reaches each delicious ending,
+Let me write down a line of glorious tone,
+And full of many wonders of the spheres:
+For what a height my spirit is contending!
+'Tis not content so soon to be alone.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	16. In Drear-Nighted December	|	<poem>In drear-nighted December,
+Too happy, happy tree,
+Thy branches ne'er remember
+Their green felicity:
+The north cannot undo them
+With a sleety whistle through them;
+Nor frozen thawings glue them
+From budding at the prime.
+In drear-nighted December,
+Too happy, happy brook,
+Thy bubblings ne'er remember
+Apollo's summer look;
+But with a sweet forgetting,
+They stay their crystal fretting,
+Never, never petting
+About the frozen time.
+Ah! would 'twere so with many
+A gentle girl and boy!
+But were there ever any
+Writhed not at passed joy?
+The feel of not to feel it,
+When there is none to heal it
+Nor numbed sense to steel it,
+Was never said in rhyme.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	17. Ode On Melancholy	|	<poem>No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
+Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
+Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd
+By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
+Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
+Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
+Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
+A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
+For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
+And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
+But when the melancholy fit shall fall
+Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
+That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
+And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
+Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
+Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
+Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
+Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
+Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
+And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
+She dwells with Beauty--Beauty that must die;
+And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
+Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
+Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
+Ay, in the very temple of Delight
+Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
+Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
+Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
+His soul shalt taste the sadness of her might,
+And be among her cloudy trophies hung.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	18. Hyperion	|	<poem>
+Deep in the shady sadness of a vale
+Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
+Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,
+Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone,
+Still as the silence round about his lair;
+Forest on forest hung above his head
+Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
+Not so much life as on a summer's day
+Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass,
+But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
+A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more
+By reason of his fallen divinity
+Spreading a shade: the Naiad 'mid her reeds
+Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips.
+Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went,
+No further than to where his feet had stray'd,
+And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground
+His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead,
+Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed;
+While his bow'd head seem'd list'ning to the Earth,
+His ancient mother, for some comfort yet.
+It seem'd no force could wake him from his place;
+But there came one, who with a kindred hand
+Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low
+With reverence, though to one who knew it not.
+She was a Goddess of the infant world;
+By her in stature the tall Amazon
+Had stood a pigmy's height: she would have ta'en
+Achilles by the hair and bent his neck;
+Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel.
+Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx,
+Pedestal'd haply in a palace court,
+When sages look'd to Egypt for their lore.
+But oh! how unlike marble was that face:
+How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
+Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
+There was a listening fear in her regard,
+As if calamity had but begun;
+As if the vanward clouds of evil days
+Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear
+Was with its stored thunder labouring up.
+One hand she press'd upon that aching spot
+Where beats the human heart, as if just there,
+Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain:
+The other upon Saturn's bended neck
+She laid, and to the level of his ear
+Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake
+In solemn tenor and deep organ tone:
+Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue
+Would come in these like accents; O how frail
+To that large utterance of the early Gods!
+"Saturn, look up!---though wherefore, poor old King?
+I have no comfort for thee, no not one:
+I cannot say, 'O wherefore sleepest thou?'
+For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth
+Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a God;
+And ocean too, with all its solemn noise,
+Has from thy sceptre pass'd; and all the air
+Is emptied of thine hoary majesty.
+Thy thunder, conscious of the new command,
+Rumbles reluctant o'er our fallen house;
+And thy sharp lightning in unpractised hands
+Scorches and burns our once serene domain.
+O aching time! O moments big as years!
+All as ye pass swell out the monstrous truth,
+And press it so upon our weary griefs
+That unbelief has not a space to breathe.
+Saturn, sleep on:---O thoughtless, why did I
+Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude?
+Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes?
+Saturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I weep."
+As when, upon a tranced summer-night,
+Those green-rob'd senators of mighty woods,
+Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars,
+Dream, and so dream all night without a stir,
+Save from one gradual solitary gust
+Which comes upon the silence, and dies off,
+As if the ebbing air had but one wave;
+So came these words and went; the while in tears
+She touch'd her fair large forehead to the ground,
+Just where her fallen hair might be outspread
+A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet.
+One moon, with alteration slow, had shed
+Her silver seasons four upon the night,
+And still these two were postured motionless,
+Like natural sculpture in cathedral cavern;
+The frozen God still couchant on the earth,
+And the sad Goddess weeping at his feet:
+Until at length old Saturn lifted up
+His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone,
+And all the gloom and sorrow ofthe place,
+And that fair kneeling Goddess; and then spake,
+As with a palsied tongue, and while his beard
+Shook horrid with such aspen-malady:
+"O tender spouse of gold Hyperion,
+Thea, I feel thee ere I see thy face;
+Look up, and let me see our doom in it;
+Look up, and tell me if this feeble shape
+Is Saturn's; tell me, if thou hear'st the voice
+Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkling brow,
+Naked and bare of its great diadem,
+Peers like the front of Saturn? Who had power
+To make me desolate? Whence came the strength?
+How was it nurtur'd to such bursting forth,
+While Fate seem'd strangled in my nervous grasp?
+But it is so; and I am smother'd up,
+And buried from all godlike exercise
+Of influence benign on planets pale,
+Of admonitions to the winds and seas,
+Of peaceful sway above man's harvesting,
+And all those acts which Deity supreme
+Doth ease its heart of love in.---I am gone
+Away from my own bosom: I have left
+My strong identity, my real self,
+Somewhere between the throne, and where I sit
+Here on this spot of earth. Search, Thea, search!
+Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them round
+Upon all space: space starr'd, and lorn of light;
+Space region'd with life-air; and barren void;
+Spaces of fire, and all the yawn of hell.---
+Search, Thea, search! and tell me, if thou seest
+A certain shape or shadow, making way
+With wings or chariot fierce to repossess
+A heaven he lost erewhile: it must---it must
+Be of ripe progress---Saturn must be King.
+Yes, there must be a golden victory;
+There must be Gods thrown down, and trumpets blown
+Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival
+Upon the gold clouds metropolitan,
+Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir
+Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be
+Beautiful things made new, for the surprise
+Of the sky-children; I will give command:
+Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?"
+This passion lifted him upon his feet,
+And made his hands to struggle in the air,
+His Druid locks to shake and ooze with sweat,
+His eyes to fever out, his voice to cease.
+He stood, and heard not Thea's sobbing deep;
+A little time, and then again he snatch'd
+Utterance thus.---"But cannot I create?
+Cannot I form? Cannot I fashion forth
+Another world, another universe,
+To overbear and crumble this to nought?
+Where is another Chaos? Where?"---That word
+Found way unto Olympus, and made quake
+The rebel three.---Thea was startled up,
+And in her bearing was a sort of hope,
+As thus she quick-voic'd spake, yet full of awe.
+"This cheers our fallen house: come to our friends,
+O Saturn! come away, and give them heart;
+I know the covert, for thence came I hither."
+Thus brief; then with beseeching eyes she went
+With backward footing through the shade a space:
+He follow'd, and she turn'd to lead the way
+Through aged boughs, that yielded like the mist
+Which eagles cleave upmounting from their nest.
+Meanwhile in other realms big tears were shed,
+More sorrow like to this, and such like woe,
+Too huge for mortal tongue or pen of scribe:
+The Titans fierce, self-hid, or prison-bound,
+Groan'd for the old allegiance once more,
+And listen'd in sharp pain for Saturn's voice.
+But one of the whole mammoth-brood still kept
+His sov'reigny, and rule, and majesy;---
+Blazing Hyperion on his orbed fire
+Still sat, still snuff'd the incense, teeming up
+From man to the sun's God: yet unsecure:
+For as among us mortals omens drear
+Fright and perplex, so also shuddered he---
+Not at dog's howl, or gloom-bird's hated screech,
+Or the familiar visiting of one
+Upon the first toll of his passing-bell,
+Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp;
+But horrors, portion'd to a giant nerve,
+Oft made Hyperion ache. His palace bright,
+Bastion'd with pyramids of glowing gold,
+And touch'd with shade of bronzed obelisks,
+Glar'd a blood-red through all its thousand courts,
+Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries;
+And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds
+Flush'd angerly: while sometimes eagles' wings,
+Unseen before by Gods or wondering men,
+Darken'd the place; and neighing steeds were heard
+Not heard before by Gods or wondering men.
+Also, when he would taste the spicy wreaths
+Of incense, breath'd aloft from sacred hills,
+Instead of sweets, his ample palate took
+Savor of poisonous brass and metal sick:
+And so, when harbor'd in the sleepy west,
+After the full completion of fair day,---
+For rest divine upon exalted couch,
+And slumber in the arms of melody,
+He pac'd away the pleasant hours of ease
+With stride colossal, on from hall to hall;
+While far within each aisle and deep recess,
+His winged minions in close clusters stood,
+Amaz'd and full offear; like anxious men
+Who on wide plains gather in panting troops,
+When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers.
+Even now, while Saturn, rous'd from icy trance,
+Went step for step with Thea through the woods,
+Hyperion, leaving twilight in the rear,
+Came slope upon the threshold of the west;
+Then, as was wont, his palace-door flew ope
+In smoothest silence, save what solemn tubes,
+Blown by the serious Zephyrs, gave of sweet
+And wandering sounds, slow-breathed melodies;
+And like a rose in vermeil tint and shape,
+In fragrance soft, and coolness to the eye,
+That inlet to severe magnificence
+Stood full blown, for the God to enter in.
+He enter'd, but he enter'd full of wrath;
+His flaming robes stream'd out beyond his heels,
+And gave a roar, as if of earthly fire,
+That scar'd away the meek ethereal Hours
+And made their dove-wings tremble. On he flared
+From stately nave to nave, from vault to vault,
+Through bowers of fragrant and enwreathed light,
+And diamond-paved lustrous long arcades,
+Until he reach'd the great main cupola;
+There standing fierce beneath, he stampt his foot,
+And from the basements deep to the high towers
+Jarr'd his own golden region; and before
+The quavering thunder thereupon had ceas'd,
+His voice leapt out, despite of godlike curb,
+To this result: "O dreams of day and night!
+O monstrous forms! O effigies of pain!
+O spectres busy in a cold, cold gloom!
+O lank-eared phantoms of black-weeded pools!
+Why do I know ye? why have I seen ye? why
+Is my eternal essence thus distraught
+To see and to behold these horrors new?
+Saturn is fallen, am I too to fall?
+Am I to leave this haven of my rest,
+This cradle of my glory, this soft clime,
+This calm luxuriance of blissful light,
+These crystalline pavilions, and pure fanes,
+Of all my lucent empire? It is left
+Deserted, void, nor any haunt of mine.
+The blaze, the splendor, and the symmetry,
+I cannot see but darkness, death, and darkness.
+Even here, into my centre of repose,
+The shady visions come to domineer,
+Insult, and blind, and stifle up my pomp.---
+Fall!---No, by Tellus and her briny robes!
+Over the fiery frontier of my realms
+I will advance a terrible right arm
+Shall scare that infant thunderer, rebel Jove,
+And bid old Saturn take his throne again."---
+He spake, and ceas'd, the while a heavier threat
+Held struggle with his throat but came not forth;
+For as in theatres of crowded men
+Hubbub increases more they call out "Hush!"
+So at Hyperion's words the phantoms pale
+Bestirr'd themselves, thrice horrible and cold;
+And from the mirror'd level where he stood
+A mist arose, as from a scummy marsh.
+At this, through all his bulk an agony
+Crept gradual, from the feet unto the crown,
+Like a lithe serpent vast and muscular
+Making slow way, with head and neck convuls'd
+From over-strained might. Releas'd, he fled
+To the eastern gates, and full six dewy hours
+Before the dawn in season due should blush,
+He breath'd fierce breath against the sleepy portals,
+Clear'd them of heavy vapours, burst them wide
+Suddenly on the ocean's chilly streams.
+The planet orb of fire, whereon he rode
+Each day from east to west the heavens through,
+Spun round in sable curtaining of clouds;
+Not therefore veiled quite, blindfold, and hid,
+But ever and anon the glancing spheres,
+Circles, and arcs, and broad-belting colure,
+Glow'd through, and wrought upon the muffling dark
+Sweet-shaped lightnings from the nadir deep
+Up to the zenith,---hieroglyphics old,
+Which sages and keen-eyed astrologers
+Then living on the earth, with laboring thought
+Won from the gaze of many centuries:
+Now lost, save what we find on remnants huge
+Of stone, or rnarble swart; their import gone,
+Their wisdom long since fled.---Two wings this orb
+Possess'd for glory, two fair argent wings,
+Ever exalted at the God's approach:
+And now, from forth the gloom their plumes immense
+Rose, one by one, till all outspreaded were;
+While still the dazzling globe maintain'd eclipse,
+Awaiting for Hyperion's command.
+Fain would he have commanded, fain took throne
+And bid the day begin, if but for change.
+He might not:---No, though a primeval God:
+The sacred seasons might not be disturb'd.
+Therefore the operations of the dawn
+Stay'd in their birth, even as here 'tis told.
+Those silver wings expanded sisterly,
+Eager to sail their orb; the porches wide
+Open'd upon the dusk demesnes of night
+And the bright Titan, phrenzied with new woes,
+Unus'd to bend, by hard compulsion bent
+His spirit to the sorrow of the time;
+And all along a dismal rack of clouds,
+Upon the boundaries of day and night,
+He stretch'd himself in grief and radiance faint.
+There as he lay, the Heaven with its stars
+Look'd down on him with pity, and the voice
+Of Coelus, from the universal space,
+Thus whisper'd low and solemn in his ear:
+"O brightest of my children dear, earth-born
+And sky-engendered, son of mysteries
+All unrevealed even to the powers
+Which met at thy creating; at whose joys
+And palpitations sweet, and pleasures soft,
+I, Coelus, wonder, how they came and whence;
+And at the fruits thereof what shapes they be,
+Distinct, and visible; symbols divine,
+Manifestations of that beauteous life
+Diffus'd unseen throughout eternal space:
+Of these new-form'd art thou, O brightest child!
+Of these, thy brethren and the Goddesses!
+There is sad feud among ye, and rebellion
+Of son against his sire. I saw him fall,
+I saw my first-born tumbled from his throne!
+To me his arms were spread, to me his voice
+Found way from forth the thunders round his head!
+Pale wox I, and in vapours hid my face.
+Art thou, too, near such doom? vague fear there is:
+For I have seen my sons most unlike Gods.
+Divine ye were created, and divine
+In sad demeanour, solemn, undisturb'd,
+Unruffled, like high Gods, ye liv'd and ruled:
+Now I behold in you fear, hope, and wrath;
+Actions of rage and passion; even as
+I see them, on the mortal world beneath,
+In men who die.---This is the grief, O son!
+Sad sign of ruin, sudden dismay, and fall!
+Yet do thou strive; as thou art capable,
+As thou canst move about, an evident God;
+And canst oppose to each malignant hour
+Ethereal presence:---I am but a voice;
+My life is but the life of winds and tides,
+No more than winds and tides can I avail:---
+But thou canst.---Be thou therefore in the van
+Of circumstance; yea, seize the arrow's barb
+Before the tense string murmur.---To the earth!
+For there thou wilt find Saturn, and his woes.
+Meantime I will keep watch on thy bright sun,
+And of thy seasons be a careful nurse."---
+Ere half this region-whisper had come down,
+Hyperion arose, and on the stars
+Lifted his curved lids, and kept them wide
+Until it ceas'd; and still he kept them wide:
+And still they were the same bright, patient stars.
+Then with a slow incline of his broad breast,
+Like to a diver in the pearly seas,
+Forward he stoop'd over the airy shore,
+And plung'd all noiseless into the deep night.
+BOOK II
+Just at the self-same beat of Time's wide wings
+Hyperion slid into the rustled air,
+And Saturn gain'd with Thea that sad place
+Where Cybele and the bruised Titans mourn'd.
+It was a den where no insulting light
+Could glimmer on their tears; where their own groans
+They felt, but heard not, for the solid roar
+Of thunderous waterfalls and torrents hoarse,
+Pouring a constant bulk, uncertain where.
+Crag jutting forth to crag, and rocks that seem'd
+Ever as if just rising from a sleep,
+Forehead to forehead held their monstrous horns;
+And thus in thousand hugest phantasies
+Made a fit roofing to this nest of woe.
+Instead of thrones, hard flint they sat upon,
+Couches of rugged stone, and slaty ridge
+Stubborn'd with iron. All were not assembled:
+Some chain'd in torture, and some wandering.
+Caus, and Gyges, and Briareus,
+Typhon, and Dolor, and Porphyrion,
+With many more, the brawniest in assault,
+Were pent in regions of laborious breath;
+Dungeon'd in opaque element, to keep
+Their clenched teeth still clench'd, and all their limbs
+Lock'd up like veins of metal, crampt and screw'd;
+Without a motion, save of their big hearts
+Heaving in pain, and horribly convuls'd
+With sanguine feverous boiling gurge of pulse.
+Mnemosyne was straying in the world;
+Far from her moon had Phoebe wandered;
+And many else were free to roam abroad,
+But for the main, here found they covert drear.
+Scarce images of life, one here, one there,
+Lay vast and edgeways; like a dismal cirque
+Of Druid stones, upon a forlorn moor,
+When the chill rain begins at shut of eve,
+In dull November, and their chancel vault,
+The Heaven itself, is blinded throughout night.
+Each one kept shroud, nor to his neighbour gave
+Or word, or look, or action of despair.
+Creus was one; his ponderous iron mace
+Lay by him, and a shatter'd rib of rock
+Told of his rage, ere he thus sank and pined.
+Iapetus another; in his grasp,
+A serpent's plashy neck; its barbed tongue
+Squeez'd from the gorge, and all its uncurl'd length
+Dead: and because the creature could not spit
+Its poison in the eyes of conquering Jove.
+Next Cottus: prone he lay, chin uppermost,
+As though in pain; for still upon the flint
+He ground severe his skull, with open mouth
+And eyes at horrid working. Nearest him
+Asia, born of most enormous Caf,
+Who cost her mother Tellus keener pangs,
+Though feminine, than any of her sons:
+More thought than woe was in her dusky face,
+For she was prophesying of her glory;
+And in her wide imagination stood
+Palm-shaded temples, and high rival fanes
+By Oxus or in Ganges' sacred isles.
+Even as Hope upon her anchor leans,
+So leant she, not so fair, upon a tusk
+Shed from the broadest of her elephants.
+Above her, on a crag's uneasy shelve,
+Upon his elbow rais'd, all prostrate else,
+Shadow'd Enceladus; once tame and mild
+As grazing ox unworried in the meads;
+Now tiger-passion'd, lion-thoughted, wroth,
+He meditated, plotted, and even now
+Was hurling mountains in that second war,
+Not long delay'd, that scar'd the younger Gods
+To hide themselves in forms of beast and bird.
+Not far hence Atlas; and beside him prone
+Phorcus, the sire of Gorgons. Neighbour'd close
+Oceanus, and Tethys, in whose lap
+Sobb'd Clymene among her tangled hair.
+In midst of all lay Themis, at the feet
+Of Ops the queen; all clouded round from sight,
+No shape distinguishable, more than when
+Thick night confounds the pine-tops with the clouds:
+And many else whose names may not be told.
+For when the Muse's wings are air-ward spread,
+Who shall delay her flight? And she must chaunt
+Of Saturn, and his guide, who now had climb'd
+With damp and slippery footing from a depth
+More horrid still. Above a sombre cliff
+Their heads appear'd, and up their stature grew
+Till on the level height their steps found ease:
+Then Thea spread abroad her trembling arms
+Upon the precincts of this nest of pain,
+And sidelong fix'd her eye on Saturn's face:
+There saw she direst strife; the supreme God
+At war with all the frailty of grief,
+Of rage, of fear, anxiety, revenge,
+Remorse, spleen, hope, but most of all despair.
+Against these plagues he strove in vain; for Fate
+Had pour'd a mortal oil upon his head,
+A disanointing poison: so that Thea,
+Affrighted, kept her still, and let him pass
+First onwards in, among the fallen tribe.
+As with us mortal men, the laden heart
+Is persecuted more, and fever'd more,
+When it is nighing to the mournful house
+Where other hearts are sick of the same bruise;
+So Saturn, as he walk'd into the midst,
+Felt faint, and would have sunk among the rest,
+But that he met Enceladus's eye,
+Whose mightiness, and awe of him, at once
+Came like an inspiration; and he shouted,
+"Titans, behold your God!" at which some groan'd;
+Some started on their feet; some also shouted;
+Some wept, some wail'd, all bow'd with reverence;
+And Ops, uplifting her black folded veil,
+Show'd her pale cheeks, and all her forehead wan,
+Her eye-brows thin and jet, and hollow eyes.
+There is a roaring in the bleak-grown pines
+When Winter lifts his voice; there is a noise
+Among immortals when a God gives sign,
+With hushing finger, how he means to load
+His tongue with the filll weight of utterless thought,
+With thunder, and with music, and with pomp:
+Such noise is like the roar of bleak-grown pines;
+Which, when it ceases in this mountain'd world,
+No other sound succeeds; but ceasing here,
+Among these fallen, Saturn's voice therefrom
+Grew up like organ, that begins anew
+Its strain, when other harmonies, stopt short,
+Leave the dinn'd air vibrating silverly.
+Thus grew it up---"Not in my own sad breast,
+Which is its own great judge and searcher out,
+Can I find reason why ye should be thus:
+Not in the legends of the first of days,
+Studied from that old spirit-leaved book
+Which starry Uranus with finger bright
+Sav'd from the shores of darkness, when the waves
+Low-ebb'd still hid it up in shallow gloom;---
+And the which book ye know I ever kept
+For my firm-based footstool:---Ah, infirm!
+Not there, nor in sign, symbol, or portent
+Of element, earth, water, air, and fire,---
+At war, at peace, or inter-quarreling
+One against one, or two, or three, or all
+Each several one against the other three,
+As fire with air loud warring when rain-floods
+Drown both, and press them both against earth's face,
+Where, finding sulphur, a quadruple wrath
+Unhinges the poor world;---not in that strife,
+Wherefrom I take strange lore, and read it deep,
+Can I find reason why ye should be thus:
+No, nowhere can unriddle, though I search,
+And pore on Nature's universal scroll
+Even to swooning, why ye, Divinities,
+The first-born of all shap'd and palpable Gods,
+Should cower beneath what, in comparison,
+Is untremendous might. Yet ye are here,
+O'erwhelm'd, and spurn'd, and batter'd, ye are here!
+O Titans, shall I say 'Arise!'---Ye groan:
+Shall I say 'Crouch!'---Ye groan. What can I then?
+O Heaven wide! O unseen parent dear!
+What can I? Tell me, all ye brethren Gods,
+How we can war, how engine our great wrath!
+O speak your counsel now, for Saturn's ear
+Is all a-hunger'd. Thou, Oceanus,
+Ponderest high and deep; and in thy face
+I see, astonied, that severe content
+Which comes of thought and musing: give us help!"
+So ended Saturn; and the God of the sea,
+Sophist and sage, from no Athenian grove,
+But cogitation in his watery shades,
+Arose, with locks not oozy, and began,
+In murmurs, which his first-endeavouring tongue
+Caught infant-like from the far-foamed sands.
+"O ye, whom wrath consumes! who, passion-stung,
+Writhe at defeat, and nurse your agonies!
+Shut up your senses, stifle up your ears,
+My voice is not a bellows unto ire.
+Yet listen, ye who will, whilst I bring proof
+How ye, perforce, must be content to stoop:
+And in the proof much comfort will I give,
+If ye will take that comfort in its truth.
+We fall by course of Nature's law, not force
+Of thunder, or of Jove. Great Saturn, thou
+Hast sifted well the atom-universe;
+But for this reason, that thou art the King,
+And only blind from sheer supremacy,
+One avenue was shaded from thine eyes,
+Through which I wandered to eternal truth.
+And first, as thou wast not the first of powers,
+So art thou not the last; it cannot be:
+Thou art not the beginning nor the end.
+From Chaos and parental Darkness came
+Light, the first fruits of that intestine broil,
+That sullen ferment, which for wondrous ends
+Was ripening in itself. The ripe hour came,
+And with it Light, and Light, engendering
+Upon its own producer, forthwith touch'd
+The whole enormous matter into life.
+Upon that very hour, our parentage,
+The Heavens and the Earth, were manifest:
+Then thou first born, and we the giant race,
+Found ourselves ruling new and beauteous realms.
+Now comes the pain of truth, to whom 'tis pain;
+O folly! for to bear all naked truths,
+And to envisage circumstance, all calm,
+That is the top of sovereignty. Mark well!
+As Heaven and Earth are fairer, fairer far
+Than Chaos and blank Darkness, though once chiefs;
+And as we show beyond that Heaven and Earth
+In form and shape compact and beautiful,
+In will, in action free, companionship,
+And thousand other signs of purer life;
+So on our heels a fresh perfection treads,
+A power more strong in beauty, born of us
+And fated to excel us, as we pass
+In glory that old Darkness: nor are we
+Thereby more conquer'd, than by us the rule
+Of shapeless Chaos. Say, doth the dull soil
+Quarrel with the proud forests it hath fed,
+And feedeth still, more comely than itself?
+Can it deny the chiefdom of green groves?
+Or shall the tree be envious of the dove
+Because it cooeth, and hath snowy wings
+To wander wherewithal and find its joys?
+We are such forest-trees, and our fair boughs
+Have bred forth, not pale solitary doves,
+But eagles golden-feather'd, who do tower
+Above us in their beauty, and must reign
+In right thereof; for 'tis the eternal law
+That first in beauty should be first in might:
+Yea, by that law, another race may drive
+Our conquerors to mourn as we do now.
+Have ye beheld the young God of the seas,
+My dispossessor? Have ye seen his face?
+Have ye beheld his chariot, foam'd along
+By noble winged creatures he hath made?
+I saw him on the calmed waters scud,
+With such a glow of beauty in his eyes,
+That it enforc'd me to bid sad farewell
+To all my empire: farewell sad I took,
+And hither came, to see how dolorous fate
+Had wrought upon ye; and how I might best
+Give consolation in this woe extreme.
+Receive the truth, and let it be your balm."
+Whether through pos'd conviction, or disdain,
+They guarded silence, when Oceanus
+Left murmuring, what deepest thought can tell?
+But so it was, none answer'd for a space,
+Save one whom none regarded, Clymene;
+And yet she answer'd not, only complain'd,
+With hectic lips, and eyes up-looking mild,
+Thus wording timidly among the fierce:
+"O Father! I am here the simplest voice,
+And all my knowledge is that joy is gone,
+And this thing woe crept in among our hearts,
+There to remain for ever, as I fear:
+I would not bode of evil, if I thought
+So weak a creature could turn off the help
+Which by just right should come of mighty Gods;
+Yet let me tell my sorrow, let me tell
+Of what I heard, and how it made me weep,
+And know that we had parted from all hope.
+I stood upon a shore, a pleasant shore,
+Where a sweet clime was breathed from a land
+Of fragrance, quietness, and trees, and flowers.
+Full of calm joy it was, as I of grief;
+Too full of joy and soft delicious warmth;
+So that I felt a movement in my heart
+To chide, and to reproach that solitude
+With songs of misery, music of our woes;
+And sat me down, and took a mouthed shell
+And murmur'd into it, and made melody---
+O melody no more! for while I sang,
+And with poor skill let pass into the breeze
+The dull shell's echo, from a bowery strand
+Just opposite, an island of the sea,
+There came enchantment with the shifting wind,
+That did both drown and keep alive my ears.
+I threw my shell away upon the sand,
+And a wave fill'd it, as my sense was fill'd
+With that new blissful golden melody.
+A living death was in each gush of sounds,
+Each family of rapturous hurried notes,
+That fell, one after one, yet all at once,
+Like pearl beads dropping sudden from their string:
+And then another, then another strain,
+Each like a dove leaving its olive perch,
+With music wing'd instead of silent plumes,
+To hover round my head, and make me sick
+Of joy and grief at once. Grief overcame,
+And I was stopping up my frantic ears,
+When, past all hindrance of my trembling hands,
+A voice came sweeter, sweeter than all tune,
+And still it cried, 'Apollo! young Apollo!
+The morning-bright Apollo! young Apollo!'
+I fled, it follow'd me, and cried 'Apollo!'
+O Father, and O Brethren, had ye felt
+Those pains of mine; O Saturn, hadst thou felt,
+Ye would not call this too indulged tongue
+Presumptuous, in thus venturing to be heard."
+So far her voice flow'd on, like timorous brook
+That, lingering along a pebbled coast,
+Doth fear to meet the sea: but sea it met,
+And shudder'd; for the overwhelming voice
+Of huge Enceladus swallow'd it in wrath:
+The ponderous syllables, like sullen waves
+In the half-glutted hollows of reef-rocks,
+Came booming thus, while still upon his arm
+He lean'd; not rising, from supreme contempt.
+"Or shall we listen to the over-wise,
+Or to the over-foolish, Giant-Gods?
+Not thunderbolt on thunderbolt, till all
+That rebel Jove's whole armoury were spent,
+Not world on world upon these shoulders piled,
+Could agonize me more than baby-words
+In midst of this dethronement horrible.
+Speak! roar! shout! yell! ye sleepy Titans all.
+Do ye forget the blows, the buffets vile?
+Are ye not smitten by a youngling arm?
+Dost thou forget, sham Monarch of the waves,
+Thy scalding in the seas? What! have I rous'd
+Your spleens with so few simple words as these?
+O joy! for now I see ye are not lost:
+O joy! for now I see a thousand eyes
+Wide-glaring for revenge!"---As this he said,
+He lifted up his stature vast, and stood,
+Still without intermission speaking thus:
+"Now ye are flames, I'll tell you how to burn,
+And purge the ether of our enemies;
+How to feed fierce the crooked stings of fire,
+And singe away the swollen clouds of Jove,
+Stifling that puny essence in its tent.
+O let him feel the evil he hath done;
+For though I scorn Oceanus's lore,
+Much pain have I for more than loss of realms:
+The days of peace and slumbrous calm are fled;
+Those days, all innocent of scathing war,
+When all the fair Existences of heaven
+Carne open-eyed to guess what we would speak:---
+That was before our brows were taught to frown,
+Before our lips knew else but solemn sounds;
+That was before we knew the winged thing,
+Victory, might be lost, or might be won.
+And be ye mindful that Hyperion,
+Our brightest brother, still is undisgraced---
+Hyperion, lo! his radiance is here!"
+All eyes were on Enceladus's face,
+And they beheld, while still Hyperion's name
+Flew from his lips up to the vaulted rocks,
+A pallid gleam across his features stern:
+Not savage, for he saw full many a God
+Wroth as himself. He look'd upon them all,
+And in each face he saw a gleam of light,
+But splendider in Saturn's, whose hoar locks
+Shone like the bubbling foam about a keel
+When the prow sweeps into a midnight cove.
+In pale and silver silence they remain'd,
+Till suddenly a splendor, like the morn,
+Pervaded all the beetling gloomy steeps,
+All the sad spaces of oblivion,
+And every gulf, and every chasm old,
+And every height, and every sullen depth,
+Voiceless, or hoarse with loud tormented streams:
+And all the everlasting cataracts,
+And all the headlong torrents far and near,
+Mantled before in darkness and huge shade,
+Now saw the light and made it terrible.
+It was Hyperion:---a granite peak
+His bright feet touch'd, and there he stay'd to view
+The misery his brilliance had betray'd
+To the most hateful seeing of itself.
+Golden his hair of short Numidian curl,
+Regal his shape majestic, a vast shade
+In midst of his own brightness, like the bulk
+Of Memnon's image at the set of sun
+To one who travels from the dusking East:
+Sighs, too, as mournful as that Memnon's harp
+He utter'd, while his hands contemplative
+He press'd together, and in silence stood.
+Despondence seiz'd again the fallen Gods
+At sight of the dejected King of day,
+And many hid their faces from the light:
+But fierce Enceladus sent forth his eyes
+Among the brotherhood; and, at their glare,
+Uprose Iapetus, and Creus too,
+And Phorcus, sea-born, and together strode
+To where he towered on his eminence.
+There those four shouted forth old Saturn's name;
+Hyperion from the peak loud answered, "Saturn!"
+Saturn sat near the Mother of the Gods,
+In whose face was no joy, though all the Gods
+Gave from their hollow throats the name of "Saturn!"
+BOOK III
+Thus in altemate uproar and sad peace,
+Amazed were those Titans utterly.
+O leave them, Muse! O leave them to their woes;
+For thou art weak to sing such tumults dire:
+A solitary sorrow best befits
+Thy lips, and antheming a lonely grief.
+Leave them, O Muse! for thou anon wilt find
+Many a fallen old Divinity
+Wandering in vain about bewildered shores.
+Meantime touch piously the Delphic harp,
+And not a wind of heaven but will breathe
+In aid soft warble from the Dorian flute;
+For lo! 'tis for the Father of all verse.
+Flush everything that hath a vermeil hue,
+Let the rose glow intense and warm the air,
+And let the clouds of even and of morn
+Float in voluptuous fleeces o'er the hills;
+Let the red wine within the goblet boil,
+Cold as a bubbling well; let faint-lipp'd shells,
+On sands, or in great deeps, vermilion turn
+Through all their labyrinths; and let the maid
+Blush keenly, as with some warm kiss surpris'd.
+Chief isle of the embowered Cyclades,
+Rejoice, O Delos, with thine olives green,
+And poplars, and lawn-shading palms, and beech,
+In which the Zephyr breathes the loudest song,
+And hazels thick, dark-stemm'd beneath the shade:
+Apollo is once more the golden theme!
+Where was he, when the Giant of the sun
+Stood bright, amid the sorrow of his peers?
+Together had he left his mother fair
+And his twin-sister sleeping in their bower,
+And in the morning twilight wandered forth
+Beside the osiers of a rivulet,
+Full ankle-deep in lilies of the vale.
+The nightingale had ceas'd, and a few stars
+Were lingering in the heavens, while the thrush
+Began calm-throated. Throughout all the isle
+There was no covert, no retired cave,
+Unhaunted by the murmurous noise of waves,
+Though scarcely heard in many a green recess.
+He listen'd, and he wept, and his bright tears
+Went trickling down the golden bow he held.
+Thus with half-shut suffused eyes he stood,
+While from beneath some cumbrous boughs hard by
+With solemn step an awful Goddess came,
+And there was purport in her looks for him,
+Which he with eager guess began to read
+Perplex'd, the while melodiously he said:
+"How cam'st thou over the unfooted sea?
+Or hath that antique mien and robed form
+Mov'd in these vales invisible till now?
+Sure I have heard those vestments sweeping o'er
+The fallen leaves, when I have sat alone
+In cool mid-forest. Surely I have traced
+The rustle of those ample skirts about
+These grassy solitudes, and seen the flowers
+Lift up their heads, as still the whisper pass'd.
+Goddess! I have beheld those eyes before,
+And their eternal calm, and all that face,
+Or I have dream'd."---"Yes," said the supreme shape,
+"Thou hast dream'd of me; and awaking up
+Didst find a lyre all golden by thy side,
+Whose strings touch'd by thy fingers, all the vast
+Unwearied ear of the whole universe
+Listen'd in pain and pleasure at the birth
+Of such new tuneful wonder. Is't not strange
+That thou shouldst weep, so gifted? Tell me, youth,
+What sorrow thou canst feel; for I am sad
+When thou dost shed a tear: explain thy griefs
+To one who in this lonely isle hath been
+The watcher of thy sleep and hours of life,
+From the young day when first thy infant hand
+Pluck'd witless the weak flowers, till thine arm
+Could bend that bow heroic to all times.
+Show thy heart's secret to an ancient Power
+Who hath forsaken old and sacred thrones
+For prophecies of thee, and for the sake
+Of loveliness new born."---Apollo then,
+With sudden scrutiny and gloomless eyes,
+Thus answer'd, while his white melodious throat
+Throbb'd with the syllables.---"Mnemosyne!
+Thy name is on my tongue, I know not how;
+Why should I tell thee what thou so well seest?
+Why should I strive to show what from thy lips
+Would come no mystery? For me, dark, dark,
+And painful vile oblivion seals my eyes:
+I strive to search wherefore I am so sad,
+Until a melancholy numbs my limbs;
+And then upon the grass I sit, and moan,
+Like one who once had wings.---O why should I
+Feel curs'd and thwarted, when the liegeless air
+Yields to my step aspirant? why should I
+Spurn the green turf as hateful to my feet?
+Goddess benign, point forth some unknown thing:
+Are there not other regions than this isle?
+What are the stars? There is the sun, the sun!
+And the most patient brilliance of the moon!
+And stars by thousands! Point me out the way
+To any one particular beauteous star,
+And I will flit into it with my lyre,
+And make its silvery splendor pant with bliss.
+I have heard the cloudy thunder: Where is power?
+Whose hand, whose essence, what divinity
+Makes this alarum in the elements,
+While I here idle listen on the shores
+In fearless yet in aching ignorance?
+O tell me, lonely Goddess, by thy harp,
+That waileth every morn and eventide,
+Tell me why thus I rave about these groves!
+Mute thou remainest---Mute! yet I can read
+A wondrous lesson in thy silent face:
+Knowledge enormous makes a God of me.
+Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions,
+Majesties, sovran voices, agonies,
+Creations and destroyings, all at once
+Pour into the wide hollows of my brain,
+And deify me, as if some blithe wine
+Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk,
+And so become immortal."---Thus the God,
+While his enkindled eyes, with level glance
+Beneath his white soft temples, steadfast kept
+Trembling with light upon Mnemosyne.
+Soon wild commotions shook him, and made flush
+All the immortal fairness of his limbs;
+Most like the struggle at the gate of death;
+Or liker still to one who should take leave
+Of pale immortal death, and with a pang
+As hot as death's is chill, with fierce convulse
+Die into life: so young Apollo anguish'd:
+His very hair, his golden tresses famed,
+Kept undulation round his eager neck.
+During the pain Mnemosyne upheld
+Her arms as one who prophesied. At length
+Apollo shriek'd;---and lo! from all his limbs
+Celestial.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	19. To My Brother George	|	<poem>
+Many the wonders I this day have seen:
+The sun, when first he kissed away the tears
+That filled the eyes of Morn;—the laurelled peers
+Who from the feathery gold of evening lean;—
+The ocean with its vastness, its blue green,
+Its ships, its rocks, its caves, its hopes, its fears,
+Its voice mysterious, which whoso hears
+Must think on what will be, and what has been.
+E'en now, dear George, while this for you I write,
+Cynthia is from her silken curtains peeping
+So scantly, that it seems her bridal night,
+And she her half-discovered revels keeping.
+But what, without the social thought of thee,
+Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	20. The Eve Of St. Agnes	|	<poem>
+St. Agnes' Eve--Ah, bitter chill it was!
+The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
+The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
+And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
+Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told
+His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
+Like pious incense from a censer old,
+Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,
+Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.
+His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;
+Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees,
+And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,
+Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:
+The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze,
+Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails:
+Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries,
+He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails
+To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.
+Northward he turneth through a little door,
+And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue
+Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor;
+But no--already had his deathbell rung;
+The joys of all his life were said and sung:
+His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve:
+Another way he went, and soon among
+Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve,
+And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve.
+That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;
+And so it chanc'd, for many a door was wide,
+From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft,
+The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide:
+The level chambers, ready with their pride,
+Were glowing to receive a thousand guests:
+The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,
+Star'd, where upon their heads the cornice rests,
+With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts.
+At length burst in the argent revelry,
+With plume, tiara, and all rich array,
+Numerous as shadows haunting faerily
+The brain, new stuff'd, in youth, with triumphs gay
+Of old romance. These let us wish away,
+And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there,
+Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day,
+On love, and wing'd St. Agnes' saintly care,
+As she had heard old dames full many times declare.
+They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,
+Young virgins might have visions of delight,
+And soft adorings from their loves receive
+Upon the honey'd middle of the night,
+If ceremonies due they did aright;
+As, supperless to bed they must retire,
+And couch supine their beauties, lily white;
+Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require
+Of Heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.
+Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:
+The music, yearning like a God in pain,
+She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine,
+Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train
+Pass by--she heeded not at all: in vain
+Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier,
+And back retir'd; not cool'd by high disdain,
+But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere:
+She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year.
+She danc'd along with vague, regardless eyes,
+Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short:
+The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she sighs
+Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort
+Of whisperers in anger, or in sport;
+'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn,
+Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort,
+Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn,
+And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.
+So, purposing each moment to retire,
+She linger'd still. Meantime, across the moors,
+Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire
+For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,
+Buttress'd from moonlight, stands he, and implores
+All saints to give him sight of Madeline,
+But for one moment in the tedious hours,
+That he might gaze and worship all unseen;
+Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss--in sooth such things have been.
+He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell:
+All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords
+Will storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel:
+For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes,
+Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords,
+Whose very dogs would execrations howl
+Against his lineage: not one breast affords
+Him any mercy, in that mansion foul,
+Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul.
+Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came,
+Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand,
+To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame,
+Behind a broad half-pillar, far beyond
+The sound of merriment and chorus bland:
+He startled her; but soon she knew his face,
+And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand,
+Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place;
+They are all here to-night, the whole blood-thirsty race!
+"Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand;
+He had a fever late, and in the fit
+He cursed thee and thine, both house and land:
+Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit
+More tame for his gray hairs--Alas me! flit!
+Flit like a ghost away."--"Ah, Gossip dear,
+We're safe enough; here in this arm-chair sit,
+And tell me how"--"Good Saints! not here, not here;
+Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier."
+He follow'd through a lowly arched way,
+Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume,
+And as she mutter'd "Well-a--well-a-day!"
+He found him in a little moonlight room,
+Pale, lattic'd, chill, and silent as a tomb.
+"Now tell me where is Madeline," said he,
+"O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom
+Which none but secret sisterhood may see,
+When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously."
+"St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve--
+Yet men will murder upon holy days:
+Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve,
+And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays,
+To venture so: it fills me with amaze
+To see thee, Porphyro!--St. Agnes' Eve!
+God's help! my lady fair the conjuror plays
+This very night: good angels her deceive!
+But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to grieve."
+Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon,
+While Porphyro upon her face doth look,
+Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone
+Who keepeth clos'd a wond'rous riddle-book,
+As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.
+But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told
+His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook
+Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold,
+And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.
+Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,
+Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart
+Made purple riot: then doth he propose
+A stratagem, that makes the beldame start:
+"A cruel man and impious thou art:
+Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream
+Alone with her good angels, far apart
+From wicked men like thee. Go, go!--I deem
+Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem."
+"I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,"
+Quoth Porphyro: "O may I ne'er find grace
+When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer,
+If one of her soft ringlets I displace,
+Or look with ruffian passion in her face:
+Good Angela, believe me by these tears;
+Or I will, even in a moment's space,
+Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears,
+And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and bears."
+"Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?
+A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing,
+Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;
+Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,
+Were never miss'd."--Thus plaining, doth she bring
+A gentler speech from burning Porphyro;
+So woful, and of such deep sorrowing,
+That Angela gives promise she will do
+Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe.
+Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy,
+Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide
+Him in a closet, of such privacy
+That he might see her beauty unespy'd,
+And win perhaps that night a peerless bride,
+While legion'd faeries pac'd the coverlet,
+And pale enchantment held her sleepy-ey'd.
+Never on such a night have lovers met,
+Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt.
+"It shall be as thou wishest," said the Dame:
+"All cates and dainties shall be stored there
+Quickly on this feast-night: by the tambour frame
+Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare,
+For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare
+On such a catering trust my dizzy head.
+Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer
+The while: Ah! thou must needs the lady wed,
+Or may I never leave my grave among the dead."
+So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear.
+The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd;
+The dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear
+To follow her; with aged eyes aghast
+From fright of dim espial. Safe at last,
+Through many a dusky gallery, they gain
+The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd, and chaste;
+Where Porphyro took covert, pleas'd amain.
+His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain.
+Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade,
+Old Angela was feeling for the stair,
+When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid,
+Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware:
+With silver taper's light, and pious care,
+She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led
+To a safe level matting. Now prepare,
+Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed;
+She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray'd and fled.
+Out went the taper as she hurried in;
+Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died:
+She clos'd the door, she panted, all akin
+To spirits of the air, and visions wide:
+No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!
+But to her heart, her heart was voluble,
+Paining with eloquence her balmy side;
+As though a tongueless nightingale should swell
+Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.
+A casement high and triple-arch'd there was,
+All garlanded with carven imag'ries
+Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,
+And diamonded with panes of quaint device,
+Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,
+As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings;
+And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,
+And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,
+A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings.
+Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,
+And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,
+As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon;
+Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,
+And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
+And on her hair a glory, like a saint:
+She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest,
+Save wings, for heaven:--Porphyro grew faint:
+She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
+Anon his heart revives: her vespers done,
+Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;
+Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;
+Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees
+Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:
+Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,
+Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,
+In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,
+But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
+Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,
+In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay,
+Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd
+Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away;
+Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day;
+Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain;
+Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray;
+Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,
+As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.
+Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced,
+Porphyro gaz'd upon her empty dress,
+And listen'd to her breathing, if it chanced
+To wake into a slumberous tenderness;
+Which when he heard, that minute did he bless,
+And breath'd himself: then from the closet crept,
+Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness,
+And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stept,
+And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo!--how fast she slept.
+Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon
+Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set
+A table, and, half anguish'd, threw thereon
+A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet:--
+O for some drowsy Morphean amulet!
+The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,
+The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarinet,
+Affray his ears, though but in dying tone:--
+The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone.
+And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,
+In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd,
+While he forth from the closet brought a heap
+Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd;
+With jellies soother than the creamy curd,
+And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon;
+Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd
+From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,
+From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.
+These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand
+On golden dishes and in baskets bright
+Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand
+In the retired quiet of the night,
+Filling the chilly room with perfume light.--
+"And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake!
+Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite:
+Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake,
+Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache."
+Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm
+Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream
+By the dusk curtains:--'twas a midnight charm
+Impossible to melt as iced stream:
+The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam;
+Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies:
+It seem'd he never, never could redeem
+From such a stedfast spell his lady's eyes;
+So mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies.
+Awakening up, he took her hollow lute,--
+Tumultuous,--and, in chords that tenderest be,
+He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute,
+In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans mercy":
+Close to her ear touching the melody;--
+Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan:
+He ceas'd--she panted quick--and suddenly
+Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone:
+Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone.
+Her eyes were open, but she still beheld,
+Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep:
+There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd
+The blisses of her dream so pure and deep
+At which fair Madeline began to weep,
+And moan forth witless words with many a sigh;
+While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep;
+Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye,
+Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly.
+"Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now
+Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,
+Made tuneable with every sweetest vow;
+And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear:
+How chang'd thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear!
+Give me that voice again, my Porphyro,
+Those looks immortal, those complainings dear!
+Oh leave me not in this eternal woe,
+For if thy diest, my Love, I know not where to go."
+Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far
+At these voluptuous accents, he arose
+Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star
+Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose;
+Into her dream he melted, as the rose
+Blendeth its odour with the violet,--
+Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows
+Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet
+Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set.
+'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet:
+"This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!"
+'Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat:
+"No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine!
+Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine.--
+Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring?
+I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine,
+Though thou forsakest a deceived thing;--
+A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing."
+"My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!
+Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest?
+Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and vermeil dyed?
+Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest
+After so many hours of toil and quest,
+A famish'd pilgrim,--sav'd by miracle.
+Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest
+Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well
+To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.
+"Hark! 'tis an elfin-storm from faery land,
+Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed:
+Arise--arise! the morning is at hand;--
+The bloated wassaillers will never heed:--
+Let us away, my love, with happy speed;
+There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see,--
+Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead:
+Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be,
+For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee."
+She hurried at his words, beset with fears,
+For there were sleeping dragons all around,
+At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears--
+Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found.--
+In all the house was heard no human sound.
+A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by each door;
+The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound,
+Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar;
+And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.
+They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall;
+Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide;
+Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl,
+With a huge empty flaggon by his side:
+The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide,
+But his sagacious eye an inmate owns:
+By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide:--
+The chains lie silent on the footworn stones;--
+The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groans.
+And they are gone: aye, ages long ago
+These lovers fled away into the storm.
+That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe,
+And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form
+Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm,
+Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the old
+Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform;
+The Beadsman, after thousand aves told,
+For aye unsought for slept among his ashes cold.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	21. Lines	|	<poem>
+Unfelt unheard, unseen,
+I've left my little queen,
+Her languid arms in silver slumber lying:
+Ah! through their nestling touch,
+Who---who could tell how much
+There is for madness---cruel, or complying?
+Those faery lids how sleek!
+Those lips how moist!---they speak,
+In ripest quiet, shadows of sweet sounds:
+Into my fancy's ear
+Melting a burden dear,
+How "Love doth know no fulness, nor no bounds."
+True!---tender monitors!
+I bend unto your laws:
+This sweetest day for dalliance was born!
+So, without more ado,
+I'll feel my heaven anew,
+For all the blushing of the hasty morn.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	22. Ode On Indolence	|	<poem>
+One morn before me were three figures seen,
+I With bowed necks, and joined hands, side-faced;
+And one behind the other stepp'd serene,
+In placid sandals, and in white robes graced;
+They pass'd, like figures on a marble urn,
+When shifted round to see the other side;
+They came again; as when the urn once more
+Is shifted round, the first seen shades return;
+And they were strange to me, as may betide
+With vases, to one deep in Phidian lore.
+How is it, Shadows! that I knew ye not?
+How came ye muffled in so hush a masque?
+Was it a silent deep-disguised plot
+To steal away, and leave without a task
+My idle days? Ripe was the drowsy hour;
+The blissful cloud of summer-indolence
+Benumb'd my eyes; my pulse grew less and less;
+Pain had no sting, and pleasure's wreath no flower:
+O, why did ye not melt, and leave my sense
+Unhaunted quite of all but---nothingness?
+A third time came they by;---alas! wherefore?
+My sleep had been embroider'd with dim dreams;
+My soul had been a lawn besprinkled o'er
+With flowers, and stirring shades, and baffled beams:
+The morn was clouded, but no shower fell,
+Tho' in her lids hung the sweet tears of May;
+The open casement press'd a new-leav'd vine,
+Let in the budding warmth and throstle's lay;
+O Shadows! 'twas a time to bid farewell!
+Upon your skirts had fallen no tears of mine.
+A third time pass'd they by, and, passing, turn'd
+Each one the face a moment whiles to me;
+Then faded, and to follow them I burn'd
+And ached for wings, because I knew the three;
+The first was a fair maid, and Love her name;
+The second was Ambition, pale of cheek,
+And ever watchful with fatigued eye;
+The last, whom I love more, the more of blame
+Is heap'd upon her, maiden most unmeek,---
+I knew to be my demon Poesy.
+They faded, and, forsooth! I wanted wings:
+O folly! What is Love! and where is it?
+And for that poor Ambition---it springs
+From a man's little heart's short fever-fit;
+For Poesy!---no,---she has not a joy,---
+At least for me,---so sweet as drowsy noons,
+And evenings steep'd in honied indolence;
+O, for an age so shelter'd from annoy,
+That I may never know how change the moons,
+Or hear the voice of busy common-sense!
+So, ye three Ghosts, adieu! Ye cannot raise
+My head cool-bedded in the flowery grass;
+For I would not be dieted with praise,
+A pet-lamb in a sentimental farce!
+Fade sofdy from my eyes, and be once more
+In masque-like figures on the dreamy urn;
+Farewell! I yet have visions for the night,
+And for the day faint visions there is store;
+Vanish, ye Phantoms! from my idle spright,
+Into the clouds, and never more return!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	23. Endymion: Book I	|	<poem>
+ENDYMION.
+A Poetic Romance.
+"THE STRETCHED METRE OF AN AN ANTIQUE SONG."
+INSCRIBED TO THE MEMORY OF THOMAS CHATTERTON.
+Book I
+A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
+Its loveliness increases; it will never
+Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
+A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
+Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
+Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
+A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
+Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
+Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
+Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways
+Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
+Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
+From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
+Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
+For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
+With the green world they live in; and clear rills
+That for themselves a cooling covert make
+'Gainst the hot season; the mid forest brake,
+Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
+And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
+We have imagined for the mighty dead;
+All lovely tales that we have heard or read:
+An endless fountain of immortal drink,
+Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
+Nor do we merely feel these essences
+For one short hour; no, even as the trees
+That whisper round a temple become soon
+Dear as the temple's self, so does the moon,
+The passion poesy, glories infinite,
+Haunt us till they become a cheering light
+Unto our souls, and bound to us so fast,
+That, whether there be shine, or gloom o'ercast,
+They alway must be with us, or we die.
+Therefore, 'tis with full happiness that I
+Will trace the story of Endymion.
+The very music of the name has gone
+Into my being, and each pleasant scene
+Is growing fresh before me as the green
+Of our own vallies: so I will begin
+Now while I cannot hear the city's din;
+Now while the early budders are just new,
+And run in mazes of the youngest hue
+About old forests; while the willow trails
+Its delicate amber; and the dairy pails
+Bring home increase of milk. And, as the year
+Grows lush in juicy stalks, I'll smoothly steer
+My little boat, for many quiet hours,
+With streams that deepen freshly into bowers.
+Many and many a verse I hope to write,
+Before the daisies, vermeil rimm'd and white,
+Hide in deep herbage; and ere yet the bees
+Hum about globes of clover and sweet peas,
+I must be near the middle of my story.
+O may no wintry season, bare and hoary,
+See it half finished: but let Autumn bold,
+With universal tinge of sober gold,
+Be all about me when I make an end.
+And now at once, adventuresome, I send
+My herald thought into a wilderness:
+There let its trumpet blow, and quickly dress
+My uncertain path with green, that I may speed
+Easily onward, thorough flowers and weed.
+Upon the sides of Latmos was outspread
+A mighty forest; for the moist earth fed
+So plenteously all weed-hidden roots
+Into o'er-hanging boughs, and precious fruits.
+And it had gloomy shades, sequestered deep,
+Where no man went; and if from shepherd's keep
+A lamb strayed far a-down those inmost glens,
+Never again saw he the happy pens
+Whither his brethren, bleating with content,
+Over the hills at every nightfall went.
+Among the shepherds, 'twas believed ever,
+That not one fleecy lamb which thus did sever
+From the white flock, but pass'd unworried
+By angry wolf, or pard with prying head,
+Until it came to some unfooted plains
+Where fed the herds of Pan: ay great his gains
+Who thus one lamb did lose. Paths there were many,
+Winding through palmy fern, and rushes fenny,
+And ivy banks; all leading pleasantly
+To a wide lawn, whence one could only see
+Stems thronging all around between the swell
+Of turf and slanting branches: who could tell
+The freshness of the space of heaven above,
+Edg'd round with dark tree tops? through which a dove
+Would often beat its wings, and often too
+A little cloud would move across the blue.
+Full in the middle of this pleasantness
+There stood a marble altar, with a tress
+Of flowers budded newly; and the dew
+Had taken fairy phantasies to strew
+Daisies upon the sacred sward last eve,
+And so the dawned light in pomp receive.
+For 'twas the morn: Apollo's upward fire
+Made every eastern cloud a silvery pyre
+Of brightness so unsullied, that therein
+A melancholy spirit well might win
+Oblivion, and melt out his essence fine
+Into the winds: rain-scented eglantine
+Gave temperate sweets to that well-wooing sun;
+The lark was lost in him; cold springs had run
+To warm their chilliest bubbles in the grass;
+Man's voice was on the mountains; and the mass
+Of nature's lives and wonders puls'd tenfold,
+To feel this sun-rise and its glories old.
+Now while the silent workings of the dawn
+Were busiest, into that self-same lawn
+All suddenly, with joyful cries, there sped
+A troop of little children garlanded;
+Who gathering round the altar, seemed to pry
+Earnestly round as wishing to espy
+Some folk of holiday: nor had they waited
+For many moments, ere their ears were sated
+With a faint breath of music, which ev'n then
+Fill'd out its voice, and died away again.
+Within a little space again it gave
+Its airy swellings, with a gentle wave,
+To light-hung leaves, in smoothest echoes breaking
+Through copse-clad vallies,--ere their death, oer-taking
+The surgy murmurs of the lonely sea.
+And now, as deep into the wood as we
+Might mark a lynx's eye, there glimmered light
+Fair faces and a rush of garments white,
+Plainer and plainer shewing, till at last
+Into the widest alley they all past,
+Making directly for the woodland altar.
+O kindly muse! let not my weak tongue faulter
+In telling of this goodly company,
+Of their old piety, and of their glee:
+But let a portion of ethereal dew
+Fall on my head, and presently unmew
+My soul; that I may dare, in wayfaring,
+To stammer where old Chaucer used to sing.
+Leading the way, young damsels danced along,
+Bearing the burden of a shepherd song;
+Each having a white wicker over brimm'd
+With April's tender younglings: next, well trimm'd,
+A crowd of shepherds with as sunburnt looks
+As may be read of in Arcadian books;
+Such as sat listening round Apollo's pipe,
+When the great deity, for earth too ripe,
+Let his divinity o'er-flowing die
+In music, through the vales of Thessaly:
+Some idly trailed their sheep-hooks on the ground,
+And some kept up a shrilly mellow sound
+With ebon-tipped flutes: close after these,
+Now coming from beneath the forest trees,
+A venerable priest full soberly,
+Begirt with ministring looks: alway his eye
+Stedfast upon the matted turf he kept,
+And after him his sacred vestments swept.
+From his right hand there swung a vase, milk-white,
+Of mingled wine, out-sparkling generous light;
+And in his left he held a basket full
+Of all sweet herbs that searching eye could cull:
+Wild thyme, and valley-lilies whiter still
+Than Leda's love, and cresses from the rill.
+His aged head, crowned with beechen wreath,
+Seem'd like a poll of ivy in the teeth
+Of winter hoar. Then came another crowd
+Of shepherds, lifting in due time aloud
+Their share of the ditty. After them appear'd,
+Up-followed by a multitude that rear'd
+Their voices to the clouds, a fair wrought car,
+Easily rolling so as scarce to mar
+The freedom of three steeds of dapple brown:
+Who stood therein did seem of great renown
+Among the throng. His youth was fully blown,
+Shewing like Ganymede to manhood grown;
+And, for those simple times, his garments were
+A chieftain king's: beneath his breast, half bare,
+Was hung a silver bugle, and between
+His nervy knees there lay a boar-spear keen.
+A smile was on his countenance; he seem'd,
+To common lookers on, like one who dream'd
+Of idleness in groves Elysian:
+But there were some who feelingly could scan
+A lurking trouble in his nether lip,
+And see that oftentimes the reins would slip
+Through his forgotten hands: then would they sigh,
+And think of yellow leaves, of owlets cry,
+Of logs piled solemnly.--Ah, well-a-day,
+Why should our young Endymion pine away!
+Soon the assembly, in a circle rang'd,
+Stood silent round the shrine: each look was chang'd
+To sudden veneration: women meek
+Beckon'd their sons to silence; while each cheek
+Of virgin bloom paled gently for slight fear.
+Endymion too, without a forest peer,
+Stood, wan, and pale, and with an awed face,
+Among his brothers of the mountain chase.
+In midst of all, the venerable priest
+Eyed them with joy from greatest to the least,
+And, after lifting up his aged hands,
+Thus spake he: "Men of Latmos! shepherd bands!
+Whose care it is to guard a thousand flocks:
+Whether descended from beneath the rocks
+That overtop your mountains; whether come
+From vallies where the pipe is never dumb;
+Or from your swelling downs, where sweet air stirs
+Blue hare-bells lightly, and where prickly furze
+Buds lavish gold; or ye, whose precious charge
+Nibble their fill at ocean's very marge,
+Whose mellow reeds are touch'd with sounds forlorn
+By the dim echoes of old Triton's horn:
+Mothers and wives! who day by day prepare
+The scrip, with needments, for the mountain air;
+And all ye gentle girls who foster up
+Udderless lambs, and in a little cup
+Will put choice honey for a favoured youth:
+Yea, every one attend! for in good truth
+Our vows are wanting to our great god Pan.
+Are not our lowing heifers sleeker than
+Night-swollen mushrooms? Are not our wide plains
+Speckled with countless fleeces? Have not rains
+Green'd over April's lap? No howling sad
+Sickens our fearful ewes; and we have had
+Great bounty from Endymion our lord.
+The earth is glad: the merry lark has pour'd
+His early song against yon breezy sky,
+That spreads so clear o'er our solemnity."
+Thus ending, on the shrine he heap'd a spire
+Of teeming sweets, enkindling sacred fire;
+Anon he stain'd the thick and spongy sod
+With wine, in honour of the shepherd-god.
+Now while the earth was drinking it, and while
+Bay leaves were crackling in the fragrant pile,
+And gummy frankincense was sparkling bright
+'Neath smothering parsley, and a hazy light
+Spread greyly eastward, thus a chorus sang:
+"O THOU, whose mighty palace roof doth hang
+From jagged trunks, and overshadoweth
+Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth, life, death
+Of unseen flowers in heavy peacefulness;
+Who lov'st to see the hamadryads dress
+Their ruffled locks where meeting hazels darken;
+And through whole solemn hours dost sit, and hearken
+The dreary melody of bedded reeds--
+In desolate places, where dank moisture breeds
+The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth;
+Bethinking thee, how melancholy loth
+Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx--do thou now,
+By thy love's milky brow!
+By all the trembling mazes that she ran,
+Hear us, great Pan!
+"O thou, for whose soul-soothing quiet, turtles
+Passion their voices cooingly 'mong myrtles,
+What time thou wanderest at eventide
+Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the side
+Of thine enmossed realms: O thou, to whom
+Broad leaved fig trees even now foredoom
+Their ripen'd fruitage; yellow girted bees
+Their golden honeycombs; our village leas
+Their fairest-blossom'd beans and poppied corn;
+The chuckling linnet its five young unborn,
+To sing for thee; low creeping strawberries
+Their summer coolness; pent up butterflies
+Their freckled wings; yea, the fresh budding year
+All its completions--be quickly near,
+By every wind that nods the mountain pine,
+O forester divine!
+"Thou, to whom every fawn and satyr flies
+For willing service; whether to surprise
+The squatted hare while in half sleeping fit;
+Or upward ragged precipices flit
+To save poor lambkins from the eagle's maw;
+Or by mysterious enticement draw
+Bewildered shepherds to their path again;
+Or to tread breathless round the frothy main,
+And gather up all fancifullest shells
+For thee to tumble into Naiads' cells,
+And, being hidden, laugh at their out-peeping;
+Or to delight thee with fantastic leaping,
+The while they pelt each other on the crown
+With silvery oak apples, and fir cones brown--
+By all the echoes that about thee ring,
+Hear us, O satyr king!
+"O Hearkener to the loud clapping shears,
+While ever and anon to his shorn peers
+A ram goes bleating: Winder of the horn,
+When snouted wild-boars routing tender corn
+Anger our huntsman: Breather round our farms,
+To keep off mildews, and all weather harms:
+Strange ministrant of undescribed sounds,
+That come a swooning over hollow grounds,
+And wither drearily on barren moors:
+Dread opener of the mysterious doors
+Leading to universal knowledge--see,
+Great son of Dryope,
+The many that are come to pay their vows
+With leaves about their brows!
+Be still the unimaginable lodge
+For solitary thinkings; such as dodge
+Conception to the very bourne of heaven,
+Then leave the naked brain: be still the leaven,
+That spreading in this dull and clodded earth
+Gives it a touch ethereal--a new birth:
+Be still a symbol of immensity;
+A firmament reflected in a sea;
+An element filling the space between;
+An unknown--but no more: we humbly screen
+With uplift hands our foreheads, lowly bending,
+And giving out a shout most heaven rending,
+Conjure thee to receive our humble Paean,
+Upon thy Mount Lycean!
+Even while they brought the burden to a close,
+A shout from the whole multitude arose,
+That lingered in the air like dying rolls
+Of abrupt thunder, when Ionian shoals
+Of dolphins bob their noses through the brine.
+Meantime, on shady levels, mossy fine,
+Young companies nimbly began dancing
+To the swift treble pipe, and humming string.
+Aye, those fair living forms swam heavenly
+To tunes forgotten--out of memory:
+Fair creatures! whose young children's children bred
+Thermopylæ its heroes--not yet dead,
+But in old marbles ever beautiful.
+High genitors, unconscious did they cull
+Time's sweet first-fruits--they danc'd to weariness,
+And then in quiet circles did they press
+The hillock turf, and caught the latter end
+Of some strange history, potent to send
+A young mind from its bodily tenement.
+Or they might watch the quoit-pitchers, intent
+On either side; pitying the sad death
+Of Hyacinthus, when the cruel breath
+Of Zephyr slew him,--Zephyr penitent,
+Who now, ere Phoebus mounts the firmament,
+Fondles the flower amid the sobbing rain.
+The archers too, upon a wider plain,
+Beside the feathery whizzing of the shaft,
+And the dull twanging bowstring, and the raft
+Branch down sweeping from a tall ash top,
+Call'd up a thousand thoughts to envelope
+Those who would watch. Perhaps, the trembling knee
+And frantic gape of lonely Niobe,
+Poor, lonely Niobe! when her lovely young
+Were dead and gone, and her caressing tongue
+Lay a lost thing upon her paly lip,
+And very, very deadliness did nip
+Her motherly cheeks. Arous'd from this sad mood
+By one, who at a distance loud halloo'd,
+Uplifting his strong bow into the air,
+Many might after brighter visions stare:
+After the Argonauts, in blind amaze
+Tossing about on Neptune's restless ways,
+Until, from the horizon's vaulted side,
+There shot a golden splendour far and wide,
+Spangling those million poutings of the brine
+With quivering ore: 'twas even an awful shine
+From the exaltation of Apollo's bow;
+A heavenly beacon in their dreary woe.
+Who thus were ripe for high contemplating,
+Might turn their steps towards the sober ring
+Where sat Endymion and the aged priest
+'Mong shepherds gone in eld, whose looks increas'd
+The silvery setting of their mortal star.
+There they discours'd upon the fragile bar
+That keeps us from our homes ethereal;
+And what our duties there: to nightly call
+Vesper, the beauty-crest of summer weather;
+To summon all the downiest clouds together
+For the sun's purple couch; to emulate
+In ministring the potent rule of fate
+With speed of fire-tailed exhalations;
+To tint her pallid cheek with bloom, who cons
+Sweet poesy by moonlight: besides these,
+A world of other unguess'd offices.
+Anon they wander'd, by divine converse,
+Into Elysium; vieing to rehearse
+Each one his own anticipated bliss.
+One felt heart-certain that he could not miss
+His quick gone love, among fair blossom'd boughs,
+Where every zephyr-sigh pouts and endows
+Her lips with music for the welcoming.
+Another wish'd, mid that eternal spring,
+To meet his rosy child, with feathery sails,
+Sweeping, eye-earnestly, through almond vales:
+Who, suddenly, should stoop through the smooth wind,
+And with the balmiest leaves his temples bind;
+And, ever after, through those regions be
+His messenger, his little Mercury.
+Some were athirst in soul to see again
+Their fellow huntsmen o'er the wide champaign
+In times long past; to sit with them, and talk
+Of all the chances in their earthly walk;
+Comparing, joyfully, their plenteous stores
+Of happiness, to when upon the moors,
+Benighted, close they huddled from the cold,
+And shar'd their famish'd scrips. Thus all out-told
+Their fond imaginations,--saving him
+Whose eyelids curtain'd up their jewels dim,
+Endymion: yet hourly had he striven
+To hide the cankering venom, that had riven
+His fainting recollections. Now indeed
+His senses had swoon'd off: he did not heed
+The sudden silence, or the whispers low,
+Or the old eyes dissolving at his woe,
+Or anxious calls, or close of trembling palms,
+Or maiden's sigh, that grief itself embalms:
+But in the self-same fixed trance he kept,
+Like one who on the earth had never stept.
+Aye, even as dead-still as a marble man,
+Frozen in that old tale Arabian.
+Who whispers him so pantingly and close?
+Peona, his sweet sister: of all those,
+His friends, the dearest. Hushing signs she made,
+And breath'd a sister's sorrow to persuade
+A yielding up, a cradling on her care.
+Her eloquence did breathe away the curse:
+She led him, like some midnight spirit nurse
+Of happy changes in emphatic dreams,
+Along a path between two little streams,--
+Guarding his forehead, with her round elbow,
+From low-grown branches, and his footsteps slow
+From stumbling over stumps and hillocks small;
+Until they came to where these streamlets fall,
+With mingled bubblings and a gentle rush,
+Into a river, clear, brimful, and flush
+With crystal mocking of the trees and sky.
+A little shallop, floating there hard by,
+Pointed its beak over the fringed bank;
+And soon it lightly dipt, and rose, and sank,
+And dipt again, with the young couple's weight,--
+Peona guiding, through the water straight,
+Towards a bowery island opposite;
+Which gaining presently, she steered light
+Into a shady, fresh, and ripply cove,
+Where nested was an arbour, overwove
+By many a summer's silent fingering;
+To whose cool bosom she was used to bring
+Her playmates, with their needle broidery,
+And minstrel memories of times gone by.
+So she was gently glad to see him laid
+Under her favourite bower's quiet shade,
+On her own couch, new made of flower leaves,
+Dried carefully on the cooler side of sheaves
+When last the sun his autumn tresses shook,
+And the tann'd harvesters rich armfuls took.
+Soon was he quieted to slumbrous rest:
+But, ere it crept upon him, he had prest
+Peona's busy hand against his lips,
+And still, a sleeping, held her finger-tips
+In tender pressure. And as a willow keeps
+A patient watch over the stream that creeps
+Windingly by it, so the quiet maid
+Held her in peace: so that a whispering blade
+Of grass, a wailful gnat, a bee bustling
+Down in the blue-bells, or a wren light rustling
+Among seer leaves and twigs, might all be heard.
+O magic sleep! O comfortable bird,
+That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind
+Till it is hush'd and smooth! O unconfin'd
+Restraint! imprisoned liberty! great key
+To golden palaces, strange minstrelsy,
+Fountains grotesque, new trees, bespangled caves,
+Echoing grottos, full of tumbling waves
+And moonlight; aye, to all the mazy world
+Of silvery enchantment!--who, upfurl'd
+Beneath thy drowsy wing a triple hour,
+But renovates and lives?--Thus, in the bower,
+Endymion was calm'd to life again.
+Opening his eyelids with a healthier brain,
+He said: "I feel this thine endearing love
+All through my bosom: thou art as a dove
+Trembling its closed eyes and sleeked wings
+About me; and the pearliest dew not brings
+Such morning incense from the fields of May,
+As do those brighter drops that twinkling stray
+From those kind eyes,--the very home and haunt
+Of sisterly affection. Can I want
+Aught else, aught nearer heaven, than such tears?
+Yet dry them up, in bidding hence all fears
+That, any longer, I will pass my days
+Alone and sad. No, I will once more raise
+My voice upon the mountain-heights; once more
+Make my horn parley from their foreheads hoar:
+Again my trooping hounds their tongues shall loll
+Around the breathed boar: again I'll poll
+The fair-grown yew tree, for a chosen bow:
+And, when the pleasant sun is getting low,
+Again I'll linger in a sloping mead
+To hear the speckled thrushes, and see feed
+Our idle sheep. So be thou cheered sweet,
+And, if thy lute is here, softly intreat
+My soul to keep in its resolved course."
+Hereat Peona, in their silver source,
+Shut her pure sorrow drops with glad exclaim,
+And took a lute, from which there pulsing came
+A lively prelude, fashioning the way
+In which her voice should wander. 'Twas a lay
+More subtle cadenced, more forest wild
+Than Dryope's lone lulling of her child;
+And nothing since has floated in the air
+So mournful strange. Surely some influence rare
+Went, spiritual, through the damsel's hand;
+For still, with Delphic emphasis, she spann'd
+The quick invisible strings, even though she saw
+Endymion's spirit melt away and thaw
+Before the deep intoxication.
+But soon she came, with sudden burst, upon
+Her self-possession--swung the lute aside,
+And earnestly said: "Brother, 'tis vain to hide
+That thou dost know of things mysterious,
+Immortal, starry; such alone could thus
+Weigh down thy nature. Hast thou sinn'd in aught
+Offensive to the heavenly powers? Caught
+A Paphian dove upon a message sent?
+Thy deathful bow against some deer-herd bent,
+Sacred to Dian? Haply, thou hast seen
+Her naked limbs among the alders green;
+And that, alas! is death. No, I can trace
+Something more high perplexing in thy face!"
+Endymion look'd at her, and press'd her hand,
+And said, "Art thou so pale, who wast so bland
+And merry in our meadows? How is this?
+Tell me thine ailment: tell me all amiss!--
+Ah! thou hast been unhappy at the change
+Wrought suddenly in me. What indeed more strange?
+Or more complete to overwhelm surmise?
+Ambition is no sluggard: 'tis no prize,
+That toiling years would put within my grasp,
+That I have sigh'd for: with so deadly gasp
+No man e'er panted for a mortal love.
+So all have set my heavier grief above
+These things which happen. Rightly have they done:
+I, who still saw the horizontal sun
+Heave his broad shoulder o'er the edge of the world,
+Out-facing Lucifer, and then had hurl'd
+My spear aloft, as signal for the chace--
+I, who, for very sport of heart, would race
+With my own steed from Araby; pluck down
+A vulture from his towery perching; frown
+A lion into growling, loth retire--
+To lose, at once, all my toil breeding fire,
+And sink thus low! but I will ease my breast
+Of secret grief, here in this bowery nest.
+"This river does not see the naked sky,
+Till it begins to progress silverly
+Around the western border of the wood,
+Whence, from a certain spot, its winding flood
+Seems at the distance like a crescent moon:
+And in that nook, the very pride of June,
+Had I been used to pass my weary eves;
+The rather for the sun unwilling leaves
+So dear a picture of his sovereign power,
+And I could witness his most kingly hour,
+When he doth lighten up the golden reins,
+And paces leisurely down amber plains
+His snorting four. Now when his chariot last
+Its beams against the zodiac-lion cast,
+There blossom'd suddenly a magic bed
+Of sacred ditamy, and poppies red:
+At which I wondered greatly, knowing well
+That but one night had wrought this flowery spell;
+And, sitting down close by, began to muse
+What it might mean. Perhaps, thought I, Morpheus,
+In passing here, his owlet pinions shook;
+Or, it may be, ere matron Night uptook
+Her ebon urn, young Mercury, by stealth,
+Had dipt his rod in it: such garland wealth
+Came not by common growth. Thus on I thought,
+Until my head was dizzy and distraught.
+Moreover, through the dancing poppies stole
+A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul;
+And shaping visions all about my sight
+Of colours, wings, and bursts of spangly light;
+The which became more strange, and strange, and dim,
+And then were gulph'd in a tumultuous swim:
+And then I fell asleep. Ah, can I tell
+The enchantment that afterwards befel?
+Yet it was but a dream: yet such a dream
+That never tongue, although it overteem
+With mellow utterance, like a cavern spring,
+Could figure out and to conception bring
+All I beheld and felt. Methought I lay
+Watching the zenith, where the milky way
+Among the stars in virgin splendour pours;
+And travelling my eye, until the doors
+Of heaven appear'd to open for my flight,
+I became loth and fearful to alight
+From such high soaring by a downward glance:
+So kept me stedfast in that airy trance,
+Spreading imaginary pinions wide.
+When, presently, the stars began to glide,
+And faint away, before my eager view:
+At which I sigh'd that I could not pursue,
+And dropt my vision to the horizon's verge;
+And lo! from opening clouds, I saw emerge
+The loveliest moon, that ever silver'd o'er
+A shell for Neptune's goblet: she did soar
+So passionately bright, my dazzled soul
+Commingling with her argent spheres did roll
+Through clear and cloudy, even when she went
+At last into a dark and vapoury tent--
+Whereat, methought, the lidless-eyed train
+Of planets all were in the blue again.
+To commune with those orbs, once more I rais'd
+My sight right upward: but it was quite dazed
+By a bright something, sailing down apace,
+Making me quickly veil my eyes and face:
+Again I look'd, and, O ye deities,
+Who from Olympus watch our destinies!
+Whence that completed form of all completeness?
+Whence came that high perfection of all sweetness?
+Speak, stubborn earth, and tell me where, O Where
+Hast thou a symbol of her golden hair?
+Not oat-sheaves drooping in the western sun;
+Not--thy soft hand, fair sister! let me shun
+Such follying before thee--yet she had,
+Indeed, locks bright enough to make me mad;
+And they were simply gordian'd up and braided,
+Leaving, in naked comeliness, unshaded,
+Her pearl round ears, white neck, and orbed brow;
+The which were blended in, I know not how,
+With such a paradise of lips and eyes,
+Blush-tinted cheeks, half smiles, and faintest sighs,
+That, when I think thereon, my spirit clings
+And plays about its fancy, till the stings
+Of human neighbourhood envenom all.
+Unto what awful power shall I call?
+To what high fane?--Ah! see her hovering feet,
+More bluely vein'd, more soft, more whitely sweet
+Than those of sea-born Venus, when she rose
+From out her cradle shell. The wind out-blows
+Her scarf into a fluttering pavilion;
+'Tis blue, and over-spangled with a million
+Of little eyes, as though thou wert to shed,
+Over the darkest, lushest blue-bell bed,
+Handfuls of daisies."--"Endymion, how strange!
+Dream within dream!"--"She took an airy range,
+And then, towards me, like a very maid,
+Came blushing, waning, willing, and afraid,
+And press'd me by the hand: Ah! 'twas too much;
+Methought I fainted at the charmed touch,
+Yet held my recollection, even as one
+Who dives three fathoms where the waters run
+Gurgling in beds of coral: for anon,
+I felt upmounted in that region
+Where falling stars dart their artillery forth,
+And eagles struggle with the buffeting north
+That balances the heavy meteor-stone;--
+Felt too, I was not fearful, nor alone,
+But lapp'd and lull'd along the dangerous sky.
+Soon, as it seem'd, we left our journeying high,
+And straightway into frightful eddies swoop'd;
+Such as ay muster where grey time has scoop'd
+Huge dens and caverns in a mountain's side:
+There hollow sounds arous'd me, and I sigh'd
+To faint once more by looking on my bliss--
+I was distracted; madly did I kiss
+The wooing arms which held me, and did give
+My eyes at once to death: but 'twas to live,
+To take in draughts of life from the gold fount
+Of kind and passionate looks; to count, and count
+The moments, by some greedy help that seem'd
+A second self, that each might be redeem'd
+And plunder'd of its load of blessedness.
+Ah, desperate mortal! I ev'n dar'd to press
+Her very cheek against my crowned lip,
+And, at that moment, felt my body dip
+Into a warmer air: a moment more,
+Our feet were soft in flowers. There was store
+Of newest joys upon that alp. Sometimes
+A scent of violets, and blossoming limes,
+Loiter'd around us; then of honey cells,
+Made delicate from all white-flower bells;
+And once, above the edges of our nest,
+An arch face peep'd,--an Oread as I guess'd.
+"Why did I dream that sleep o'er-power'd me
+In midst of all this heaven? Why not see,
+Far off, the shadows of his pinions dark,
+And stare them from me? But no, like a spark
+That needs must die, although its little beam
+Reflects upon a diamond, my sweet dream
+Fell into nothing--into stupid sleep.
+And so it was, until a gentle creep,
+A careful moving caught my waking ears,
+And up I started: Ah! my sighs, my tears,
+My clenched hands;--for lo! the poppies hung
+Dew-dabbled on their stalks, the ouzel sung
+A heavy ditty, and the sullen day
+Had chidden herald Hesperus away,
+With leaden looks: the solitary breeze
+Bluster'd, and slept, and its wild self did teaze
+With wayward melancholy; and r thought,
+Mark me, Peona! that sometimes it brought
+Faint fare-thee-wells, and sigh-shrilled adieus!--
+Away I wander'd--all the pleasant hues
+Of heaven and earth had faded: deepest shades
+Were deepest dungeons; heaths and sunny glades
+Were full of pestilent light; our taintless rills
+Seem'd sooty, and o'er-spread with upturn'd gills
+Of dying fish; the vermeil rose had blown
+In frightful scarlet, and its thorns out-grown
+Like spiked aloe. If an innocent bird
+Before my heedless footsteps stirr'd, and stirr'd
+In little journeys, I beheld in it
+A disguis'd demon, missioned to knit
+My soul with under darkness; to entice
+My stumblings down some monstrous precipice:
+Therefore I eager followed, and did curse
+The disappointment. Time, that aged nurse,
+Rock'd me to patience. Now, thank gentle heaven!
+These things, with all their comfortings, are given
+To my down-sunken hours, and with thee,
+Sweet sister, help to stem the ebbing sea
+Of weary life."
+Thus ended he, and both
+Sat silent: for the maid was very loth
+To answer; feeling well that breathed words
+Would all be lost, unheard, and vain as swords
+Against the enchased crocodile, or leaps
+Of grasshoppers against the sun. She weeps,
+And wonders; struggles to devise some blame;
+To put on such a look as would say, Shame
+On this poor weakness! but, for all her strife,
+She could as soon have crush'd away the life
+From a sick dove. At length, to break the pause,
+She said with trembling chance: "Is this the cause?
+This all? Yet it is strange, and sad, alas!
+That one who through this middle earth should pass
+Most like a sojourning demi-god, and leave
+His name upon the harp-string, should achieve
+No higher bard than simple maidenhood,
+Singing alone, and fearfully,--how the blood
+Left his young cheek; and how he used to stray
+He knew not where; and how he would say, nay,
+If any said 'twas love: and yet 'twas love;
+What could it be but love? How a ring-dove
+Let fall a sprig of yew tree in his path;
+And how he died: and then, that love doth scathe,
+The gentle heart, as northern blasts do roses;
+And then the ballad of his sad life closes
+With sighs, and an alas!--Endymion!
+Be rather in the trumpet's mouth,--anon
+Among the winds at large--that all may hearken!
+Although, before the crystal heavens darken,
+I watch and dote upon the silver lakes
+Pictur'd in western cloudiness, that takes
+The semblance of gold rocks and bright gold sands,
+Islands, and creeks, and amber-fretted strands
+With horses prancing o'er them, palaces
+And towers of amethyst,--would I so tease
+My pleasant days, because I could not mount
+Into those regions? The Morphean fount
+Of that fine element that visions, dreams,
+And fitful whims of sleep are made of, streams
+Into its airy channels with so subtle,
+So thin a breathing, not the spider's shuttle,
+Circled a million times within the space
+Of a swallow's nest-door, could delay a trace,
+A tinting of its quality: how light
+Must dreams themselves be; seeing they're more slight
+Than the mere nothing that engenders them!
+Then wherefore sully the entrusted gem
+Of high and noble life with thoughts so sick?
+Why pierce high-fronted honour to the quick
+For nothing but a dream?" Hereat the youth
+Look'd up: a conflicting of shame and ruth
+Was in his plaited brow: yet his eyelids
+Widened a little, as when Zephyr bids
+A little breeze to creep between the fans
+Of careless butterflies: amid his pains
+He seem'd to taste a drop of manna-dew,
+Full palatable; and a colour grew
+Upon his cheek, while thus he lifeful spake.
+"Peona! ever have I long'd to slake
+My thirst for the world's praises: nothing base,
+No merely slumberous phantasm, could unlace
+The stubborn canvas for my voyage prepar'd--
+Though now 'tis tatter'd; leaving my bark bar'd
+And sullenly drifting: yet my higher hope
+Is of too wide, too rainbow-large a scope,
+To fret at myriads of earthly wrecks.
+Wherein lies happiness? In that which becks
+Our ready minds to fellowship divine,
+A fellowship with essence; till we shine,
+Full alchemiz'd, and free of space. Behold
+The clear religion of heaven! Fold
+A rose leaf round thy finger's taperness,
+And soothe thy lips: hist, when the airy stress
+Of music's kiss impregnates the free winds,
+And with a sympathetic touch unbinds
+Eolian magic from their lucid wombs:
+Then old songs waken from enclouded tombs;
+Old ditties sigh above their father's grave;
+Ghosts of melodious prophecyings rave
+Round every spot where trod Apollo's foot;
+Bronze clarions awake, and faintly bruit,
+Where long ago a giant battle was;
+And, from the turf, a lullaby doth pass
+In every place where infant Orpheus slept.
+Feel we these things?--that moment have we stept
+Into a sort of oneness, and our state
+Is like a floating spirit's. But there are
+Richer entanglements, enthralments far
+More self-destroying, leading, by degrees,
+To the chief intensity: the crown of these
+Is made of love and friendship, and sits high
+Upon the forehead of humanity.
+All its more ponderous and bulky worth
+Is friendship, whence there ever issues forth
+A steady splendour; but at the tip-top,
+There hangs by unseen film, an orbed drop
+Of light, and that is love: its influence,
+Thrown in our eyes, genders a novel sense,
+At which we start and fret; till in the end,
+Melting into its radiance, we blend,
+Mingle, and so become a part of it,--
+Nor with aught else can our souls interknit
+So wingedly: when we combine therewith,
+Life's self is nourish'd by its proper pith,
+And we are nurtured like a pelican brood.
+Aye, so delicious is the unsating food,
+That men, who might have tower'd in the van
+Of all the congregated world, to fan
+And winnow from the coming step of time
+All chaff of custom, wipe away all slime
+Left by men-slugs and human serpentry,
+Have been content to let occasion die,
+Whilst they did sleep in love's elysium.
+And, truly, I would rather be struck dumb,
+Than speak against this ardent listlessness:
+For I have ever thought that it might bless
+The world with benefits unknowingly;
+As does the nightingale, upperched high,
+And cloister'd among cool and bunched leaves--
+She sings but to her love, nor e'er conceives
+How tiptoe Night holds back her dark-grey hood.
+Just so may love, although 'tis understood
+The mere commingling of passionate breath,
+Produce more than our searching witnesseth:
+What I know not: but who, of men, can tell
+That flowers would bloom, or that green fruit would swell
+To melting pulp, that fish would have bright mail,
+The earth its dower of river, wood, and vale,
+The meadows runnels, runnels pebble-stones,
+The seed its harvest, or the lute its tones,
+Tones ravishment, or ravishment its sweet,
+If human souls did never kiss and greet?
+"Now, if this earthly love has power to make
+Men's being mortal, immortal; to shake
+Ambition from their memories, and brim
+Their measure of content; what merest whim,
+Seems all this poor endeavour after fame,
+To one, who keeps within his stedfast aim
+A love immortal, an immortal too.
+Look not so wilder'd; for these things are true,
+And never can be born of atomies
+That buzz about our slumbers, like brain-flies,
+Leaving us fancy-sick. No, no, I'm sure,
+My restless spirit never could endure
+To brood so long upon one luxury,
+Unless it did, though fearfully, espy
+A hope beyond the shadow of a dream.
+My sayings will the less obscured seem,
+When I have told thee how my waking sight
+Has made me scruple whether that same night
+Was pass'd in dreaming. Hearken, sweet Peona!
+Beyond the matron-temple of Latona,
+Which we should see but for these darkening boughs,
+Lies a deep hollow, from whose ragged brows
+Bushes and trees do lean all round athwart,
+And meet so nearly, that with wings outraught,
+And spreaded tail, a vulture could not glide
+Past them, but he must brush on every side.
+Some moulder'd steps lead into this cool cell,
+Far as the slabbed margin of a well,
+Whose patient level peeps its crystal eye
+Right upward, through the bushes, to the sky.
+Oft have I brought thee flowers, on their stalks set
+Like vestal primroses, but dark velvet
+Edges them round, and they have golden pits:
+'Twas there I got them, from the gaps and slits
+In a mossy stone, that sometimes was my seat,
+When all above was faint with mid-day heat.
+And there in strife no burning thoughts to heed,
+I'd bubble up the water through a reed;
+So reaching back to boy-hood: make me ships
+Of moulted feathers, touchwood, alder chips,
+With leaves stuck in them; and the Neptune be
+Of their petty ocean. Oftener, heavily,
+When love-lorn hours had left me less a child,
+I sat contemplating the figures wild
+Of o'er-head clouds melting the mirror through.
+Upon a day, while thus I watch'd, by flew
+A cloudy Cupid, with his bow and quiver;
+So plainly character'd, no breeze would shiver
+The happy chance: so happy, I was fain
+To follow it upon the open plain,
+And, therefore, was just going; when, behold!
+A wonder, fair as any I have told--
+The same bright face I tasted in my sleep,
+Smiling in the clear well. My heart did leap
+Through the cool depth.--It moved as if to flee--
+I started up, when lo! refreshfully,
+There came upon my face, in plenteous showers,
+Dew-drops, and dewy buds, and leaves, and flowers,
+Wrapping all objects from my smothered sight,
+Bathing my spirit in a new delight.
+Aye, such a breathless honey-feel of bliss
+Alone preserved me from the drear abyss
+Of death, for the fair form had gone again.
+Pleasure is oft a visitant; but pain
+Clings cruelly to us, like the gnawing sloth
+On the deer's tender haunches: late, and loth,
+'Tis scar'd away by slow returning pleasure.
+How sickening, how dark the dreadful leisure
+Of weary days, made deeper exquisite,
+By a fore-knowledge of unslumbrous night!
+Like sorrow came upon me, heavier still,
+Than when I wander'd from the poppy hill:
+And a whole age of lingering moments crept
+Sluggishly by, ere more contentment swept
+Away at once the deadly yellow spleen.
+Yes, thrice have I this fair enchantment seen;
+Once more been tortured with renewed life.
+When last the wintry gusts gave over strife
+With the conquering sun of spring, and left the skies
+Warm and serene, but yet with moistened eyes
+In pity of the shatter'd infant buds,--
+That time thou didst adorn, with amber studs,
+My hunting cap, because I laugh'd and smil'd,
+Chatted with thee, and many days exil'd
+All torment from my breast;--'twas even then,
+Straying about, yet, coop'd up in the den
+Of helpless discontent,--hurling my lance
+From place to place, and following at chance,
+At last, by hap, through some young trees it struck,
+And, plashing among bedded pebbles, stuck
+In the middle of a brook,--whose silver ramble
+Down twenty little falls, through reeds and bramble,
+Tracing along, it brought me to a cave,
+Whence it ran brightly forth, and white did lave
+The nether sides of mossy stones and rock,--
+'Mong which it gurgled blythe adieus, to mock
+Its own sweet grief at parting. Overhead,
+Hung a lush screen of drooping weeds, and spread
+Thick, as to curtain up some wood-nymph's home.
+"Ah! impious mortal, whither do I roam?"
+Said I, low voic'd: "Ah whither! 'Tis the grot
+Of Proserpine, when Hell, obscure and hot,
+Doth her resign; and where her tender hands
+She dabbles, on the cool and sluicy sands:
+Or 'tis the cell of Echo, where she sits,
+And babbles thorough silence, till her wits
+Are gone in tender madness, and anon,
+Faints into sleep, with many a dying tone
+Of sadness. O that she would take my vows,
+And breathe them sighingly among the boughs,
+To sue her gentle ears for whose fair head,
+Daily, I pluck sweet flowerets from their bed,
+And weave them dyingly--send honey-whispers
+Round every leaf, that all those gentle lispers
+May sigh my love unto her pitying!
+O charitable echo! hear, and sing
+This ditty to her!--tell her"--so I stay'd
+My foolish tongue, and listening, half afraid,
+Stood stupefied with my own empty folly,
+And blushing for the freaks of melancholy.
+Salt tears were coming, when I heard my name
+Most fondly lipp'd, and then these accents came:
+‘Endymion! the cave is secreter
+Than the isle of Delos. Echo hence shall stir
+No sighs but sigh-warm kisses, or light noise
+Of thy combing hand, the while it travelling cloys
+And trembles through my labyrinthine hair."
+At that oppress'd I hurried in.--Ah! where
+Are those swift moments? Whither are they fled?
+I'll smile no more, Peona; nor will wed
+Sorrow the way to death, but patiently
+Bear up against it: so farewel, sad sigh;
+And come instead demurest meditation,
+To occupy me wholly, and to fashion
+My pilgrimage for the world's dusky brink.
+No more will I count over, link by link,
+My chain of grief: no longer strive to find
+A half-forgetfulness in mountain wind
+Blustering about my ears: aye, thou shalt see,
+Dearest of sisters, what my life shall be;
+What a calm round of hours shall make my days.
+There is a paly flame of hope that plays
+Where'er I look: but yet, I'll say 'tis naught--
+And here I bid it die. Have not I caught,
+Already, a more healthy countenance?
+By this the sun is setting; we may chance
+Meet some of our near-dwellers with my car."
+This said, he rose, faint-smiling like a star
+Through autumn mists, and took Peona's hand:
+They stept into the boat, and launch'd from land.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	24. Bright Star, Would I Were Steadfast As Thou Art	|	<poem>
+Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art—
+Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night
+And watching, with eternal lids apart,
+Like nature's patient, sleepless Eremite,
+The moving waters at their priestlike task
+Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
+Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
+Of snow upon the mountains and the moors—
+No—yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
+Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
+To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
+Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
+Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
+And so live ever—or else swoon to death.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	25. Robin Hood	|	<poem>
+to a friend
+No! those days are gone away
+And their hours are old and gray,
+And their minutes buried all
+Under the down-trodden pall
+Of the leaves of many years:
+Many times have winter's shears,
+Frozen North, and chilling East,
+Sounded tempests to the feast
+Of the forest's whispering fleeces,
+Since men knew nor rent nor leases.
+No, the bugle sounds no more,
+And the twanging bow no more;
+Silent is the ivory shrill
+Past the heath and up the hill;
+There is no mid-forest laugh,
+Where lone Echo gives the half
+To some wight, amaz'd to hear
+Jesting, deep in forest drear.
+On the fairest time of June
+You may go, with sun or moon,
+Or the seven stars to light you,
+Or the polar ray to right you;
+But you never may behold
+Little John, or Robin bold;
+Never one, of all the clan,
+Thrumming on an empty can
+Some old hunting ditty, while
+He doth his green way beguile
+To fair hostess Merriment,
+Down beside the pasture Trent;
+For he left the merry tale
+Messenger for spicy ale.
+Gone, the merry morris din;
+Gone, the song of Gamelyn;
+Gone, the tough-belted outlaw
+Idling in the "grenè shawe";
+All are gone away and past!
+And if Robin should be cast
+Sudden from his turfed grave,
+And if Marian should have
+Once again her forest days,
+She would weep, and he would craze:
+He would swear, for all his oaks,
+Fall'n beneath the dockyard strokes,
+Have rotted on the briny seas;
+She would weep that her wild bees
+Sang not to her--strange! that honey
+Can't be got without hard money!
+So it is: yet let us sing,
+Honour to the old bow-string!
+Honour to the bugle-horn!
+Honour to the woods unshorn!
+Honour to the Lincoln green!
+Honour to the archer keen!
+Honour to tight little John,
+And the horse he rode upon!
+Honour to bold Robin Hood,
+Sleeping in the underwood!
+Honour to maid Marian,
+And to all the Sherwood-clan!
+Though their days have hurried by
+Let us two a burden try.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	26. On Fame	|	<poem>
+Fame, like a wayward girl, will still be coy
+To those who woo her with too slavish knees,
+But makes surrender to some thoughtless boy,
+And dotes the more upon a heart at ease;
+She is a Gypsy,—will not speak to those
+Who have not learnt to be content without her;
+A Jilt, whose ear was never whispered close,
+Who thinks they scandal her who talk about her;
+A very Gypsy is she, Nilus-born,
+Sister-in-law to jealous Potiphar;
+Ye love-sick Bards! repay her scorn for scorn;
+Ye Artists lovelorn! madmen that ye are!
+Makeyour best bow to her and bid adieu,
+Then, if she likes it, she will follow you.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	27. On Seeing The Elgin Marbles For The First Time	|	<poem>
+My spirit is too weak; mortality
+Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep,
+And each imagined pinnacle and steep
+Of godlike hardship tells me I must die
+Like a sick eagle looking at the sky.
+Yet 'tis a gentle luxury to weep,
+That I have not the cloudy winds to keep
+Fresh for the opening of the morning's eye.
+Such dim-conceived glories of the brain
+Bring round the heart an indescribable feud;
+So do these wonders a most dizzy pain,
+That mingles Grecian grandeur with the rude
+Wasting of old Time—with a billowy main,
+A sun, a shadow of a magnitude.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	28. Why Did I Laugh Tonight? No Voice Will Tell	|	<poem>
+Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell:
+No God, no Demon of severe response,
+Deigns to reply from Heaven or from Hell.
+Then to my human heart I turn at once.
+Heart! Thou and I are here, sad and alone;
+I say, why did I laugh? O mortal pain!
+O Darkness! Darkness! ever must I moan,
+To question Heaven and Hell and Heart in vain.
+Why did I laugh? I know this Being's lease,
+My fancy to its utmost blisses spreads;
+Yet would I on this very midnight cease,
+And the world's gaudy ensigns see in shreds;
+Verse, Fame, and Beauty are intense indeed,
+But Death intenser—Death is Life's high meed.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	29. To A Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses	|	<poem>
+As late I rambled in the happy fields,
+What time the skylark shakes the tremulous dew
+From his lush clover covert;—when anew
+Adventurous knights take up their dinted shields;
+I saw the sweetest flower wild nature yields,
+A fresh-blown musk-rose; 'twas the first that threw
+Its sweets upon the summer: graceful it grew
+As is the wand that Queen Titania wields.
+And, as I feasted on its fragrancy,
+I thought the garden-rose it far excelled;
+But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me,
+My sense with their deliciousness was spelled:
+Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
+Whispered of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquelled.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	30. Happy Is England! I Could Be Content	|	<poem>
+Happy is England! I could be content
+To see no other verdure than its own;
+To feel no other breezes than are blown
+Through its tall woods with high romances blent;
+Yet do I sometimes feel a languishment
+For skies Italian, and an inward groan
+To sit upon an Alp as on a throne,
+And half forget what world or worldling meant.
+Happy is England, sweet her artless daughters;
+Enough their simple loveliness for me,
+Enough their whitest arms in silence clinging;
+Yet do I often warmly burn to see
+Beauties of deeper glance, and hear their singing,
+And float with them about the summer waters.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	31. Epistle To My Brother George	|	<poem>
+Full many a dreary hour have I past,
+My brain bewildered, and my mind o'ercast
+With heaviness; in seasons when I've thought
+No spherey strains by me could e'er be caught
+From the blue dome, though I to dimness gaze
+On the far depth where sheeted lightning plays;
+Or, on the wavy grass outstretched supinely,
+Pry 'mong the stars, to strive to think divinely:
+That I should never hear Apollo's song,
+Though feathery clouds were floating all along
+The purple west, and, two bright streaks between,
+The golden lyre itself were dimly seen:
+That the still murmur of the honey bee
+Would never teach a rural song to me:
+That the bright glance from beauty's eyelids slanting
+Would never make a lay of mine enchanting,
+Or warm my breast with ardour to unfold
+Some tale of love and arms in time of old.
+But there are times, when those that love the bay,
+Fly from all sorrowing far, far away;
+A sudden glow comes on them, nought they see
+In water, earth, or air, but poesy.
+It has been said, dear George, and true I hold it,
+(For knightly Spenser to Libertas told it,)
+That when a Poet is in such a trance,
+In air her sees white coursers paw, and prance,
+Bestridden of gay knights, in gay apparel,
+Who at each other tilt in playful quarrel,
+And what we, ignorantly, sheet-lightning call,
+Is the swift opening of their wide portal,
+When the bright warder blows his trumpet clear,
+Whose tones reach nought on earth but Poet's ear.
+When these enchanted portals open wide,
+And through the light the horsemen swiftly glide,
+The Poet's eye can reach those golden halls,
+And view the glory of their festivals:
+Their ladies fair, that in the distance seem
+Fit for the silv'ring of a seraph's dream;
+Their rich brimmed goblets, that incessant run
+Like the bright spots that move about the sun;
+And, when upheld, the wine from each bright jar
+Pours with the lustre of a falling star.
+Yet further off, are dimly seen their bowers,
+Of which, no mortal eye can reach the flowers;
+And 'tis right just, for well Apollo knows
+'Twould make the Poet quarrel with the rose.
+All that's revealed from that far seat of blisses
+Is the clear fountains' interchanging kisses,
+As gracefully descending, light and thin,
+Like silver streaks across a dolphin's fin,
+When he upswimmeth from the coral caves,
+And sports with half his tail above the waves.
+These wonders strange he sees, and many more,
+Whose head is pregnant with poetic lore.
+Should he upon an evening ramble fare
+With forehead to the soothing breezes bare,
+Would he nought see but the dark, silent blue
+With all its diamonds trembling through and through?
+Or the coy moon, when in the waviness
+Of whitest clouds she does her beauty dress,
+And staidly paces higher up, and higher,
+Like a sweet nun in holy-day attire?
+Ah, yes! much more would start into his sight—
+The revelries and mysteries of night:
+And should I ever see them, I will tell you
+Such tales as needs must with amazement spell you.
+These are the living pleasures of the bard:
+But richer far posterity's reward.
+What does he murmur with his latest breath,
+While his proud eye looks though the film of death?
+"What though I leave this dull and earthly mould,
+Yet shall my spirit lofty converse hold
+With after times.—The patriot shall feel
+My stern alarum, and unsheath his steel;
+Or, in the senate thunder out my numbers
+To startle princes from their easy slumbers.
+The sage will mingle with each moral theme
+My happy thoughts sententious; he will teem
+With lofty periods when my verses fire him,
+And then I'll stoop from heaven to inspire him.
+Lays have I left of such a dear delight
+That maids will sing them on their bridal night.
+Gay villagers, upon a morn of May,
+When they have tired their gentle limbs with play
+And formed a snowy circle on the grass,
+And placed in midst of all that lovely lass
+Who chosen is their queen,—with her fine head
+Crowned with flowers purple, white, and red:
+For there the lily, and the musk-rose, sighing,
+Are emblems true of hapless lovers dying:
+Between her breasts, that never yet felt trouble,
+A bunch of violets full blown, and double,
+Serenely sleep:—she from a casket takes
+A little book,—and then a joy awakes
+About each youthful heart,—with stifled cries,
+And rubbing of white hands, and sparkling eyes:
+For she's to read a tale of hopes, and fears;
+One that I fostered in my youthful years:
+The pearls, that on each glist'ning circlet sleep,
+Must ever and anon with silent creep,
+Lured by the innocent dimples. To sweet rest
+Shall the dear babe, upon its mother's breast,
+Be lulled with songs of mine. Fair world, adieu!
+Thy dales, and hills, are fading from my view:
+Swiftly I mount, upon wide spreading pinions,
+Far from the narrow bound of thy dominions.
+Full joy I feel, while thus I cleave the air,
+That my soft verse will charm thy daughters fair,
+And warm thy sons!" Ah, my dear friend and brother,
+Could I, at once, my mad ambition smother,
+For tasting joys like these, sure I should be
+Happier, and dearer to society.
+At times, 'tis true, I've felt relief from pain
+When some bright thought has darted through my brain:
+Through all that day I've felt a greater pleasure
+Than if I'd brought to light a hidden treasure.
+As to my sonnets, though none else should heed them,
+I feel delighted, still, that you should read them.
+Of late, too, I have had much calm enjoyment,
+Stretched on the grass at my best loved employment
+Of scribbling lines for you. These things I thought
+While, in my face, the freshest breeze I caught.
+E'en now I'm pillowed on a bed of flowers
+That crowns a lofty clift, which proudly towers
+Above the ocean-waves, The stalks, and blades,
+Chequer my tablet with their quivering shades.
+On one side is a field of drooping oats,
+Through which the poppies show their scarlet coats;
+So pert and useless, that they bring to mind
+The scarlet coats that pester human-kind.
+And on the other side, outspread, is seen
+Ocean's blue mantle streaked with purple, and green.
+Now 'tis I see a canvassed ship, and now
+Mark the bright silver curling round her prow.
+I see the lark dowm-dropping to his nest,
+And the broad winged sea-gull never at rest;
+For when no more he spreads his feathers free,
+His breast is dancing on the restless sea.
+Now I direct my eyes into the west,
+Which at this moment is in sunbeams drest:
+Why westward turn? 'Twas but to say adieu!
+'Twas but to kiss my hand, dear George, to you!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	32. Written On A Summer Evening	|	<poem>
+The church bells toll a melancholy round,
+Calling the people to some other prayers,
+Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares,
+More harkening to the sermon's horrid sound.
+Surely the mind of man is closely bound
+In some blind spell: seeing that each one tears
+Himself from fireside joys and Lydian airs,
+And converse high of those with glory crowned.
+Still, still they toll, and I should feel a damp,
+A chill as from a tomb, did I not know
+That they are dying like an outburnt lamp,—
+That 'tis their sighing, wailing, ere they go
+Into oblivion—that fresh flowers will grow,
+And many glories of immortal stamp.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	33. The Day Is Gone, And All Its Sweets Are Gone	|	<poem>
+The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
+Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast,
+Warm breath, light whisper, tender semitone,
+Bright eyes, accomplished shape, and lang'rous waist!
+Faded the flower and all its budded charms,
+Faded the sight of beauty from my eyes,
+Faded the shape of beauty from my arms,
+Faded the voice, warmth, whiteness, paradise—
+Vanished unseasonably at shut of eve,
+When the dusk holiday—or holinight
+Of fragrant-curtained love begins to weave
+The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight;
+But, as I've read love's missal through today,
+He'll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	34. To A Young Lady Who Sent Me A Laurel Crown	|	<poem>
+Fresh morning gusts have blown away all fear
+From my glad bosom,—now from gloominess
+I mount for ever—not an atom less
+Than the proud laurel shall content my bier.
+No! by the eternal stars! or why sit here
+In the Sun's eye, and 'gainst my temples press
+Apollo's very leaves, woven to bless
+By thy white fingers and thy spirit clear.
+Lo! who dares say, "Do this"? Who dares call down
+My will from its high purpose? Who say,"Stand,"
+Or, "Go"? This mighty moment I would frown
+On abject Caesars—not the stoutest band
+Of mailed heroes should tear off my crown:
+Yet would I kneel and kiss thy gentle hand.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	35. Hither, Hither, Love	|	<poem>
+Hither hither, love---
+'Tis a shady mead---
+Hither, hither, love!
+Let us feed and feed!
+Hither, hither, sweet---
+'Tis a cowslip bed---
+Hither, hither, sweet!
+'Tis with dew bespread!
+Hither, hither, dear
+By the breath of life,
+Hither, hither, dear!---
+Be the summer's wife!
+Though one moment's pleasure
+In one moment flies---
+Though the passion's treasure
+In one moment dies;---
+Yet it has not passed---
+Think how near, how near!---
+And while it doth last,
+Think how dear, how dear!
+Hither, hither, hither
+Love its boon has sent---
+If I die and wither
+I shall die content!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	36. O Solitude! If I Must With Thee Dwell	|	<poem>
+O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,
+Let it not be among the jumbled heap
+Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,—
+Nature's observatory—whence the dell,
+In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,
+May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep
+'Mongst boughs pavilioned, where the deer's swift leap
+Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.
+But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,
+Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,
+Whose words are images of thoughts refined,
+Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be
+Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
+When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	37. If By Dull Rhymes Our English Must Be Chain'd	|	<poem>
+If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd,
+And, like Andromeda, the Sonnet sweet
+Fetter'd, in spite of pained loveliness;
+Let us find out, if we must be constrain'd,
+Sandals more interwoven and complete
+To fit the naked foot of poesy;
+Let us inspect the lyre, and weigh the stress
+Of every chord, and see what may be gain'd
+By ear industrious, and attention meet:
+Misers of sound and syllable, no less
+Than Midas of his coinage, let us be
+Jealous of dead leaves in the bay wreath crown;
+So, if we may not let the Muse be free,
+She will be bound with garlands of her own.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	38. Hymn To Apollo	|	<poem>
+God of the golden bow,
+And of the golden lyre,
+And of the golden hair,
+And of the golden fire,
+Charioteer
+Of the patient year,
+Where---where slept thine ire,
+When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,
+Thy laurel, thy glory,
+The light of thy story,
+Or was I a worm---too low crawling for death?
+O Delphic Apollo!
+The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,
+The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;
+The eagle's feathery mane
+For wrath became stiffen'd---the sound
+Of breeding thunder
+Went drowsily under,
+Muttering to be unbound.
+O why didst thou pity, and beg for a worm?
+Why touch thy soft lute
+Till the thunder was mute,
+Why was I not crush'd---such a pitiful germ?
+O Delphic Apollo!
+The Pleiades were up,
+Watching the silent air;
+The seeds and roots in Earth
+Were swelling for summer fare;
+The Ocean, its neighbour,
+Was at his old labour,
+When, who---who did dare
+To tie for a moment, thy plant round his brow,
+And grin and look proudly,
+And blaspheme so loudly,
+And live for that honour, to stoop to thee now?
+O Delphic Apollo!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	39. On Sitting Down To Read King Lear Once Again	|	<poem>
+O golden-tongued Romance with serene lute!
+Fair plumed Syren! Queen of far away!
+Leave melodizing on this wintry day,
+Shut up thine olden pages, and be mute:
+Adieu! for once again the fierce dispute,
+Betwixt damnation and impassion'd clay
+Must I burn through; once more humbly assay
+The bitter-sweet of this Shakespearian fruit.
+Chief Poet! and ye clouds of Albion,
+Begetters of our deep eternal theme,
+When through the old oak forest I am gone,
+Let me not wander in a barren dream,
+But when I am consumed in the fire,
+Give me new Phoenix wings to fly at my desire.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	40. To Fanny	|	<poem>
+I cry your mercy—pity—love!—aye, love!
+Merciful love that tantalizes not,
+One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,
+Unmasked, and being seen—without a blot!
+O! let me have thee whole,—all—all—be mine!
+That shape, that fairness, that sweet minor zest
+Of love, your kiss,—those hands, those eyes divine,
+That warm, white, lucent, million-pleasured breast,—
+Yourself—your soul—in pity give me all,
+Withhold no atom's atom or I die,
+Or living on, perhaps, your wretched thrall,
+Forget, in the mist of idle misery,
+Life's purposes,—the palate of my mind
+Losing its gust, and my ambition blind!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	41. Endymion: Book IV	|	<poem>
+Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!
+O first-born on the mountains! by the hues
+Of heaven on the spiritual air begot:
+Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,
+While yet our England was a wolfish den;
+Before our forests heard the talk of men;
+Before the first of Druids was a child;--
+Long didst thou sit amid our regions wild
+Rapt in a deep prophetic solitude.
+There came an eastern voice of solemn mood:--
+Yet wast thou patient. Then sang forth the Nine,
+Apollo's garland:--yet didst thou divine
+Such home-bred glory, that they cry'd in vain,
+"Come hither, Sister of the Island!" Plain
+Spake fair Ausonia; and once more she spake
+A higher summons:--still didst thou betake
+Thee to thy native hopes. O thou hast won
+A full accomplishment! The thing is done,
+Which undone, these our latter days had risen
+On barren souls. Great Muse, thou know'st what prison
+Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets
+Our spirit's wings: despondency besets
+Our pillows; and the fresh to-morrow morn
+Seems to give forth its light in very scorn
+Of our dull, uninspired, snail-paced lives.
+Long have I said, how happy he who shrives
+To thee! But then I thought on poets gone,
+And could not pray:--nor can I now--so on
+I move to the end in lowliness of heart.----
+"Ah, woe is me! that I should fondly part
+From my dear native land! Ah, foolish maid!
+Glad was the hour, when, with thee, myriads bade
+Adieu to Ganges and their pleasant fields!
+To one so friendless the clear freshet yields
+A bitter coolness, the ripe grape is sour:
+Yet I would have, great gods! but one short hour
+Of native air--let me but die at home."
+Endymion to heaven's airy dome
+Was offering up a hecatomb of vows,
+When these words reach'd him. Whereupon he bows
+His head through thorny-green entanglement
+Of underwood, and to the sound is bent,
+Anxious as hind towards her hidden fawn.
+"Is no one near to help me? No fair dawn
+Of life from charitable voice? No sweet saying
+To set my dull and sadden'd spirit playing?
+No hand to toy with mine? No lips so sweet
+That I may worship them? No eyelids meet
+To twinkle on my bosom? No one dies
+Before me, till from these enslaving eyes
+Redemption sparkles!--I am sad and lost."
+Thou, Carian lord, hadst better have been tost
+Into a whirlpool. Vanish into air,
+Warm mountaineer! for canst thou only bear
+A woman's sigh alone and in distress?
+See not her charms! Is Phoebe passionless?
+Phoebe is fairer far--O gaze no more:--
+Yet if thou wilt behold all beauty's store,
+Behold her panting in the forest grass!
+Do not those curls of glossy jet surpass
+For tenderness the arms so idly lain
+Amongst them? Feelest not a kindred pain,
+To see such lovely eyes in swimming search
+After some warm delight, that seems to perch
+Dovelike in the dim cell lying beyond
+Their upper lids?--Hist! "O for Hermes' wand
+To touch this flower into human shape!
+That woodland Hyacinthus could escape
+From his green prison, and here kneeling down
+Call me his queen, his second life's fair crown!
+Ah me, how I could love!--My soul doth melt
+For the unhappy youth--Love! I have felt
+So faint a kindness, such a meek surrender
+To what my own full thoughts had made too tender,
+That but for tears my life had fled away!--
+Ye deaf and senseless minutes of the day,
+And thou, old forest, hold ye this for true,
+There is no lightning, no authentic dew
+But in the eye of love: there's not a sound,
+Melodious howsoever, can confound
+The heavens and earth in one to such a death
+As doth the voice of love: there's not a breath
+Will mingle kindly with the meadow air,
+Till it has panted round, and stolen a share
+Of passion from the heart!"--
+Upon a bough
+He leant, wretched. He surely cannot now
+Thirst for another love: O impious,
+That he can even dream upon it thus!--
+Thought he, "Why am I not as are the dead,
+Since to a woe like this I have been led
+Through the dark earth, and through the wondrous sea?
+Goddess! I love thee not the less: from thee
+By Juno's smile I turn not--no, no, no--
+While the great waters are at ebb and flow.--
+I have a triple soul! O fond pretence--
+For both, for both my love is so immense,
+I feel my heart is cut in twain for them."
+And so he groan'd, as one by beauty slain.
+The lady's heart beat quick, and he could see
+Her gentle bosom heave tumultuously.
+He sprang from his green covert: there she lay,
+Sweet as a muskrose upon new-made hay;
+With all her limbs on tremble, and her eyes
+Shut softly up alive. To speak he tries.
+"Fair damsel, pity me! forgive that I
+Thus violate thy bower's sanctity!
+O pardon me, for I am full of grief--
+Grief born of thee, young angel! fairest thief!
+Who stolen hast away the wings wherewith
+I was to top the heavens. Dear maid, sith
+Thou art my executioner, and I feel
+Loving and hatred, misery and weal,
+Will in a few short hours be nothing to me,
+And all my story that much passion slew me;
+Do smile upon the evening of my days:
+And, for my tortur'd brain begins to craze,
+Be thou my nurse; and let me understand
+How dying I shall kiss that lily hand.--
+Dost weep for me? Then should I be content.
+Scowl on, ye fates! until the firmament
+Outblackens Erebus, and the full-cavern'd earth
+Crumbles into itself. By the cloud girth
+Of Jove, those tears have given me a thirst
+To meet oblivion."--As her heart would burst
+The maiden sobb'd awhile, and then replied:
+"Why must such desolation betide
+As that thou speakest of? Are not these green nooks
+Empty of all misfortune? Do the brooks
+Utter a gorgon voice? Does yonder thrush,
+Schooling its half-fledg'd little ones to brush
+About the dewy forest, whisper tales?--
+Speak not of grief, young stranger, or cold snails
+Will slime the rose to night. Though if thou wilt,
+Methinks 'twould be a guilt--a very guilt--
+Not to companion thee, and sigh away
+The light--the dusk--the dark--till break of day!"
+"Dear lady," said Endymion, "'tis past:
+I love thee! and my days can never last.
+That I may pass in patience still speak:
+Let me have music dying, and I seek
+No more delight--I bid adieu to all.
+Didst thou not after other climates call,
+And murmur about Indian streams?"--Then she,
+Sitting beneath the midmost forest tree,
+For pity sang this roundelay------
+"O Sorrow,
+Why dost borrow
+The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?--
+To give maiden blushes
+To the white rose bushes?
+Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips?
+"O Sorrow,
+Why dost borrow
+The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?--
+To give the glow-worm light?
+Or, on a moonless night,
+To tinge, on syren shores, the salt sea-spry?
+"O Sorrow,
+Why dost borrow
+The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue?--
+To give at evening pale
+Unto the nightingale,
+That thou mayst listen the cold dews among?
+"O Sorrow,
+Why dost borrow
+Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?--
+A lover would not tread
+A cowslip on the head,
+Though he should dance from eve till peep of day--
+Nor any drooping flower
+Held sacred for thy bower,
+Wherever he may sport himself and play.
+"To Sorrow
+I bade good-morrow,
+And thought to leave her far away behind;
+But cheerly, cheerly,
+She loves me dearly;
+She is so constant to me, and so kind:
+I would deceive her
+And so leave her,
+But ah! she is so constant and so kind.
+"Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,
+I sat a weeping: in the whole world wide
+There was no one to ask me why I wept,--
+And so I kept
+Brimming the water-lily cups with tears
+Cold as my fears.
+"Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,
+I sat a weeping: what enamour'd bride,
+Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds,
+But hides and shrouds
+Beneath dark palm trees by a river side?
+"And as I sat, over the light blue hills
+There came a noise of revellers: the rills
+Into the wide stream came of purple hue--
+'Twas Bacchus and his crew!
+The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrills
+From kissing cymbals made a merry din--
+'Twas Bacchus and his kin!
+Like to a moving vintage down they came,
+Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all on flame;
+All madly dancing through the pleasant valley,
+To scare thee, Melancholy!
+O then, O then, thou wast a simple name!
+And I forgot thee, as the berried holly
+By shepherds is forgotten, when, in June,
+Tall chesnuts keep away the sun and moon:--
+I rush'd into the folly!
+"Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood,
+Trifling his ivy-dart, in dancing mood,
+With sidelong laughing;
+And little rills of crimson wine imbrued
+His plump white arms, and shoulders, enough white
+For Venus' pearly bite;
+And near him rode Silenus on his ass,
+Pelted with flowers as he on did pass
+Tipsily quaffing.
+"Whence came ye, merry Damsels! whence came ye!
+So many, and so many, and such glee?
+Why have ye left your bowers desolate,
+Your lutes, and gentler fate?--
+‘We follow Bacchus! Bacchus on the wing?
+A conquering!
+Bacchus, young Bacchus! good or ill betide,
+We dance before him thorough kingdoms wide:--
+Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
+To our wild minstrelsy!'
+"Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs! whence came ye!
+So many, and so many, and such glee?
+Why have ye left your forest haunts, why left
+Your nuts in oak-tree cleft?--
+‘For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree;
+For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms,
+And cold mushrooms;
+For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth;
+Great God of breathless cups and chirping mirth!--
+Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
+To our mad minstrelsy!'
+"Over wide streams and mountains great we went,
+And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy tent,
+Onward the tiger and the leopard pants,
+With Asian elephants:
+Onward these myriads--with song and dance,
+With zebras striped, and sleek Arabians' prance,
+Web-footed alligators, crocodiles,
+Bearing upon their scaly backs, in files,
+Plump infant laughers mimicking the coil
+Of seamen, and stout galley-rowers' toil:
+With toying oars and silken sails they glide,
+Nor care for wind and tide.
+"Mounted on panthers' furs and lions' manes,
+From rear to van they scour about the plains;
+A three days' journey in a moment done:
+And always, at the rising of the sun,
+About the wilds they hunt with spear and horn,
+On spleenful unicorn.
+"I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adown
+Before the vine-wreath crown!
+I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and sing
+To the silver cymbals' ring!
+I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierce
+Old Tartary the fierce!
+The kings of Inde their jewel-sceptres vail,
+And from their treasures scatter pearled hail;
+Great Brahma from his mystic heaven groans,
+And all his priesthood moans;
+Before young Bacchus' eye-wink turning pale.--
+Into these regions came I following him,
+Sick hearted, weary--so I took a whim
+To stray away into these forests drear
+Alone, without a peer:
+And I have told thee all thou mayest hear.
+"Young stranger!
+I've been a ranger
+In search of pleasure throughout every clime:
+Alas! 'tis not for me!
+Bewitch'd I sure must be,
+To lose in grieving all my maiden prime.
+"Come then, Sorrow!
+Sweetest Sorrow!
+Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast:
+I thought to leave thee
+And deceive thee,
+But now of all the world I love thee best.
+"There is not one,
+No, no, not one
+But thee to comfort a poor lonely maid;
+Thou art her mother,
+And her brother,
+Her playmate, and her wooer in the shade."
+O what a sigh she gave in finishing,
+And look, quite dead to every worldly thing!
+Endymion could not speak, but gazed on her;
+And listened to the wind that now did stir
+About the crisped oaks full drearily,
+Yet with as sweet a softness as might be
+Remember'd from its velvet summer song.
+At last he said: "Poor lady, how thus long
+Have I been able to endure that voice?
+Fair Melody! kind Syren! I've no choice;
+I must be thy sad servant evermore:
+I cannot choose but kneel here and adore.
+Alas, I must not think--by Phoebe, no!
+Let me not think, soft Angel! shall it be so?
+Say, beautifullest, shall I never think?
+O thou could'st foster me beyond the brink
+Of recollection! make my watchful care
+Close up its bloodshot eyes, nor see despair!
+Do gently murder half my soul, and I
+Shall feel the other half so utterly!--
+I'm giddy at that cheek so fair and smooth;
+O let it blush so ever! let it soothe
+My madness! let it mantle rosy-warm
+With the tinge of love, panting in safe alarm.--
+This cannot be thy hand, and yet it is;
+And this is sure thine other softling--this
+Thine own fair bosom, and I am so near!
+Wilt fall asleep? O let me sip that tear!
+And whisper one sweet word that I may know
+This is this world--sweet dewy blossom!"--Woe!
+Woe! Woe to that Endymion! Where is he?--
+Even these words went echoing dismally
+Through the wide forest--a most fearful tone,
+Like one repenting in his latest moan;
+And while it died away a shade pass'd by,
+As of a thunder cloud. When arrows fly
+Through the thick branches, poor ring-doves sleek forth
+Their timid necks and tremble; so these both
+Leant to each other trembling, and sat so
+Waiting for some destruction--when lo,
+Foot-feather'd Mercury appear'd sublime
+Beyond the tall tree tops; and in less time
+Than shoots the slanted hail-storm, down he dropt
+Towards the ground; but rested not, nor stopt
+One moment from his home: only the sward
+He with his wand light touch'd, and heavenward
+Swifter than sight was gone--even before
+The teeming earth a sudden witness bore
+Of his swift magic. Diving swans appear
+Above the crystal circlings white and clear;
+And catch the cheated eye in wild surprise,
+How they can dive in sight and unseen rise--
+So from the turf outsprang two steeds jet-black,
+Each with large dark blue wings upon his back.
+The youth of Caria plac'd the lovely dame
+On one, and felt himself in spleen to tame
+The other's fierceness. Through the air they flew,
+High as the eagles. Like two drops of dew
+Exhal'd to Phoebus' lips, away they are gone,
+Far from the earth away--unseen, alone,
+Among cool clouds and winds, but that the free,
+The buoyant life of song can floating be
+Above their heads, and follow them untir'd.--
+Muse of my native land, am I inspir'd?
+This is the giddy air, and I must spread
+Wide pinions to keep here; nor do I dread
+Or height, or depth, or width, or any chance
+Precipitous: I have beneath my glance
+Those towering horses and their mournful freight.
+Could I thus sail, and see, and thus await
+Fearless for power of thought, without thine aid?--
+There is a sleepy dusk, an odorous shade
+From some approaching wonder, and behold
+Those winged steeds, with snorting nostrils bold
+Snuff at its faint extreme, and seem to tire,
+Dying to embers from their native fire!
+There curl'd a purple mist around them; soon,
+It seem'd as when around the pale new moon
+Sad Zephyr droops the clouds like weeping willow:
+'Twas Sleep slow journeying with head on pillow.
+For the first time, since he came nigh dead born
+From the old womb of night, his cave forlorn
+Had he left more forlorn; for the first time,
+He felt aloof the day and morning's prime--
+Because into his depth Cimmerian
+There came a dream, shewing how a young man,
+Ere a lean bat could plump its wintery skin,
+Would at high Jove's empyreal footstool win
+An immortality, and how espouse
+Jove's daughter, and be reckon'd of his house.
+Now was he slumbering towards heaven's gate,
+That he might at the threshold one hour wait
+To hear the marriage melodies, and then
+Sink downward to his dusky cave again.
+His litter of smooth semilucent mist,
+Diversely ting'd with rose and amethyst,
+Puzzled those eyes that for the centre sought;
+And scarcely for one moment could be caught
+His sluggish form reposing motionless.
+Those two on winged steeds, with all the stress
+Of vision search'd for him, as one would look
+Athwart the sallows of a river nook
+To catch a glance at silver throated eels,--
+Or from old Skiddaw's top, when fog conceals
+His rugged forehead in a mantle pale,
+With an eye-guess towards some pleasant vale
+Descry a favourite hamlet faint and far.
+These raven horses, though they foster'd are
+Of earth's splenetic fire, dully drop
+Their full-veined ears, nostrils blood wide, and stop;
+Upon the spiritless mist have they outspread
+Their ample feathers, are in slumber dead,--
+And on those pinions, level in mid air,
+Endymion sleepeth and the lady fair.
+Slowly they sail, slowly as icy isle
+Upon a calm sea drifting: and meanwhile
+The mournful wanderer dreams. Behold! he walks
+On heaven's pavement; brotherly he talks
+To divine powers: from his hand full fain
+Juno's proud birds are pecking pearly grain:
+He tries the nerve of Phoebus' golden bow,
+And asketh where the golden apples grow:
+Upon his arm he braces Pallas' shield,
+And strives in vain to unsettle and wield
+A Jovian thunderbolt: arch Hebe brings
+A full-brimm'd goblet, dances lightly, sings
+And tantalizes long; at last he drinks,
+And lost in pleasure at her feet he sinks,
+Touching with dazzled lips her starlight hand.
+He blows a bugle,--an ethereal band
+Are visible above: the Seasons four,--
+Green-kyrtled Spring, flush Summer, golden store
+In Autumn's sickle, Winter frosty hoar,
+Join dance with shadowy Hours; while still the blast,
+In swells unmitigated, still doth last
+To sway their floating morris. "Whose is this?
+Whose bugle?" he inquires: they smile--"O Dis!
+Why is this mortal here? Dost thou not know
+Its mistress' lips? Not thou?--'Tis Dian's: lo!
+She rises crescented!" He looks, 'tis she,
+His very goddess: good-bye earth, and sea,
+And air, and pains, and care, and suffering;
+Good-bye to all but love! Then doth he spring
+Towards her, and awakes--and, strange, o'erhead,
+Of those same fragrant exhalations bred,
+Beheld awake his very dream: the gods
+Stood smiling; merry Hebe laughs and nods;
+And Phoebe bends towards him crescented.
+O state perplexing! On the pinion bed,
+Too well awake, he feels the panting side
+Of his delicious lady. He who died
+For soaring too audacious in the sun,
+Where that same treacherous wax began to run,
+Felt not more tongue-tied than Endymion.
+His heart leapt up as to its rightful throne,
+To that fair shadow'd passion puls'd its way--
+Ah, what perplexity! Ah, well a day!
+So fond, so beauteous was his bed-fellow,
+He could not help but kiss her: then he grew
+Awhile forgetful of all beauty save
+Young Phoebe's, golden hair'd; and so 'gan crave
+Forgiveness: yet he turn'd once more to look
+At the sweet sleeper,--all his soul was shook,--
+She press'd his hand in slumber; so once more
+He could not help but kiss her and adore.
+At this the shadow wept, melting away.
+The Latmian started up: "Bright goddess, stay!
+Search my most hidden breast! By truth's own tongue,
+I have no dædale heart: why is it wrung
+To desperation? Is there nought for me,
+Upon the bourne of bliss, but misery?"
+These words awoke the stranger of dark tresses:
+Her dawning love-look rapt Endymion blesses
+With 'haviour soft. Sleep yawned from underneath.
+"Thou swan of Ganges, let us no more breathe
+This murky phantasm! thou contented seem'st
+Pillow'd in lovely idleness, nor dream'st
+What horrors may discomfort thee and me.
+Ah, shouldst thou die from my heart-treachery!--
+Yet did she merely weep--her gentle soul
+Hath no revenge in it: as it is whole
+In tenderness, would I were whole in love!
+Can I prize thee, fair maid, all price above,
+Even when I feel as true as innocence?
+I do, I do.--What is this soul then? Whence
+Came it? It does not seem my own, and I
+Have no self-passion or identity.
+Some fearful end must be: where, where is it?
+By Nemesis, I see my spirit flit
+Alone about the dark--Forgive me, sweet:
+Shall we away?" He rous'd the steeds: they beat
+Their wings chivalrous into the clear air,
+Leaving old Sleep within his vapoury lair.
+The good-night blush of eve was waning slow,
+And Vesper, risen star, began to throe
+In the dusk heavens silvery, when they
+Thus sprang direct towards the Galaxy.
+Nor did speed hinder converse soft and strange--
+Eternal oaths and vows they interchange,
+In such wise, in such temper, so aloof
+Up in the winds, beneath a starry roof,
+So witless of their doom, that verily
+'Tis well nigh past man's search their hearts to see;
+Whether they wept, or laugh'd, or griev'd, or toy'd--
+Most like with joy gone mad, with sorrow cloy'd.
+Full facing their swift flight, from ebon streak,
+The moon put forth a little diamond peak,
+No bigger than an unobserved star,
+Or tiny point of fairy scymetar;
+Bright signal that she only stoop'd to tie
+Her silver sandals, ere deliciously
+She bow'd into the heavens her timid head.
+Slowly she rose, as though she would have fled,
+While to his lady meek the Carian turn'd,
+To mark if her dark eyes had yet discern'd
+This beauty in its birth--Despair! despair!
+He saw her body fading gaunt and spare
+In the cold moonshine. Straight he seiz'd her wrist;
+It melted from his grasp: her hand he kiss'd,
+And, horror! kiss'd his own--he was alone.
+Her steed a little higher soar'd, and then
+Dropt hawkwise to the earth. There lies a den,
+Beyond the seeming confines of the space
+Made for the soul to wander in and trace
+Its own existence, of remotest glooms.
+Dark regions are around it, where the tombs
+Of buried griefs the spirit sees, but scarce
+One hour doth linger weeping, for the pierce
+Of new-born woe it feels more inly smart:
+And in these regions many a venom'd dart
+At random flies; they are the proper home
+Of every ill: the man is yet to come
+Who hath not journeyed in this native hell.
+But few have ever felt how calm and well
+Sleep may be had in that deep den of all.
+There anguish does not sting; nor pleasure pall:
+Woe-hurricanes beat ever at the gate,
+Yet all is still within and desolate.
+Beset with painful gusts, within ye hear
+No sound so loud as when on curtain'd bier
+The death-watch tick is stifled. Enter none
+Who strive therefore: on the sudden it is won.
+Just when the sufferer begins to burn,
+Then it is free to him; and from an urn,
+Still fed by melting ice, he takes a draught--
+Young Semele such richness never quaft
+In her maternal longing. Happy gloom!
+Dark Paradise! where pale becomes the bloom
+Of health by due; where silence dreariest
+Is most articulate; where hopes infest;
+Where those eyes are the brightest far that keep
+Their lids shut longest in a dreamless sleep.
+O happy spirit-home! O wondrous soul!
+Pregnant with such a den to save the whole
+In thine own depth. Hail, gentle Carian!
+For, never since thy griefs and woes began,
+Hast thou felt so content: a grievous feud
+Hath let thee to this Cave of Quietude.
+Aye, his lull'd soul was there, although upborne
+With dangerous speed: and so he did not mourn
+Because he knew not whither he was going.
+So happy was he, not the aerial blowing
+Of trumpets at clear parley from the east
+Could rouse from that fine relish, that high feast.
+They stung the feather'd horse: with fierce alarm
+He flapp'd towards the sound. Alas, no charm
+Could lift Endymion's head, or he had view'd
+A skyey mask, a pinion'd multitude,--
+And silvery was its passing: voices sweet
+Warbling the while as if to lull and greet
+The wanderer in his path. Thus warbled they,
+While past the vision went in bright array.
+"Who, who from Dian's feast would be away?
+For all the golden bowers of the day
+Are empty left? Who, who away would be
+From Cynthia's wedding and festivity?
+Not Hesperus: lo! upon his silver wings
+He leans away for highest heaven and sings,
+Snapping his lucid fingers merrily!--
+Ah, Zephyrus! art here, and Flora too!
+Ye tender bibbers of the rain and dew,
+Young playmates of the rose and daffodil,
+Be careful, ere ye enter in, to fill
+Your baskets high
+With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines,
+Savory, latter-mint, and columbines,
+Cool parsley, basil sweet, and sunny thyme;
+Yea, every flower and leaf of every clime,
+All gather'd in the dewy morning: hie
+Away! fly, fly!--
+Crystalline brother of the belt of heaven,
+Aquarius! to whom king Jove has given
+Two liquid pulse streams 'stead of feather'd wings,
+Two fan-like fountains,--thine illuminings
+For Dian play:
+Dissolve the frozen purity of air;
+Let thy white shoulders silvery and bare
+Shew cold through watery pinions; make more bright
+The Star-Queen's crescent on her marriage night:
+Haste, haste away!--
+Castor has tamed the planet Lion, see!
+And of the Bear has Pollux mastery:
+A third is in the race! who is the third,
+Speeding away swift as the eagle bird?
+The ramping Centaur!
+The Lion's mane's on end: the Bear how fierce!
+The Centaur's arrow ready seems to pierce
+Some enemy: far forth his bow is bent
+Into the blue of heaven. He'll be shent,
+Pale unrelentor,
+When he shall hear the wedding lutes a playing.--
+Andromeda! sweet woman! why delaying
+So timidly among the stars: come hither!
+Join this bright throng, and nimbly follow whither
+They all are going.
+Danae's Son, before Jove newly bow'd,
+Has wept for thee, calling to Jove aloud.
+Thee, gentle lady, did he disenthral:
+Ye shall for ever live and love, for all
+Thy tears are flowing.--
+By Daphne's fright, behold Apollo!--"
+More
+Endymion heard not: down his steed him bore,
+Prone to the green head of a misty hill.
+His first touch of the earth went nigh to kill.
+"Alas!" said he, "were I but always borne
+Through dangerous winds, had but my footsteps worn
+A path in hell, for ever would I bless
+Horrors which nourish an uneasiness
+For my own sullen conquering: to him
+Who lives beyond earth's boundary, grief is dim,
+Sorrow is but a shadow: now I see
+The grass; I feel the solid ground--Ah, me!
+It is thy voice--divinest! Where?--who? who
+Left thee so quiet on this bed of dew?
+Behold upon this happy earth we are;
+Let us ay love each other; let us fare
+On forest-fruits, and never, never go
+Among the abodes of mortals here below,
+Or be by phantoms duped. O destiny!
+Into a labyrinth now my soul would fly,
+But with thy beauty will I deaden it.
+Where didst thou melt too? By thee will I sit
+For ever: let our fate stop here--a kid
+I on this spot will offer: Pan will bid
+Us live in peace, in love and peace among
+His forest wildernesses. I have clung
+To nothing, lov'd a nothing, nothing seen
+Or felt but a great dream! O I have been
+Presumptuous against love, against the sky,
+Against all elements, against the tie
+Of mortals each to each, against the blooms
+Of flowers, rush of rivers, and the tombs
+Of heroes gone! Against his proper glory
+Has my own soul conspired: so my story
+Will I to children utter, and repent.
+There never liv'd a mortal man, who bent
+His appetite beyond his natural sphere,
+But starv'd and died. My sweetest Indian, here,
+Here will I kneel, for thou redeemed hast
+My life from too thin breathing: gone and past
+Are cloudy phantasms. Caverns lone, farewel!
+And air of visions, and the monstrous swell
+Of visionary seas! No, never more
+Shall airy voices cheat me to the shore
+Of tangled wonder, breathless and aghast.
+Adieu, my daintiest Dream! although so vast
+My love is still for thee. The hour may come
+When we shall meet in pure elysium.
+On earth I may not love thee; and therefore
+Doves will I offer up, and sweetest store
+All through the teeming year: so thou wilt shine
+On me, and on this damsel fair of mine,
+And bless our simple lives. My Indian bliss!
+My river-lily bud! one human kiss!
+One sigh of real breath--one gentle squeeze,
+Warm as a dove's nest among summer trees,
+And warm with dew at ooze from living blood!
+Whither didst melt? Ah, what of that!--all good
+We'll talk about--no more of dreaming.--Now,
+Where shall our dwelling be? Under the brow
+Of some steep mossy hill, where ivy dun
+Would hide us up, although spring leaves were none;
+And where dark yew trees, as we rustle through,
+Will drop their scarlet berry cups of dew?
+O thou wouldst joy to live in such a place;
+Dusk for our loves, yet light enough to grace
+Those gentle limbs on mossy bed reclin'd:
+For by one step the blue sky shouldst thou find,
+And by another, in deep dell below,
+See, through the trees, a little river go
+All in its mid-day gold and glimmering.
+Honey from out the gnarled hive I'll bring,
+And apples, wan with sweetness, gather thee,--
+Cresses that grow where no man may them see,
+And sorrel untorn by the dew-claw'd stag:
+Pipes will I fashion of the syrinx flag,
+That thou mayst always know whither I roam,
+When it shall please thee in our quiet home
+To listen and think of love. Still let me speak;
+Still let me dive into the joy I seek,--
+For yet the past doth prison me. The rill,
+Thou haply mayst delight in, will I fill
+With fairy fishes from the mountain tarn,
+And thou shalt feed them from the squirrel's barn.
+Its bottom will I strew with amber shells,
+And pebbles blue from deep enchanted wells.
+Its sides I'll plant with dew-sweet eglantine,
+And honeysuckles full of clear bee-wine.
+I will entice this crystal rill to trace
+Love's silver name upon the meadow's face.
+I'll kneel to Vesta, for a flame of fire;
+And to god Phoebus, for a golden lyre;
+To Empress Dian, for a hunting spear;
+To Vesper, for a taper silver-clear,
+That I may see thy beauty through the night;
+To Flora, and a nightingale shall light
+Tame on thy finger; to the River-gods,
+And they shall bring thee taper fishing-rods
+Of gold, and lines of Naiads' long bright tress.
+Heaven shield thee for thine utter loveliness!
+Thy mossy footstool shall the altar be
+'Fore which I'll bend, bending, dear love, to thee:
+Those lips shall be my Delphos, and shall speak
+Laws to my footsteps, colour to my cheek,
+Trembling or stedfastness to this same voice,
+And of three sweetest pleasurings the choice:
+And that affectionate light, those diamond things,
+Those eyes, those passions, those supreme pearl springs,
+Shall be my grief, or twinkle me to pleasure.
+Say, is not bliss within our perfect seisure?
+O that I could not doubt?"
+The mountaineer
+Thus strove by fancies vain and crude to clear
+His briar'd path to some tranquillity.
+It gave bright gladness to his lady's eye,
+And yet the tears she wept were tears of sorrow;
+Answering thus, just as the golden morrow
+Beam'd upward from the vallies of the east:
+"O that the flutter of this heart had ceas'd,
+Or the sweet name of love had pass'd away.
+Young feather'd tyrant! by a swift decay
+Wilt thou devote this body to the earth:
+And I do think that at my very birth
+I lisp'd thy blooming titles inwardly;
+For at the first, first dawn and thought of thee,
+With uplift hands I blest the stars of heaven.
+Art thou not cruel? Ever have I striven
+To think thee kind, but ah, it will not do!
+When yet a child, I heard that kisses drew
+Favour from thee, and so I kisses gave
+To the void air, bidding them find out love:
+But when I came to feel how far above
+All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood,
+All earthly pleasure, all imagin'd good,
+Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss,--
+Even then, that moment, at the thought of this,
+Fainting I fell into a bed of flowers,
+And languish'd there three days. Ye milder powers,
+Am I not cruelly wrong'd? Believe, believe
+Me, dear Endymion, were I to weave
+With my own fancies garlands of sweet life,
+Thou shouldst be one of all. Ah, bitter strife!
+I may not be thy love: I am forbidden--
+Indeed I am--thwarted, affrighted, chidden,
+By things I trembled at, and gorgon wrath.
+Twice hast thou ask'd whither I went: henceforth
+Ask me no more! I may not utter it,
+Nor may I be thy love. We might commit
+Ourselves at once to vengeance; we might die;
+We might embrace and die: voluptuous thought!
+Enlarge not to my hunger, or I'm caught
+In trammels of perverse deliciousness.
+No, no, that shall not be: thee will I bless,
+And bid a long adieu."
+The Carian
+No word return'd: both lovelorn, silent, wan,
+Into the vallies green together went.
+Far wandering, they were perforce content
+To sit beneath a fair lone beechen tree;
+Nor at each other gaz'd, but heavily
+Por'd on its hazle cirque of shedded leaves.
+Endymion! unhappy! it nigh grieves
+Me to behold thee thus in last extreme:
+Ensky'd ere this, but truly that I deem
+Truth the best music in a first-born song.
+Thy lute-voic'd brother will I sing ere long,
+And thou shalt aid--hast thou not aided me?
+Yes, moonlight Emperor! felicity
+Has been thy meed for many thousand years;
+Yet often have I, on the brink of tears,
+Mourn'd as if yet thou wert a forester,--
+Forgetting the old tale.
+He did not stir
+His eyes from the dead leaves, or one small pulse
+Of joy he might have felt. The spirit culls
+Unfaded amaranth, when wild it strays
+Through the old garden-ground of boyish days.
+A little onward ran the very stream
+By which he took his first soft poppy dream;
+And on the very bark 'gainst which he leant
+A crescent he had carv'd, and round it spent
+His skill in little stars. The teeming tree
+Had swollen and green'd the pious charactery,
+But not ta'en out. Why, there was not a slope
+Up which he had not fear'd the antelope;
+And not a tree, beneath whose rooty shade
+He had not with his tamed leopards play'd.
+Nor could an arrow light, or javelin,
+Fly in the air where his had never been--
+And yet he knew it not.
+O treachery!
+Why does his lady smile, pleasing her eye
+With all his sorrowing? He sees her not.
+But who so stares on him? His sister sure!
+Peona of the woods!--Can she endure--
+Impossible--how dearly they embrace!
+His lady smiles; delight is in her face;
+It is no treachery.
+"Dear brother mine!
+Endymion, weep not so! Why shouldst thou pine
+When all great Latmos so exalt wilt be?
+Thank the great gods, and look not bitterly;
+And speak not one pale word, and sigh no more.
+Sure I will not believe thou hast such store
+Of grief, to last thee to my kiss again.
+Thou surely canst not bear a mind in pain,
+Come hand in hand with one so beautiful.
+Be happy both of you! for I will pull
+The flowers of autumn for your coronals.
+Pan's holy priest for young Endymion calls;
+And when he is restor'd, thou, fairest dame,
+Shalt be our queen. Now, is it not a shame
+To see ye thus,--not very, very sad?
+Perhaps ye are too happy to be glad:
+O feel as if it were a common day;
+Free-voic'd as one who never was away.
+No tongue shall ask, whence come ye? but ye shall
+Be gods of your own rest imperial.
+Not even I, for one whole month, will pry
+Into the hours that have pass'd us by,
+Since in my arbour I did sing to thee.
+O Hermes! on this very night will be
+A hymning up to Cynthia, queen of light;
+For the soothsayers old saw yesternight
+Good visions in the air,--whence will befal,
+As say these sages, health perpetual
+To shepherds and their flocks; and furthermore,
+In Dian's face they read the gentle lore:
+Therefore for her these vesper-carols are.
+Our friends will all be there from nigh and far.
+Many upon thy death have ditties made;
+And many, even now, their foreheads shade
+With cypress, on a day of sacrifice.
+New singing for our maids shalt thou devise,
+And pluck the sorrow from our huntsmen's brows.
+Tell me, my lady-queen, how to espouse
+This wayward brother to his rightful joys!
+His eyes are on thee bent, as thou didst poise
+His fate most goddess-like. Help me, I pray,
+To lure--Endymion, dear brother, say
+What ails thee?" He could bear no more, and so
+Bent his soul fiercely like a spiritual bow,
+And twang'd it inwardly, and calmly said:
+"I would have thee my only friend, sweet maid!
+My only visitor! not ignorant though,
+That those deceptions which for pleasure go
+'Mong men, are pleasures real as real may be:
+But there are higher ones I may not see,
+If impiously an earthly realm I take.
+Since I saw thee, I have been wide awake
+Night after night, and day by day, until
+Of the empyrean I have drunk my fill.
+Let it content thee, Sister, seeing me
+More happy than betides mortality.
+A hermit young, I'll live in mossy cave,
+Where thou alone shalt come to me, and lave
+Thy spirit in the wonders I shall tell.
+Through me the shepherd realm shall prosper well;
+For to thy tongue will I all health confide.
+And, for my sake, let this young maid abide
+With thee as a dear sister. Thou alone,
+Peona, mayst return to me. I own
+This may sound strangely: but when, dearest girl,
+Thou seest it for my happiness, no pearl
+Will trespass down those cheeks. Companion fair!
+Wilt be content to dwell with her, to share
+This sister's love with me?" Like one resign'd
+And bent by circumstance, and thereby blind
+In self-commitment, thus that meek unknown:
+"Aye, but a buzzing by my ears has flown,
+Of jubilee to Dian:--truth I heard!
+Well then, I see there is no little bird,
+Tender soever, but is Jove's own care.
+Long have I sought for rest, and, unaware,
+Behold I find it! so exalted too!
+So after my own heart! I knew, I knew
+There was a place untenanted in it:
+In that same void white Chastity shall sit,
+And monitor me nightly to lone slumber.
+With sanest lips I vow me to the number
+Of Dian's sisterhood; and, kind lady,
+With thy good help, this very night shall see
+My future days to her fane consecrate."
+As feels a dreamer what doth most create
+His own particular fright, so these three felt:
+Or like one who, in after ages, knelt
+To Lucifer or Baal, when he'd pine
+After a little sleep: or when in mine
+Far under-ground, a sleeper meets his friends
+Who know him not. Each diligently bends
+Towards common thoughts and things for very fear;
+Striving their ghastly malady to cheer,
+By thinking it a thing of yes and no,
+That housewives talk of. But the spirit-blow
+Was struck, and all were dreamers. At the last
+Endymion said: "Are not our fates all cast?
+Why stand we here? Adieu, ye tender pair!
+Adieu!" Whereat those maidens, with wild stare,
+Walk'd dizzily away. Pained and hot
+His eyes went after them, until they got
+Near to a cypress grove, whose deadly maw,
+In one swift moment, would what then he saw
+Engulph for ever. "Stay!" he cried, "ah, stay!
+Turn, damsels! hist! one word I have to say.
+Sweet Indian, I would see thee once again.
+It is a thing I dote on: so I'd fain,
+Peona, ye should hand in hand repair
+Into those holy groves, that silent are
+Behind great Dian's temple. I'll be yon,
+At vesper's earliest twinkle--they are gone--
+But once, once, once again--" At this he press'd
+His hands against his face, and then did rest
+His head upon a mossy hillock green,
+And so remain'd as he a corpse had been
+All the long day; save when he scantly lifted
+His eyes abroad, to see how shadows shifted
+With the slow move of time,--sluggish and weary
+Until the poplar tops, in journey dreary,
+Had reach'd the river's brim. Then up he rose,
+And, slowly as that very river flows,
+Walk'd towards the temple grove with this lament:
+"Why such a golden eve? The breeze is sent
+Careful and soft, that not a leaf may fall
+Before the serene father of them all
+Bows down his summer head below the west.
+Now am I of breath, speech, and speed possest,
+But at the setting I must bid adieu
+To her for the last time. Night will strew
+On the damp grass myriads of lingering leaves,
+And with them shall I die; nor much it grieves
+To die, when summer dies on the cold sward.
+Why, I have been a butterfly, a lord
+Of flowers, garlands, love-knots, silly posies,
+Groves, meadows, melodies, and arbour roses;
+My kingdom's at its death, and just it is
+That I should die with it: so in all this
+We miscal grief, bale, sorrow, heartbreak, woe,
+What is there to plain of? By Titan's foe
+I am but rightly serv'd." So saying, he
+Tripp'd lightly on, in sort of deathful glee;
+Laughing at the clear stream and setting sun,
+As though they jests had been: nor had he done
+His laugh at nature's holy countenance,
+Until that grove appear'd, as if perchance,
+And then his tongue with sober seemlihed
+Gave utterance as he entered: "Ha!" I said,
+"King of the butterflies; but by this gloom,
+And by old Rhadamanthus' tongue of doom,
+This dusk religion, pomp of solitude,
+And the Promethean clay by thief endued,
+By old Saturnus' forelock, by his head
+Shook with eternal palsy, I did wed
+Myself to things of light from infancy;
+And thus to be cast out, thus lorn to die,
+Is sure enough to make a mortal man
+Grow impious." So he inwardly began
+On things for which no wording can be found;
+Deeper and deeper sinking, until drown'd
+Beyond the reach of music: for the choir
+Of Cynthia he heard not, though rough briar
+Nor muffling thicket interpos'd to dull
+The vesper hymn, far swollen, soft and full,
+Through the dark pillars of those sylvan aisles.
+He saw not the two maidens, nor their smiles,
+Wan as primroses gather'd at midnight
+By chilly finger'd spring. "Unhappy wight!
+Endymion!" said Peona, "we are here!
+What wouldst thou ere we all are laid on bier?"
+Then he embrac'd her, and his lady's hand
+Press'd, saying:" Sister, I would have command,
+If it were heaven's will, on our sad fate."
+At which that dark-eyed stranger stood elate
+And said, in a new voice, but sweet as love,
+To Endymion's amaze: "By Cupid's dove,
+And so thou shalt! and by the lily truth
+Of my own breast thou shalt, beloved youth!"
+And as she spake, into her face there came
+Light, as reflected from a silver flame:
+Her long black hair swell'd ampler, in display
+Full golden; in her eyes a brighter day
+Dawn'd blue and full of love. Aye, he beheld
+Phoebe, his passion! joyous she upheld
+Her lucid bow, continuing thus; "Drear, drear
+Has our delaying been; but foolish fear
+Withheld me first; and then decrees of fate;
+And then 'twas fit that from this mortal state
+Thou shouldst, my love, by some unlook'd for change
+Be spiritualiz'd. Peona, we shall range
+These forests, and to thee they safe shall be
+As was thy cradle; hither shalt thou flee
+To meet us many a time." Next Cynthia bright
+Peona kiss'd, and bless'd with fair good night:
+Her brother kiss'd her too, and knelt adown
+Before his goddess, in a blissful swoon.
+She gave her fair hands to him, and behold,
+Before three swiftest kisses he had told,
+They vanish'd far away!--Peona went
+Home through the gloomy wood in wonderment.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	42. A Dream, After Reading Dante's Episode Of Paolo And Francesca	|	<poem>
+As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
+When lulled Argus, baffled, swooned and slept,
+So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright
+So played, so charmed, so conquered, so bereft
+The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes;
+And seeing it asleep, so fled away,
+Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies,
+Nor unto Tempe, where Jove grieved a day;
+But to that second circle of sad Hell,
+Where in the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw
+Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell
+Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
+Pale were the lips I kissed, and fair the form
+I floated with, about that melancholy storm.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	43. Meg Merrilies	|	<poem>
+Old Meg she was a Gipsy,
+And liv'd upon the Moors:
+Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
+And her house was out of doors.
+Her apples were swart blackberries,
+Her currants pods o' broom;
+Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
+Her book a churchyard tomb.
+Her Brothers were the craggy hills,
+Her Sisters larchen trees--
+Alone with her great family
+She liv'd as she did please.
+No breakfast had she many a morn,
+No dinner many a noon,
+And 'stead of supper she would stare
+Full hard against the Moon.
+But every morn of woodbine fresh
+She made her garlanding,
+And every night the dark glen Yew
+She wove, and she would sing.
+And with her fingers old and brown
+She plaited Mats o' Rushes,
+And gave them to the Cottagers
+She met among the Bushes.
+Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen
+And tall as Amazon:
+An old red blanket cloak she wore;
+A chip hat had she on.
+God rest her aged bones somewhere--
+She died full long agone!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	44. Think Of It Not, Sweet One	|	<poem>
+Think not of it, sweet one, so;---
+Give it not a tear;
+Sigh thou mayst, and bid it go
+Any---anywhere.
+Do not lool so sad, sweet one,---
+Sad and fadingly;
+Shed one drop then,---it is gone---
+O 'twas born to die!
+Still so pale? then, dearest, weep;
+Weep, I'll count the tears,
+And each one shall be a bliss
+For thee in after years.
+Brighter has it left thine eyes
+Than a sunny rill;
+And thy whispering melodies
+Are tenderer still.
+Yet---as all things mourn awhile
+At fleeting blisses,
+E'en let us too! but be our dirge
+A dirge of kisses.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	45. Ode To Autumn	|	<poem>
+Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
+Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
+Conspiring with him how to load and bless
+With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run;
+To bend with apples the mossed cottage-trees,
+And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
+To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
+With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
+And still more, later flowers for the bees,
+Until they think warm days will never cease,
+For Summer has o'er-brimmed their clammy cell.
+Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
+Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
+Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
+Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
+Or on a half-reaped furrow sound asleep,
+Drowsed with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
+Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers;
+And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
+Steady thy laden head across a brook;
+Or by a cider-press, with patient look,
+Thou watchest the last oozings, hours by hours.
+Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they?
+Think not of them, thou hast thy music too,---
+While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
+And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
+Then in a wailful choir, the small gnats mourn
+Among the river sallows, borne aloft
+Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
+And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
+Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
+The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft,
+And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	46. To The Nile	|	<poem>
+Son of the old Moon-mountains African!
+Chief of the Pyramid and Crocodile!
+We call thee fruitful, and that very while
+A desert fills our seeing's inward span:
+Nurse of swart nations since the world began,
+Art thou so fruitful? or dost thou beguile
+Such men to honour thee, who, worn with toil,
+Rest for a space 'twixt Cairo and Decan?
+O may dark fancies err! They surely do;
+'Tis ignorance that makes a barren waste
+Of all beyond itself. Thou dost bedew
+Green rushes like our rivers, and dost taste
+The pleasant sunrise. Green isles hast thou too,
+And to the sea as happily dost haste.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	47. Endymion: Book III	|	<poem>
+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!
+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
+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--
+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,
+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,
+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,
+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--
+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
+'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,
+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,
+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.
+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;
+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
+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,
+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
+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!
+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.
+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.
+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,
+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
+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
+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,
+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
+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
+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
+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
+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
+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
+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
+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:
+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,
+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
+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;
+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
+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--
+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
+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
+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,
+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;
+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,
+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
+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,
+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,
+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
+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
+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,
+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.
+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
+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
+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,
+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
+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,
+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,
+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:
+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
+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,
+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,
+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:
+"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
+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
+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
+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:
+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
+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
+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.
+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,
+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
+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
+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
+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,
+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!
+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,
+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,
+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.
+"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
+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
+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;
+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
+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.
+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!
+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
+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
+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
+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,
+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
+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
+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
+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,
+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
+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
+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,
+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
+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.
+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--
+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.
+"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,
+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.
+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,
+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:
+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,
+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,
+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
+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
+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.
+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:
+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.
+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.--
+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:
+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,
+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,
+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
+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
+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
+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,
+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
+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!
+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,
+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
+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;
+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
+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
+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
+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
+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,
+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
+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!
+'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
+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
+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,
+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
+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
+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
+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;
+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
+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
+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,
+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
+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,
+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
+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,
+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:
+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."--
+"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,
+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
+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
+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,
+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.--
+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
+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,
+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
+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.
+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,
+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
+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
+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,
+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--
+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.
+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
+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
+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
+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!"
+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,
+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,
+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
+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
+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,--
+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
+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
+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
+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
+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
+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,
+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
+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
+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,
+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
+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,
+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
+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
+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,
+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
+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.
+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,
+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!"--
+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;
+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,
+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
+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
+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,
+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
+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
+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,
+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--
+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,
+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
+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
+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
+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
+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
+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,
+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
+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!
+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
+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:
+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
+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.
+How happy once again in grassy nest!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	48. Addressed To Haydon	|	<poem>
+High-mindedness, a jealousy for good,
+A loving-kindness for the great man's fame,
+Dwells here and there with people of no name,
+In noisome alley, and in pathless wood:
+And where we think the truth least understood,
+Oft may be found a "singleness of aim,"
+That ought to frighten into hooded shame
+A money-mongering, pitiable brood.
+How glorious this affection for the cause
+Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly!
+What when a stout unbending champion awes
+Envy and malice to their native sty?
+Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause,
+Proud to behold him in his country's eye.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	49. Endymion: Book II	|	<poem>
+O Sovereign power of love! O grief! O balm!
+All records, saving thine, come cool, and calm,
+And shadowy, through the mist of passed years:
+For others, good or bad, hatred and tears
+Have become indolent; but touching thine,
+One sigh doth echo, one poor sob doth pine,
+One kiss brings honey-dew from buried days.
+The woes of Troy, towers smothering o'er their blaze,
+Stiff-holden shields, far-piercing spears, keen blades,
+Struggling, and blood, and shrieks--all dimly fades
+Into some backward corner of the brain;
+Yet, in our very souls, we feel amain
+The close of Troilus and Cressid sweet.
+Hence, pageant history! hence, gilded cheat!
+Swart planet in the universe of deeds!
+Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breeds
+Along the pebbled shore of memory!
+Many old rotten-timber'd boats there be
+Upon thy vaporous bosom, magnified
+To goodly vessels; many a sail of pride,
+And golden keel'd, is left unlaunch'd and dry.
+But wherefore this? What care, though owl did fly
+About the great Athenian admiral's mast?
+What care, though striding Alexander past
+The Indus with his Macedonian numbers?
+Though old Ulysses tortured from his slumbers
+The glutted Cyclops, what care?--Juliet leaning
+Amid her window-flowers,--sighing,--weaning
+Tenderly her fancy from its maiden snow,
+Doth more avail than these: the silver flow
+Of Hero's tears, the swoon of Imogen,
+Fair Pastorella in the bandit's den,
+Are things to brood on with more ardency
+Than the death-day of empires. Fearfully
+Must such conviction come upon his head,
+Who, thus far, discontent, has dared to tread,
+Without one muse's smile, or kind behest,
+The path of love and poesy. But rest,
+In chaffing restlessness, is yet more drear
+Than to be crush'd, in striving to uprear
+Love's standard on the battlements of song.
+So once more days and nights aid me along,
+Like legion'd soldiers.
+Brain-sick shepherd-prince,
+What promise hast thou faithful guarded since
+The day of sacrifice? Or, have new sorrows
+Come with the constant dawn upon thy morrows?
+Alas! 'tis his old grief. For many days,
+Has he been wandering in uncertain ways:
+Through wilderness, and woods of mossed oaks;
+Counting his woe-worn minutes, by the strokes
+Of the lone woodcutter; and listening still,
+Hour after hour, to each lush-leav'd rill.
+Now he is sitting by a shady spring,
+And elbow-deep with feverous fingering
+Stems the upbursting cold: a wild rose tree
+Pavilions him in bloom, and he doth see
+A bud which snares his fancy: lo! but now
+He plucks it, dips its stalk in the water: how!
+It swells, it buds, it flowers beneath his sight;
+And, in the middle, there is softly pight
+A golden butterfly; upon whose wings
+There must be surely character'd strange things,
+For with wide eye he wonders, and smiles oft.
+Lightly this little herald flew aloft,
+Follow'd by glad Endymion's clasped hands:
+Onward it flies. From languor's sullen bands
+His limbs are loos'd, and eager, on he hies
+Dazzled to trace it in the sunny skies.
+It seem'd he flew, the way so easy was;
+And like a new-born spirit did he pass
+Through the green evening quiet in the sun,
+O'er many a heath, through many a woodland dun,
+Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams
+The summer time away. One track unseams
+A wooded cleft, and, far away, the blue
+Of ocean fades upon him; then, anew,
+He sinks adown a solitary glen,
+Where there was never sound of mortal men,
+Saving, perhaps, some snow-light cadences
+Melting to silence, when upon the breeze
+Some holy bark let forth an anthem sweet,
+To cheer itself to Delphi. Still his feet
+Went swift beneath the merry-winged guide,
+Until it reached a splashing fountain's side
+That, near a cavern's mouth, for ever pour'd
+Unto the temperate air: then high it soar'd,
+And, downward, suddenly began to dip,
+As if, athirst with so much toil, 'twould sip
+The crystal spout-head: so it did, with touch
+Most delicate, as though afraid to smutch
+Even with mealy gold the waters clear.
+But, at that very touch, to disappear
+So fairy-quick, was strange! Bewildered,
+Endymion sought around, and shook each bed
+Of covert flowers in vain; and then he flung
+Himself along the grass. What gentle tongue,
+What whisperer disturb'd his gloomy rest?
+It was a nymph uprisen to the breast
+In the fountain's pebbly margin, and she stood
+'Mong lilies, like the youngest of the brood.
+To him her dripping hand she softly kist,
+And anxiously began to plait and twist
+Her ringlets round her fingers, saying: "Youth!
+Too long, alas, hast thou starv'd on the ruth,
+The bitterness of love: too long indeed,
+Seeing thou art so gentle. Could I weed
+Thy soul of care, by heavens, I would offer
+All the bright riches of my crystal coffer
+To Amphitrite; all my clear-eyed fish,
+Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish,
+Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze;
+Yea, or my veined pebble-floor, that draws
+A virgin light to the deep; my grotto-sands
+Tawny and gold, ooz'd slowly from far lands
+By my diligent springs; my level lilies, shells,
+My charming rod, my potent river spells;
+Yes, every thing, even to the pearly cup
+Meander gave me,--for I bubbled up
+To fainting creatures in a desert wild.
+But woe is me, I am but as a child
+To gladden thee; and all I dare to say,
+Is, that I pity thee; that on this day
+I've been thy guide; that thou must wander far
+In other regions, past the scanty bar
+To mortal steps, before thou cans't be ta'en
+From every wasting sigh, from every pain,
+Into the gentle bosom of thy love.
+Why it is thus, one knows in heaven above:
+But, a poor Naiad, I guess not. Farewel!
+I have a ditty for my hollow cell."
+Hereat, she vanished from Endymion's gaze,
+Who brooded o'er the water in amaze:
+The dashing fount pour'd on, and where its pool
+Lay, half asleep, in grass and rushes cool,
+Quick waterflies and gnats were sporting still,
+And fish were dimpling, as if good nor ill
+Had fallen out that hour. The wanderer,
+Holding his forehead, to keep off the burr
+Of smothering fancies, patiently sat down;
+And, while beneath the evening's sleepy frown
+Glow-worms began to trim their starry lamps,
+Thus breath'd he to himself: "Whoso encamps
+To take a fancied city of delight,
+O what a wretch is he! and when 'tis his,
+After long toil and travelling, to miss
+The kernel of his hopes, how more than vile:
+Yet, for him there's refreshment even in toil;
+Another city doth he set about,
+Free from the smallest pebble-bead of doubt
+That he will seize on trickling honey-combs:
+Alas, he finds them dry; and then he foams,
+And onward to another city speeds.
+But this is human life: the war, the deeds,
+The disappointment, the anxiety,
+Imagination's struggles, far and nigh,
+All human; bearing in themselves this good,
+That they are sill the air, the subtle food,
+To make us feel existence, and to shew
+How quiet death is. Where soil is men grow,
+Whether to weeds or flowers; but for me,
+There is no depth to strike in: I can see
+Nought earthly worth my compassing; so stand
+Upon a misty, jutting head of land--
+Alone? No, no; and by the Orphean lute,
+When mad Eurydice is listening to 't;
+I'd rather stand upon this misty peak,
+With not a thing to sigh for, or to seek,
+But the soft shadow of my thrice-seen love,
+Than be--I care not what. O meekest dove
+Of heaven! O Cynthia, ten-times bright and fair!
+From thy blue throne, now filling all the air,
+Glance but one little beam of temper'd light
+Into my bosom, that the dreadful might
+And tyranny of love be somewhat scar'd!
+Yet do not so, sweet queen; one torment spar'd,
+Would give a pang to jealous misery,
+Worse than the torment's self: but rather tie
+Large wings upon my shoulders, and point out
+My love's far dwelling. Though the playful rout
+Of Cupids shun thee, too divine art thou,
+Too keen in beauty, for thy silver prow
+Not to have dipp'd in love's most gentle stream.
+O be propitious, nor severely deem
+My madness impious; for, by all the stars
+That tend thy bidding, I do think the bars
+That kept my spirit in are burst--that I
+Am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky!
+How beautiful thou art! The world how deep!
+How tremulous-dazzlingly the wheels sweep
+Around their axle! Then these gleaming reins,
+How lithe! When this thy chariot attains
+Is airy goal, haply some bower veils
+Those twilight eyes? Those eyes!--my spirit fails--
+Dear goddess, help! or the wide-gaping air
+Will gulph me--help!"--At this with madden'd stare,
+And lifted hands, and trembling lips he stood;
+Like old Deucalion mountain'd o'er the flood,
+Or blind Orion hungry for the morn.
+And, but from the deep cavern there was borne
+A voice, he had been froze to senseless stone;
+Nor sigh of his, nor plaint, nor passion'd moan
+Had more been heard. Thus swell'd it forth: "Descend,
+Young mountaineer! descend where alleys bend
+Into the sparry hollows of the world!
+Oft hast thou seen bolts of the thunder hurl'd
+As from thy threshold, day by day hast been
+A little lower than the chilly sheen
+Of icy pinnacles, and dipp'dst thine arms
+Into the deadening ether that still charms
+Their marble being: now, as deep profound
+As those are high, descend! He ne'er is crown'd
+With immortality, who fears to follow
+Where airy voices lead: so through the hollow,
+The silent mysteries of earth, descend!"
+He heard but the last words, nor could contend
+One moment in reflection: for he fled
+Into the fearful deep, to hide his head
+From the clear moon, the trees, and coming madness.
+'Twas far too strange, and wonderful for sadness;
+Sharpening, by degrees, his appetite
+To dive into the deepest. Dark, nor light,
+The region; nor bright, nor sombre wholly,
+But mingled up; a gleaming melancholy;
+A dusky empire and its diadems;
+One faint eternal eventide of gems.
+Aye, millions sparkled on a vein of gold,
+Along whose track the prince quick footsteps told,
+With all its lines abrupt and angular:
+Out-shooting sometimes, like a meteor-star,
+Through a vast antre; then the metal woof,
+Like Vulcan's rainbow, with some monstrous roof
+Curves hugely: now, far in the deep abyss,
+It seems an angry lightning, and doth hiss
+Fancy into belief: anon it leads
+Through winding passages, where sameness breeds
+Vexing conceptions of some sudden change;
+Whether to silver grots, or giant range
+Of sapphire columns, or fantastic bridge
+Athwart a flood of crystal. On a ridge
+Now fareth he, that o'er the vast beneath
+Towers like an ocean-cliff, and whence he seeth
+A hundred waterfalls, whose voices come
+But as the murmuring surge. Chilly and numb
+His bosom grew, when first he, far away,
+Descried an orbed diamond, set to fray
+Old darkness from his throne: 'twas like the sun
+Uprisen o'er chaos: and with such a stun
+Came the amazement, that, absorb'd in it,
+He saw not fiercer wonders--past the wit
+Of any spirit to tell, but one of those
+Who, when this planet's sphering time doth close,
+Will be its high remembrancers: who they?
+The mighty ones who have made eternal day
+For Greece and England. While astonishment
+With deep-drawn sighs was quieting, he went
+Into a marble gallery, passing through
+A mimic temple, so complete and true
+In sacred custom, that he well nigh fear'd
+To search it inwards, whence far off appear'd,
+Through a long pillar'd vista, a fair shrine,
+And, just beyond, on light tiptoe divine,
+A quiver'd Dian. Stepping awfully,
+The youth approach'd; oft turning his veil'd eye
+Down sidelong aisles, and into niches old.
+And when, more near against the marble cold
+He had touch'd his forehead, he began to thread
+All courts and passages, where silence dead
+Rous'd by his whispering footsteps murmured faint:
+And long he travers'd to and fro, to acquaint
+Himself with every mystery, and awe;
+Till, weary, he sat down before the maw
+Of a wide outlet, fathomless and dim
+To wild uncertainty and shadows grim.
+There, when new wonders ceas'd to float before,
+And thoughts of self came on, how crude and sore
+The journey homeward to habitual self!
+A mad-pursuing of the fog-born elf,
+Whose flitting lantern, through rude nettle-briar,
+Cheats us into a swamp, into a fire,
+Into the bosom of a hated thing.
+What misery most drowningly doth sing
+In lone Endymion's ear, now he has caught
+The goal of consciousness? Ah, 'tis the thought,
+The deadly feel of solitude: for lo!
+He cannot see the heavens, nor the flow
+Of rivers, nor hill-flowers running wild
+In pink and purple chequer, nor, up-pil'd,
+The cloudy rack slow journeying in the west,
+Like herded elephants; nor felt, nor prest
+Cool grass, nor tasted the fresh slumberous air;
+But far from such companionship to wear
+An unknown time, surcharg'd with grief, away,
+Was now his lot. And must he patient stay,
+Tracing fantastic figures with his spear?
+"No!" exclaimed he, "why should I tarry here?"
+No! loudly echoed times innumerable.
+At which he straightway started, and 'gan tell
+His paces back into the temple's chief;
+Warming and glowing strong in the belief
+Of help from Dian: so that when again
+He caught her airy form, thus did he plain,
+Moving more near the while. "O Haunter chaste
+Of river sides, and woods, and heathy waste,
+Where with thy silver bow and arrows keen
+Art thou now forested? O woodland Queen,
+What smoothest air thy smoother forehead woos?
+Where dost thou listen to the wide halloos
+Of thy disparted nymphs? Through what dark tree
+Glimmers thy crescent? Wheresoe'er it be,
+'Tis in the breath of heaven: thou dost taste
+Freedom as none can taste it, nor dost waste
+Thy loveliness in dismal elements;
+But, finding in our green earth sweet contents,
+There livest blissfully. Ah, if to thee
+It feels Elysian, how rich to me,
+An exil'd mortal, sounds its pleasant name!
+Within my breast there lives a choking flame--
+O let me cool it among the zephyr-boughs!
+A homeward fever parches up my tongue--
+O let me slake it at the running springs!
+Upon my ear a noisy nothing rings--
+O let me once more hear the linnet's note!
+Before mine eyes thick films and shadows float--
+O let me 'noint them with the heaven's light!
+Dost thou now lave thy feet and ankles white?
+O think how sweet to me the freshening sluice!
+Dost thou now please thy thirst with berry-juice?
+O think how this dry palate would rejoice!
+If in soft slumber thou dost hear my voice,
+Oh think how I should love a bed of flowers!--
+Young goddess! let me see my native bowers!
+Deliver me from this rapacious deep!"
+Thus ending loudly, as he would o'erleap
+His destiny, alert he stood: but when
+Obstinate silence came heavily again,
+Feeling about for its old couch of space
+And airy cradle, lowly bow'd his face
+Desponding, o'er the marble floor's cold thrill.
+But 'twas not long; for, sweeter than the rill
+To its old channel, or a swollen tide
+To margin sallows, were the leaves he spied,
+And flowers, and wreaths, and ready myrtle crowns
+Up heaping through the slab: refreshment drowns
+Itself, and strives its own delights to hide--
+Nor in one spot alone; the floral pride
+In a long whispering birth enchanted grew
+Before his footsteps; as when heav'd anew
+Old ocean rolls a lengthened wave to the shore,
+Down whose green back the short-liv'd foam, all hoar,
+Bursts gradual, with a wayward indolence.
+Increasing still in heart, and pleasant sense,
+Upon his fairy journey on he hastes;
+So anxious for the end, he scarcely wastes
+One moment with his hand among the sweets:
+Onward he goes--he stops--his bosom beats
+As plainly in his ear, as the faint charm
+Of which the throbs were born. This still alarm,
+This sleepy music, forc'd him walk tiptoe:
+For it came more softly than the east could blow
+Arion's magic to the Atlantic isles;
+Or than the west, made jealous by the smiles
+Of thron'd Apollo, could breathe back the lyre
+To seas Ionian and Tyrian.
+O did he ever live, that lonely man,
+Who lov'd--and music slew not? 'Tis the pest
+Of love, that fairest joys give most unrest;
+That things of delicate and tenderest worth
+Are swallow'd all, and made a seared dearth,
+By one consuming flame: it doth immerse
+And suffocate true blessings in a curse.
+Half-happy, by comparison of bliss,
+Is miserable. 'Twas even so with this
+Dew-dropping melody, in the Carian's ear;
+First heaven, then hell, and then forgotten clear,
+Vanish'd in elemental passion.
+And down some swart abysm he had gone,
+Had not a heavenly guide benignant led
+To where thick myrtle branches, 'gainst his head
+Brushing, awakened: then the sounds again
+Went noiseless as a passing noontide rain
+Over a bower, where little space he stood;
+For as the sunset peeps into a wood
+So saw he panting light, and towards it went
+Through winding alleys; and lo, wonderment!
+Upon soft verdure saw, one here, one there,
+Cupids a slumbering on their pinions fair.
+After a thousand mazes overgone,
+At last, with sudden step, he came upon
+A chamber, myrtle wall'd, embowered high,
+Full of light, incense, tender minstrelsy,
+And more of beautiful and strange beside:
+For on a silken couch of rosy pride,
+In midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth
+Of fondest beauty; fonder, in fair sooth,
+Than sighs could fathom, or contentment reach:
+And coverlids gold-tinted like the peach,
+Or ripe October's faded marigolds,
+Fell sleek about him in a thousand folds--
+Not hiding up an Apollonian curve
+Of neck and shoulder, nor the tenting swerve
+Of knee from knee, nor ankles pointing light;
+But rather, giving them to the filled sight
+Officiously. Sideway his face repos'd
+On one white arm, and tenderly unclos'd,
+By tenderest pressure, a faint damask mouth
+To slumbery pout; just as the morning south
+Disparts a dew-lipp'd rose. Above his head,
+Four lily stalks did their white honours wed
+To make a coronal; and round him grew
+All tendrils green, of every bloom and hue,
+Together intertwin'd and trammel'd fresh:
+The vine of glossy sprout; the ivy mesh,
+Shading its Ethiop berries; and woodbine,
+Of velvet leaves and bugle-blooms divine;
+Convolvulus in streaked vases flush;
+The creeper, mellowing for an autumn blush;
+And virgin's bower, trailing airily;
+With others of the sisterhood. Hard by,
+Stood serene Cupids watching silently.
+One, kneeling to a lyre, touch'd the strings,
+Muffling to death the pathos with his wings;
+And, ever and anon, uprose to look
+At the youth's slumber; while another took
+A willow-bough, distilling odorous dew,
+And shook it on his hair; another flew
+In through the woven roof, and fluttering-wise
+Rain'd violets upon his sleeping eyes.
+At these enchantments, and yet many more,
+The breathless Latmian wonder'd o'er and o'er;
+Until, impatient in embarrassment,
+He forthright pass'd, and lightly treading went
+To that same feather'd lyrist, who straightway,
+Smiling, thus whisper'd: "Though from upper day
+Thou art a wanderer, and thy presence here
+Might seem unholy, be of happy cheer!
+For 'tis the nicest touch of human honour,
+When some ethereal and high-favouring donor
+Presents immortal bowers to mortal sense;
+As now 'tis done to thee, Endymion. Hence
+Was I in no wise startled. So recline
+Upon these living flowers. Here is wine,
+Alive with sparkles--never, I aver,
+Since Ariadne was a vintager,
+So cool a purple: taste these juicy pears,
+Sent me by sad Vertumnus, when his fears
+Were high about Pomona: here is cream,
+Deepening to richness from a snowy gleam;
+Sweeter than that nurse Amalthea skimm'd
+For the boy Jupiter: and here, undimm'd
+By any touch, a bunch of blooming plums
+Ready to melt between an infant's gums:
+And here is manna pick'd from Syrian trees,
+In starlight, by the three Hesperides.
+Feast on, and meanwhile I will let thee know
+Of all these things around us." He did so,
+Still brooding o'er the cadence of his lyre;
+And thus: "I need not any hearing tire
+By telling how the sea-born goddess pin'd
+For a mortal youth, and how she strove to bind
+Him all in all unto her doting self.
+Who would not be so prison'd? but, fond elf,
+He was content to let her amorous plea
+Faint through his careless arms; content to see
+An unseiz'd heaven dying at his feet;
+Content, O fool! to make a cold retreat,
+When on the pleasant grass such love, lovelorn,
+Lay sorrowing; when every tear was born
+Of diverse passion; when her lips and eyes
+Were clos'd in sullen moisture, and quick sighs
+Came vex'd and pettish through her nostrils small.
+Hush! no exclaim--yet, justly mightst thou call
+Curses upon his head.--I was half glad,
+But my poor mistress went distract and mad,
+When the boar tusk'd him: so away she flew
+To Jove's high throne, and by her plainings drew
+Immortal tear-drops down the thunderer's beard;
+Whereon, it was decreed he should be rear'd
+Each summer time to life. Lo! this is he,
+That same Adonis, safe in the privacy
+Of this still region all his winter-sleep.
+Aye, sleep; for when our love-sick queen did weep
+Over his waned corse, the tremulous shower
+Heal'd up the wound, and, with a balmy power,
+Medicined death to a lengthened drowsiness:
+The which she fills with visions, and doth dress
+In all this quiet luxury; and hath set
+Us young immortals, without any let,
+To watch his slumber through. 'Tis well nigh pass'd,
+Even to a moment's filling up, and fast
+She scuds with summer breezes, to pant through
+The first long kiss, warm firstling, to renew
+Embower'd sports in Cytherea's isle.
+Look! how those winged listeners all this while
+Stand anxious: see! behold!"--This clamant word
+Broke through the careful silence; for they heard
+A rustling noise of leaves, and out there flutter'd
+Pigeons and doves: Adonis something mutter'd,
+The while one hand, that erst upon his thigh
+Lay dormant, mov'd convuls'd and gradually
+Up to his forehead. Then there was a hum
+Of sudden voices, echoing, "Come! come!
+Arise! awake! Clear summer has forth walk'd
+Unto the clover-sward, and she has talk'd
+Full soothingly to every nested finch:
+Rise, Cupids! or we'll give the blue-bell pinch
+To your dimpled arms. Once more sweet life begin!"
+At this, from every side they hurried in,
+Rubbing their sleepy eyes with lazy wrists,
+And doubling overhead their little fists
+In backward yawns. But all were soon alive:
+For as delicious wine doth, sparkling, dive
+In nectar'd clouds and curls through water fair,
+So from the arbour roof down swell'd an air
+Odorous and enlivening; making all
+To laugh, and play, and sing, and loudly call
+For their sweet queen: when lo! the wreathed green
+Disparted, and far upward could be seen
+Blue heaven, and a silver car, air-borne,
+Whose silent wheels, fresh wet from clouds of morn,
+Spun off a drizzling dew,--which falling chill
+On soft Adonis' shoulders, made him still
+Nestle and turn uneasily about.
+Soon were the white doves plain, with necks stretch'd out,
+And silken traces lighten'd in descent;
+And soon, returning from love's banishment,
+Queen Venus leaning downward open arm'd:
+Her shadow fell upon his breast, and charm'd
+A tumult to his heart, and a new life
+Into his eyes. Ah, miserable strife,
+But for her comforting! unhappy sight,
+But meeting her blue orbs! Who, who can write
+Of these first minutes? The unchariest muse
+To embracements warm as theirs makes coy excuse.
+O it has ruffled every spirit there,
+Saving love's self, who stands superb to share
+The general gladness: awfully he stands;
+A sovereign quell is in his waving hands;
+No sight can bear the lightning of his bow;
+His quiver is mysterious, none can know
+What themselves think of it; from forth his eyes
+There darts strange light of varied hues and dyes:
+A scowl is sometimes on his brow, but who
+Look full upon it feel anon the blue
+Of his fair eyes run liquid through their souls.
+Endymion feels it, and no more controls
+The burning prayer within him; so, bent low,
+He had begun a plaining of his woe.
+But Venus, bending forward, said: "My child,
+Favour this gentle youth; his days are wild
+With love--he--but alas! too well I see
+Thou know'st the deepness of his misery.
+Ah, smile not so, my son: I tell thee true,
+That when through heavy hours I used to rue
+The endless sleep of this new-born Adon',
+This stranger ay I pitied. For upon
+A dreary morning once I fled away
+Into the breezy clouds, to weep and pray
+For this my love: for vexing Mars had teaz'd
+Me even to tears: thence, when a little eas'd,
+Down-looking, vacant, through a hazy wood,
+I saw this youth as he despairing stood:
+Those same dark curls blown vagrant in the wind:
+Those same full fringed lids a constant blind
+Over his sullen eyes: I saw him throw
+Himself on wither'd leaves, even as though
+Death had come sudden; for no jot he mov'd,
+Yet mutter'd wildly. I could hear he lov'd
+Some fair immortal, and that his embrace
+Had zoned her through the night. There is no trace
+Of this in heaven: I have mark'd each cheek,
+And find it is the vainest thing to seek;
+And that of all things 'tis kept secretest.
+Endymion! one day thou wilt be blest:
+So still obey the guiding hand that fends
+Thee safely through these wonders for sweet ends.
+'Tis a concealment needful in extreme;
+And if I guess'd not so, the sunny beam
+Thou shouldst mount up to with me. Now adieu!
+Here must we leave thee."--At these words up flew
+The impatient doves, up rose the floating car,
+Up went the hum celestial. High afar
+The Latmian saw them minish into nought;
+And, when all were clear vanish'd, still he caught
+A vivid lightning from that dreadful bow.
+When all was darkened, with Etnean throe
+The earth clos'd--gave a solitary moan--
+And left him once again in twilight lone.
+He did not rave, he did not stare aghast,
+For all those visions were o'ergone, and past,
+And he in loneliness: he felt assur'd
+Of happy times, when all he had endur'd
+Would seem a feather to the mighty prize.
+So, with unusual gladness, on he hies
+Through caves, and palaces of mottled ore,
+Gold dome, and crystal wall, and turquois floor,
+Black polish'd porticos of awful shade,
+And, at the last, a diamond balustrade,
+Leading afar past wild magnificence,
+Spiral through ruggedest loopholes, and thence
+Stretching across a void, then guiding o'er
+Enormous chasms, where, all foam and roar,
+Streams subterranean tease their granite beds;
+Then heighten'd just above the silvery heads
+Of a thousand fountains, so that he could dash
+The waters with his spear; but at the splash,
+Done heedlessly, those spouting columns rose
+Sudden a poplar's height, and 'gan to enclose
+His diamond path with fretwork, streaming round
+Alive, and dazzling cool, and with a sound,
+Haply, like dolphin tumults, when sweet shells
+Welcome the float of Thetis. Long he dwells
+On this delight; for, every minute's space,
+The streams with changed magic interlace:
+Sometimes like delicatest lattices,
+Cover'd with crystal vines; then weeping trees,
+Moving about as in a gentle wind,
+Which, in a wink, to watery gauze refin'd,
+Pour'd into shapes of curtain'd canopies,
+Spangled, and rich with liquid broideries
+Of flowers, peacocks, swans, and naiads fair.
+Swifter than lightning went these wonders rare;
+And then the water, into stubborn streams
+Collecting, mimick'd the wrought oaken beams,
+Pillars, and frieze, and high fantastic roof,
+Of those dusk places in times far aloof
+Cathedrals call'd. He bade a loth farewel
+To these founts Protean, passing gulph, and dell,
+And torrent, and ten thousand jutting shapes,
+Half seen through deepest gloom, and griesly gapes,
+Blackening on every side, and overhead
+A vaulted dome like Heaven's, far bespread
+With starlight gems: aye, all so huge and strange,
+The solitary felt a hurried change
+Working within him into something dreary,--
+Vex'd like a morning eagle, lost, and weary,
+And purblind amid foggy, midnight wolds.
+But he revives at once: for who beholds
+New sudden things, nor casts his mental slough?
+Forth from a rugged arch, in the dusk below,
+Came mother Cybele! alone--alone--
+In sombre chariot; dark foldings thrown
+About her majesty, and front death-pale,
+With turrets crown'd. Four maned lions hale
+The sluggish wheels; solemn their toothed maws,
+Their surly eyes brow-hidden, heavy paws
+Uplifted drowsily, and nervy tails
+Cowering their tawny brushes. Silent sails
+This shadowy queen athwart, and faints away
+In another gloomy arch.
+Wherefore delay,
+Young traveller, in such a mournful place?
+Art thou wayworn, or canst not further trace
+The diamond path? And does it indeed end
+Abrupt in middle air? Yet earthward bend
+Thy forehead, and to Jupiter cloud-borne
+Call ardently! He was indeed wayworn;
+Abrupt, in middle air, his way was lost;
+To cloud-borne Jove he bowed, and there crost
+Towards him a large eagle, 'twixt whose wings,
+Without one impious word, himself he flings,
+Committed to the darkness and the gloom:
+Down, down, uncertain to what pleasant doom,
+Swift as a fathoming plummet down he fell
+Through unknown things; till exhaled asphodel,
+And rose, with spicy fannings interbreath'd,
+Came swelling forth where little caves were wreath'd
+So thick with leaves and mosses, that they seem'd
+Large honey-combs of green, and freshly teem'd
+With airs delicious. In the greenest nook
+The eagle landed him, and farewel took.
+It was a jasmine bower, all bestrown
+With golden moss. His every sense had grown
+Ethereal for pleasure; 'bove his head
+Flew a delight half-graspable; his tread
+Was Hesperean; to his capable ears
+Silence was music from the holy spheres;
+A dewy luxury was in his eyes;
+The little flowers felt his pleasant sighs
+And stirr'd them faintly. Verdant cave and cell
+He wander'd through, oft wondering at such swell
+Of sudden exaltation: but, "Alas!
+Said he, "will all this gush of feeling pass
+Away in solitude? And must they wane,
+Like melodies upon a sandy plain,
+Without an echo? Then shall I be left
+So sad, so melancholy, so bereft!
+Yet still I feel immortal! O my love,
+My breath of life, where art thou? High above,
+Dancing before the morning gates of heaven?
+Or keeping watch among those starry seven,
+Old Atlas' children? Art a maid of the waters,
+One of shell-winding Triton's bright-hair'd daughters?
+Or art, impossible! a nymph of Dian's,
+Weaving a coronal of tender scions
+For very idleness? Where'er thou art,
+Methinks it now is at my will to start
+Into thine arms; to scare Aurora's train,
+And snatch thee from the morning; o'er the main
+To scud like a wild bird, and take thee off
+From thy sea-foamy cradle; or to doff
+Thy shepherd vest, and woo thee mid fresh leaves.
+No, no, too eagerly my soul deceives
+Its powerless self: I know this cannot be.
+O let me then by some sweet dreaming flee
+To her entrancements: hither sleep awhile!
+Hither most gentle sleep! and soothing foil
+For some few hours the coming solitude."
+Thus spake he, and that moment felt endued
+With power to dream deliciously; so wound
+Through a dim passage, searching till he found
+The smoothest mossy bed and deepest, where
+He threw himself, and just into the air
+Stretching his indolent arms, he took, O bliss!
+A naked waist: "Fair Cupid, whence is this?"
+A well-known voice sigh'd, "Sweetest, here am I!"
+At which soft ravishment, with doating cry
+They trembled to each other.--Helicon!
+O fountain'd hill! Old Homer's Helicon!
+That thou wouldst spout a little streamlet o'er
+These sorry pages; then the verse would soar
+And sing above this gentle pair, like lark
+Over his nested young: but all is dark
+Around thine aged top, and thy clear fount
+Exhales in mists to heaven. Aye, the count
+Of mighty Poets is made up; the scroll
+Is folded by the Muses; the bright roll
+Is in Apollo's hand: our dazed eyes
+Have seen a new tinge in the western skies:
+The world has done its duty. Yet, oh yet,
+Although the sun of poesy is set,
+These lovers did embrace, and we must weep
+That there is no old power left to steep
+A quill immortal in their joyous tears.
+Long time in silence did their anxious fears
+Question that thus it was; long time they lay
+Fondling and kissing every doubt away;
+Long time ere soft caressing sobs began
+To mellow into words, and then there ran
+Two bubbling springs of talk from their sweet lips.
+"O known Unknown! from whom my being sips
+Such darling essence, wherefore may I not
+Be ever in these arms? in this sweet spot
+Pillow my chin for ever? ever press
+These toying hands and kiss their smooth excess?
+Why not for ever and for ever feel
+That breath about my eyes? Ah, thou wilt steal
+Away from me again, indeed, indeed--
+Thou wilt be gone away, and wilt not heed
+My lonely madness. Speak, my kindest fair!
+Is--is it to be so? No! Who will dare
+To pluck thee from me? And, of thine own will,
+Full well I feel thou wouldst not leave me. Still
+Let me entwine thee surer, surer--now
+How can we part? Elysium! who art thou?
+Who, that thou canst not be for ever here,
+Or lift me with thee to some starry sphere?
+Enchantress! tell me by this soft embrace,
+By the most soft completion of thy face,
+Those lips, O slippery blisses, twinkling eyes,
+And by these tenderest, milky sovereignties--
+These tenderest, and by the nectar-wine,
+The passion"--------"O lov'd Ida the divine!
+Endymion! dearest! Ah, unhappy me!
+His soul will 'scape us--O felicity!
+How he does love me! His poor temples beat
+To the very tune of love--how sweet, sweet, sweet.
+Revive, dear youth, or I shall faint and die;
+Revive, or these soft hours will hurry by
+In tranced dulness; speak, and let that spell
+Affright this lethargy! I cannot quell
+Its heavy pressure, and will press at least
+My lips to thine, that they may richly feast
+Until we taste the life of love again.
+What! dost thou move? dost kiss? O bliss! O pain!
+I love thee, youth, more than I can conceive;
+And so long absence from thee doth bereave
+My soul of any rest: yet must I hence:
+Yet, can I not to starry eminence
+Uplift thee; nor for very shame can own
+Myself to thee. Ah, dearest, do not groan
+Or thou wilt force me from this secrecy,
+And I must blush in heaven. O that I
+Had done it already; that the dreadful smiles
+At my lost brightness, my impassion'd wiles,
+Had waned from Olympus' solemn height,
+And from all serious Gods; that our delight
+Was quite forgotten, save of us alone!
+And wherefore so ashamed? 'Tis but to atone
+For endless pleasure, by some coward blushes:
+Yet must I be a coward!--Horror rushes
+Too palpable before me--the sad look
+Of Jove--Minerva's start--no bosom shook
+With awe of purity--no Cupid pinion
+In reverence veiled--my crystaline dominion
+Half lost, and all old hymns made nullity!
+But what is this to love? O I could fly
+With thee into the ken of heavenly powers,
+So thou wouldst thus, for many sequent hours,
+Press me so sweetly. Now I swear at once
+That I am wise, that Pallas is a dunce--
+Perhaps her love like mine is but unknown--
+O I do think that I have been alone
+In chastity: yes, Pallas has been sighing,
+While every eve saw me my hair uptying
+With fingers cool as aspen leaves. Sweet love,
+I was as vague as solitary dove,
+Nor knew that nests were built. Now a soft kiss--
+Aye, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss,
+An immortality of passion's thine:
+Ere long I will exalt thee to the shine
+Of heaven ambrosial; and we will shade
+Ourselves whole summers by a river glade;
+And I will tell thee stories of the sky,
+And breathe thee whispers of its minstrelsy.
+My happy love will overwing all bounds!
+O let me melt into thee; let the sounds
+Of our close voices marry at their birth;
+Let us entwine hoveringly--O dearth
+Of human words! roughness of mortal speech!
+Lispings empyrean will I sometime teach
+Thine honied tongue--lute-breathings, which I gasp
+To have thee understand, now while I clasp
+Thee thus, and weep for fondness--I am pain'd,
+Endymion: woe! woe! is grief contain'd
+In the very deeps of pleasure, my sole life?"--
+Hereat, with many sobs, her gentle strife
+Melted into a languor. He return'd
+Entranced vows and tears.
+Ye who have yearn'd
+With too much passion, will here stay and pity,
+For the mere sake of truth; as 'tis a ditty
+Not of these days, but long ago 'twas told
+By a cavern wind unto a forest old;
+And then the forest told it in a dream
+To a sleeping lake, whose cool and level gleam
+A poet caught as he was journeying
+To Phoebus' shrine; and in it he did fling
+His weary limbs, bathing an hour's space,
+And after, straight in that inspired place
+He sang the story up into the air,
+Giving it universal freedom. There
+Has it been ever sounding for those ears
+Whose tips are glowing hot. The legend cheers
+Yon centinel stars; and he who listens to it
+Must surely be self-doomed or he will rue it:
+For quenchless burnings come upon the heart,
+Made fiercer by a fear lest any part
+Should be engulphed in the eddying wind.
+As much as here is penn'd doth always find
+A resting place, thus much comes clear and plain;
+Anon the strange voice is upon the wane--
+And 'tis but echo'd from departing sound,
+That the fair visitant at last unwound
+Her gentle limbs, and left the youth asleep.--
+Thus the tradition of the gusty deep.
+Now turn we to our former chroniclers.--
+Endymion awoke, that grief of hers
+Sweet paining on his ear: he sickly guess'd
+How lone he was once more, and sadly press'd
+His empty arms together, hung his head,
+And most forlorn upon that widow'd bed
+Sat silently. Love's madness he had known:
+Often with more than tortured lion's groan
+Moanings had burst from him; but now that rage
+Had pass'd away: no longer did he wage
+A rough-voic'd war against the dooming stars.
+No, he had felt too much for such harsh jars:
+The lyre of his soul Eolian tun'd
+Forgot all violence, and but commun'd
+With melancholy thought: O he had swoon'd
+Drunken from pleasure's nipple; and his love
+Henceforth was dove-like.--Loth was he to move
+From the imprinted couch, and when he did,
+'Twas with slow, languid paces, and face hid
+In muffling hands. So temper'd, out he stray'd
+Half seeing visions that might have dismay'd
+Alecto's serpents; ravishments more keen
+Than Hermes' pipe, when anxious he did lean
+Over eclipsing eyes: and at the last
+It was a sounding grotto, vaulted, vast,
+O'er studded with a thousand, thousand pearls,
+And crimson mouthed shells with stubborn curls,
+Of every shape and size, even to the bulk
+In which whales arbour close, to brood and sulk
+Against an endless storm. Moreover too,
+Fish-semblances, of green and azure hue,
+Ready to snort their streams. In this cool wonder
+Endymion sat down, and 'gan to ponder
+On all his life: his youth, up to the day
+When 'mid acclaim, and feasts, and garlands gay,
+He stept upon his shepherd throne: the look
+Of his white palace in wild forest nook,
+And all the revels he had lorded there:
+Each tender maiden whom he once thought fair,
+With every friend and fellow-woodlander--
+Pass'd like a dream before him. Then the spur
+Of the old bards to mighty deeds: his plans
+To nurse the golden age 'mong shepherd clans:
+That wondrous night: the great Pan-festival:
+His sister's sorrow; and his wanderings all,
+Until into the earth's deep maw he rush'd:
+Then all its buried magic, till it flush'd
+High with excessive love. "And now," thought he,
+"How long must I remain in jeopardy
+Of blank amazements that amaze no more?
+Now I have tasted her sweet soul to the core
+All other depths are shallow: essences,
+Once spiritual, are like muddy lees,
+Meant but to fertilize my earthly root,
+And make my branches lift a golden fruit
+Into the bloom of heaven: other light,
+Though it be quick and sharp enough to blight
+The Olympian eagle's vision, is dark,
+Dark as the parentage of chaos. Hark!
+My silent thoughts are echoing from these shells;
+Or they are but the ghosts, the dying swells
+Of noises far away?--list!"--Hereupon
+He kept an anxious ear. The humming tone
+Came louder, and behold, there as he lay,
+On either side outgush'd, with misty spray,
+A copious spring; and both together dash'd
+Swift, mad, fantastic round the rocks, and lash'd
+Among the conchs and shells of the lofty grot,
+Leaving a trickling dew. At last they shot
+Down from the ceiling's height, pouring a noise
+As of some breathless racers whose hopes poize
+Upon the last few steps, and with spent force
+Along the ground they took a winding course.
+Endymion follow'd--for it seem'd that one
+Ever pursued, the other strove to shun--
+Follow'd their languid mazes, till well nigh
+He had left thinking of the mystery,--
+And was now rapt in tender hoverings
+Over the vanish'd bliss. Ah! what is it sings
+His dream away? What melodies are these?
+They sound as through the whispering of trees,
+Not native in such barren vaults. Give ear!
+"O Arethusa, peerless nymph! why fear
+Such tenderness as mine? Great Dian, why,
+Why didst thou hear her prayer? O that I
+Were rippling round her dainty fairness now,
+Circling about her waist, and striving how
+To entice her to a dive! then stealing in
+Between her luscious lips and eyelids thin.
+O that her shining hair was in the sun,
+And I distilling from it thence to run
+In amorous rillets down her shrinking form!
+To linger on her lily shoulders, warm
+Between her kissing breasts, and every charm
+Touch raptur'd!--See how painfully I flow:
+Fair maid, be pitiful to my great woe.
+Stay, stay thy weary course, and let me lead,
+A happy wooer, to the flowery mead
+Where all that beauty snar'd me."--"Cruel god,
+Desist! or my offended mistress' nod
+Will stagnate all thy fountains:--tease me not
+With syren words--Ah, have I really got
+Such power to madden thee? And is it true--
+Away, away, or I shall dearly rue
+My very thoughts: in mercy then away,
+Kindest Alpheus for should I obey
+My own dear will, 'twould be a deadly bane."--
+"O, Oread-Queen! would that thou hadst a pain
+Like this of mine, then would I fearless turn
+And be a criminal."--"Alas, I burn,
+I shudder--gentle river, get thee hence.
+Alpheus! thou enchanter! every sense
+Of mine was once made perfect in these woods.
+Fresh breezes, bowery lawns, and innocent floods,
+Ripe fruits, and lonely couch, contentment gave;
+But ever since I heedlessly did lave
+In thy deceitful stream, a panting glow
+Grew strong within me: wherefore serve me so,
+And call it love? Alas, 'twas cruelty.
+Not once more did I close my happy eyes
+Amid the thrush's song. Away! Avaunt!
+O 'twas a cruel thing."--"Now thou dost taunt
+So softly, Arethusa, that I think
+If thou wast playing on my shady brink,
+Thou wouldst bathe once again. Innocent maid!
+Stifle thine heart no more;--nor be afraid
+Of angry powers: there are deities
+Will shade us with their wings. Those fitful sighs
+'Tis almost death to hear: O let me pour
+A dewy balm upon them!--fear no more,
+Sweet Arethusa! Dian's self must feel
+Sometimes these very pangs. Dear maiden, steal
+Blushing into my soul, and let us fly
+These dreary caverns for the open sky.
+I will delight thee all my winding course,
+From the green sea up to my hidden source
+About Arcadian forests; and will shew
+The channels where my coolest waters flow
+Through mossy rocks; where, 'mid exuberant green,
+I roam in pleasant darkness, more unseen
+Than Saturn in his exile; where I brim
+Round flowery islands, and take thence a skim
+Of mealy sweets, which myriads of bees
+Buzz from their honied wings: and thou shouldst please
+Thyself to choose the richest, where we might
+Be incense-pillow'd every summer night.
+Doff all sad fears, thou white deliciousness,
+And let us be thus comforted; unless
+Thou couldst rejoice to see my hopeless stream
+Hurry distracted from Sol's temperate beam,
+And pour to death along some hungry sands."--
+"What can I do, Alpheus? Dian stands
+Severe before me: persecuting fate!
+Unhappy Arethusa! thou wast late
+A huntress free in"--At this, sudden fell
+Those two sad streams adown a fearful dell.
+The Latmian listen'd, but he heard no more,
+Save echo, faint repeating o'er and o'er
+The name of Arethusa. On the verge
+Of that dark gulph he wept, and said: "I urge
+Thee, gentle Goddess of my pilgrimage,
+By our eternal hopes, to soothe, to assuage,
+If thou art powerful, these lovers pains;
+And make them happy in some happy plains.
+He turn'd--there was a whelming sound--he stept,
+There was a cooler light; and so he kept
+Towards it by a sandy path, and lo!
+More suddenly than doth a moment go,
+The visions of the earth were gone and fled--
+He saw the giant sea above his head.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	50. O Blush Not So!	|	<poem>
+O blush not so! O blush not so!
+Or I shall think you knowing;
+And if you smile the blushing while,
+Then maidenheads are going.
+There's a blush for want, and a blush for shan't,
+And a blush for having done it;
+There's a blush for thought, and a blush for nought,
+And a blush for just begun it.
+O sigh not so! O sigh not so!
+For it sounds of Eve's sweet pippin;
+By these loosen'd lips you have tasted the pips
+And fought in an amorous nipping.
+Will you play once more at nice-cut-core,
+For it only will last our youth out,
+And we have the prime of the kissing time,
+We have not one sweet tooth out.
+There's a sigh for aye, and a sigh for nay,
+And a sigh for "I can't bear it!"
+O what can be done, shall we stay or run?
+O cut the sweet apple and share it!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	51. Where Be Ye Going, You Devon Maid?	|	<poem>
+Where be ye going, you Devon maid?
+And what have ye there i' the basket?
+Ye tight little fairy, just fresh from the dairy,
+Will ye give me some cream if I ask it?
+I love your meads, and I love your flowers,
+And I love your junkets mainly,
+But 'hind the door, I love kissing more,
+O look not so disdainly!
+I love your hills, and I love your dales,
+And I love your flocks a-bleating;
+But O, on the heather to lie together,
+With both our hearts a-beating!
+I'll put your basket all safe in a nook,
+Your shawl I'll hang up on this willow,
+And we will sigh in the daisy's eye,
+And kiss on a grass-green pillow.
+</poem>	++++
+++++	52. Isabella or The Pot of Basil	|	<poem>I.
+Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!
+Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye!
+They could not in the self-same mansion dwell
+Without some stir of heart, some malady;
+They could not sit at meals but feel how well
+It soothed each to be the other by;
+They could not, sure, beneath the same roof sleep
+But to each other dream, and nightly weep.
+II.
+With every morn their love grew tenderer,
+With every eve deeper and tenderer still;
+He might not in house, field, or garden stir,
+But her full shape would all his seeing fill;
+And his continual voice was pleasanter
+To her, than noise of trees or hidden rill;
+Her lute-string gave an echo of his name,
+She spoilt her half-done broidery with the same.
+III.
+He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch,
+Before the door had given her to his eyes;
+And from her chamber-window he would catch
+Her beauty farther than the falcon spies;
+And constant as her vespers would he watch,
+Because her face was turn'd to the same skies;
+And with sick longing all the night outwear,
+To hear her morning-step upon the stair.
+IV.
+A whole long month of May in this sad plight
+Made their cheeks paler by the break of June:
+"To morrow will I bow to my delight,
+"To-morrow will I ask my lady's boon."--
+"O may I never see another night,
+"Lorenzo, if thy lips breathe not love's tune."--
+So spake they to their pillows; but, alas,
+Honeyless days and days did he let pass;
+V.
+Until sweet Isabella's untouch'd cheek
+Fell sick within the rose's just domain,
+Fell thin as a young mother's, who doth seek
+By every lull to cool her infant's pain:
+"How ill she is," said he, "I may not speak,
+"And yet I will, and tell my love all plain:
+"If looks speak love-laws, I will drink her tears,
+"And at the least 'twill startle off her cares."
+VI.
+So said he one fair morning, and all day
+His heart beat awfully against his side;
+And to his heart he inwardly did pray
+For power to speak; but still the ruddy tide
+Stifled his voice, and puls'd resolve away--
+Fever'd his high conceit of such a bride,
+Yet brought him to the meekness of a child:
+Alas! when passion is both meek and wild!
+VII.
+So once more he had wak'd and anguished
+A dreary night of love and misery,
+If Isabel's quick eye had not been wed
+To every symbol on his forehead high;
+She saw it waxing very pale and dead,
+And straight all flush'd; so, lisped tenderly,
+"Lorenzo!"--here she ceas'd her timid quest,
+But in her tone and look he read the rest.
+VIII.
+"O Isabella, I can half perceive
+"That I may speak my grief into thine ear;
+"If thou didst ever any thing believe,
+"Believe how I love thee, believe how near
+"My soul is to its doom: I would not grieve
+"Thy hand by unwelcome pressing, would not fear
+"Thine eyes by gazing; but I cannot live
+"Another night, and not my passion shrive.
+IX.
+"Love! thou art leading me from wintry cold,
+"Lady! thou leadest me to summer clime,
+"And I must taste the blossoms that unfold
+"In its ripe warmth this gracious morning time."
+So said, his erewhile timid lips grew bold,
+And poesied with hers in dewy rhyme:
+Great bliss was with them, and great happiness
+Grew, like a lusty flower in June's caress.
+X.
+Parting they seem'd to tread upon the air,
+Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart
+Only to meet again more close, and share
+The inward fragrance of each other's heart.
+She, to her chamber gone, a ditty fair
+Sang, of delicious love and honey'd dart;
+He with light steps went up a western hill,
+And bade the sun farewell, and joy'd his fill.
+XI.
+All close they met again, before the dusk
+Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
+All close they met, all eves, before the dusk
+Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
+Close in a bower of hyacinth and musk,
+Unknown of any, free from whispering tale.
+Ah! better had it been for ever so,
+Than idle ears should pleasure in their woe.
+XII.
+Were they unhappy then?--It cannot be--
+Too many tears for lovers have been shed,
+Too many sighs give we to them in fee,
+Too much of pity after they are dead,
+Too many doleful stories do we see,
+Whose matter in bright gold were best be read;
+Except in such a page where Theseus' spouse
+Over the pathless waves towards him bows.
+XIII.
+But, for the general award of love,
+The little sweet doth kill much bitterness;
+Though Dido silent is in under-grove,
+And Isabella's was a great distress,
+Though young Lorenzo in warm Indian clove
+Was not embalm'd, this truth is not the less--
+Even bees, the little almsmen of spring-bowers,
+Know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.
+XIV.
+With her two brothers this fair lady dwelt,
+Enriched from ancestral merchandize,
+And for them many a weary hand did swelt
+In torched mines and noisy factories,
+And many once proud-quiver'd loins did melt
+In blood from stinging whip;--with hollow eyes
+Many all day in dazzling river stood,
+To take the rich-ored driftings of the flood.
+XV.
+For them the Ceylon diver held his breath,
+And went all naked to the hungry shark;
+For them his ears gush'd blood; for them in death
+The seal on the cold ice with piteous bark
+Lay full of darts; for them alone did seethe
+A thousand men in troubles wide and dark:
+Half-ignorant, they turn'd an easy wheel,
+That set sharp racks at work, to pinch and peel.
+XVI.
+Why were they proud? Because their marble founts
+Gush'd with more pride than do a wretch's tears?--
+Why were they proud? Because fair orange-mounts
+Were of more soft ascent than lazar stairs?--
+Why were they proud? Because red-lin'd accounts
+Were richer than the songs of Grecian years?--
+Why were they proud? again we ask aloud,
+Why in the name of Glory were they proud?
+XVII.
+Yet were these Florentines as self-retired
+In hungry pride and gainful cowardice,
+As two close Hebrews in that land inspired,
+Paled in and vineyarded from beggar-spies,
+The hawks of ship-mast forests--the untired
+And pannier'd mules for ducats and old lies--
+Quick cat's-paws on the generous stray-away,--
+Great wits in Spanish, Tuscan, and Malay.
+XVIII.
+How was it these same ledger-men could spy
+Fair Isabella in her downy nest?
+How could they find out in Lorenzo's eye
+A straying from his toil? Hot Egypt's pest
+Into their vision covetous and sly!
+How could these money-bags see east and west?--
+Yet so they did--and every dealer fair
+Must see behind, as doth the hunted hare.
+XIX.
+O eloquent and famed Boccaccio!
+Of thee we now should ask forgiving boon,
+And of thy spicy myrtles as they blow,
+And of thy roses amorous of the moon,
+And of thy lilies, that do paler grow
+Now they can no more hear thy ghittern's tune,
+For venturing syllables that ill beseem
+The quiet glooms of such a piteous theme.
+XX.
+Grant thou a pardon here, and then the tale
+Shall move on soberly, as it is meet;
+There is no other crime, no mad assail
+To make old prose in modern rhyme more sweet:
+But it is done--succeed the verse or fail--
+To honour thee, and thy gone spirit greet;
+To stead thee as a verse in English tongue,
+An echo of thee in the north-wind sung.
+XXI.
+These brethren having found by many signs
+What love Lorenzo for their sister had,
+And how she lov'd him too, each unconfines
+His bitter thoughts to other, well nigh mad
+That he, the servant of their trade designs,
+Should in their sister's love be blithe and glad,
+When 'twas their plan to coax her by degrees
+To some high noble and his olive-trees.
+XXII.
+And many a jealous conference had they,
+And many times they bit their lips alone,
+Before they fix'd upon a surest way
+To make the youngster for his crime atone;
+And at the last, these men of cruel clay
+Cut Mercy with a sharp knife to the bone;
+For they resolved in some forest dim
+To kill Lorenzo, and there bury him.
+XXIII.
+So on a pleasant morning, as he leant
+Into the sun-rise, o'er the balustrade
+Of the garden-terrace, towards him they bent
+Their footing through the dews; and to him said,
+"You seem there in the quiet of content,
+"Lorenzo, and we are most loth to invade
+"Calm speculation; but if you are wise,
+"Bestride your steed while cold is in the skies.
+XXIV.
+"To-day we purpose, ay, this hour we mount
+"To spur three leagues towards the Apennine;
+"Come down, we pray thee, ere the hot sun count
+"His dewy rosary on the eglantine."
+Lorenzo, courteously as he was wont,
+Bow'd a fair greeting to these serpents' whine;
+And went in haste, to get in readiness,
+With belt, and spur, and bracing huntsman's dress.
+XXV.
+And as he to the court-yard pass'd along,
+Each third step did he pause, and listen'd oft
+If he could hear his lady's matin-song,
+Or the light whisper of her footstep soft;
+And as he thus over his passion hung,
+He heard a laugh full musical aloft;
+When, looking up, he saw her features bright
+Smile through an in-door lattice, all delight.
+XXVI.
+"Love, Isabel!" said he, "I was in pain
+"Lest I should miss to bid thee a good morrow:
+"Ah! what if I should lose thee, when so fain
+"I am to stifle all the heavy sorrow
+"Of a poor three hours' absence? but we'll gain
+"Out of the amorous dark what day doth borrow.
+"Good bye! I'll soon be back."--"Good bye!" said she:--
+And as he went she chanted merrily.
+XXVII.
+So the two brothers and their murder'd man
+Rode past fair Florence, to where Arno's stream
+Gurgles through straiten'd banks, and still doth fan
+Itself with dancing bulrush, and the bream
+Keeps head against the freshets. Sick and wan
+The brothers' faces in the ford did seem,
+Lorenzo's flush with love.--They pass'd the water
+Into a forest quiet for the slaughter.
+XXVIII.
+There was Lorenzo slain and buried in,
+There in that forest did his great love cease;
+Ah! when a soul doth thus its freedom win,
+It aches in loneliness--is ill at peace
+As the break-covert blood-hounds of such sin:
+They dipp'd their swords in the water, and did tease
+Their horses homeward, with convulsed spur,
+Each richer by his being a murderer.
+XXIX.
+They told their sister how, with sudden speed,
+Lorenzo had ta'en ship for foreign lands,
+Because of some great urgency and need
+In their affairs, requiring trusty hands.
+Poor Girl! put on thy stifling widow's weed,
+And 'scape at once from Hope's accursed bands;
+To-day thou wilt not see him, nor to-morrow,
+And the next day will be a day of sorrow.
+XXX.
+She weeps alone for pleasures not to be;
+Sorely she wept until the night came on,
+And then, instead of love, O misery!
+She brooded o'er the luxury alone:
+His image in the dusk she seem'd to see,
+And to the silence made a gentle moan,
+Spreading her perfect arms upon the air,
+And on her couch low murmuring, "Where? O where?"
+XXXI.
+But Selfishness, Love's cousin, held not long
+Its fiery vigil in her single breast;
+She fretted for the golden hour, and hung
+Upon the time with feverish unrest--
+Not long--for soon into her heart a throng
+Of higher occupants, a richer zest,
+Came tragic; passion not to be subdued,
+And sorrow for her love in travels rude.
+XXXII.
+In the mid days of autumn, on their eves
+The breath of Winter comes from far away,
+And the sick west continually bereaves
+Of some gold tinge, and plays a roundelay
+Of death among the bushes and the leaves,
+To make all bare before he dares to stray
+From his north cavern. So sweet Isabel
+By gradual decay from beauty fell,
+XXXIII.
+Because Lorenzo came not. Oftentimes
+She ask'd her brothers, with an eye all pale,
+Striving to be itself, what dungeon climes
+Could keep him off so long? They spake a tale
+Time after time, to quiet her. Their crimes
+Came on them, like a smoke from Hinnom's vale;
+And every night in dreams they groan'd aloud,
+To see their sister in her snowy shroud.
+XXXIV.
+And she had died in drowsy ignorance,
+But for a thing more deadly dark than all;
+It came like a fierce potion, drunk by chance,
+Which saves a sick man from the feather'd pall
+For some few gasping moments; like a lance,
+Waking an Indian from his cloudy hall
+With cruel pierce, and bringing him again
+Sense of the gnawing fire at heart and brain.
+XXXV.
+It was a vision.--In the drowsy gloom,
+The dull of midnight, at her couch's foot
+Lorenzo stood, and wept: the forest tomb
+Had marr'd his glossy hair which once could shoot
+Lustre into the sun, and put cold doom
+Upon his lips, and taken the soft lute
+From his lorn voice, and past his loamed ears
+Had made a miry channel for his tears.
+XXXVI.
+Strange sound it was, when the pale shadow spake;
+For there was striving, in its piteous tongue,
+To speak as when on earth it was awake,
+And Isabella on its music hung:
+Languor there was in it, and tremulous shake,
+As in a palsied Druid's harp unstrung;
+And through it moan'd a ghostly under-song,
+Like hoarse night-gusts sepulchral briars among.
+XXXVII.
+Its eyes, though wild, were still all dewy bright
+With love, and kept all phantom fear aloof
+From the poor girl by magic of their light,
+The while it did unthread the horrid woof
+Of the late darken'd time,--the murderous spite
+Of pride and avarice,--the dark pine roof
+In the forest,--and the sodden turfed dell,
+Where, without any word, from stabs he fell.
+XXXVIII.
+Saying moreover, "Isabel, my sweet!
+"Red whortle-berries droop above my head,
+"And a large flint-stone weighs upon my feet;
+"Around me beeches and high chestnuts shed
+"Their leaves and prickly nuts; a sheep-fold bleat
+"Comes from beyond the river to my bed:
+"Go, shed one tear upon my heather-bloom,
+"And it shall comfort me within the tomb.
+XXXIX.
+"I am a shadow now, alas! alas!
+"Upon the skirts of human-nature dwelling
+"Alone: I chant alone the holy mass,
+"While little sounds of life are round me knelling,
+"And glossy bees at noon do fieldward pass,
+"And many a chapel bell the hour is telling,
+"Paining me through: those sounds grow strange to me,
+"And thou art distant in Humanity.
+XL.
+"I know what was, I feel full well what is,
+"And I should rage, if spirits could go mad;
+"Though I forget the taste of earthly bliss,
+"That paleness warms my grave, as though I had
+"A Seraph chosen from the bright abyss
+"To be my spouse: thy paleness makes me glad;
+"Thy beauty grows upon me, and I feel
+"A greater love through all my essence steal."
+XLI.
+The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!"--dissolv'd, and left
+The atom darkness in a slow turmoil;
+As when of healthful midnight sleep bereft,
+Thinking on rugged hours and fruitless toil,
+We put our eyes into a pillowy cleft,
+And see the spangly gloom froth up and boil:
+It made sad Isabella's eyelids ache,
+And in the dawn she started up awake;
+XLII.
+"Ha! ha!" said she, "I knew not this hard life,
+"I thought the worst was simple misery;
+"I thought some Fate with pleasure or with strife
+"Portion'd us--happy days, or else to die;
+"But there is crime--a brother's bloody knife!
+"Sweet Spirit, thou hast school'd my infancy:
+"I'll visit thee for this, and kiss thine eyes,
+"And greet thee morn and even in the skies."
+XLIII.
+When the full morning came, she had devised
+How she might secret to the forest hie;
+How she might find the clay, so dearly prized,
+And sing to it one latest lullaby;
+How her short absence might be unsurmised,
+While she the inmost of the dream would try.
+Resolv'd, she took with her an aged nurse,
+And went into that dismal forest-hearse.
+XLIV.
+See, as they creep along the river side,
+How she doth whisper to that aged Dame,
+And, after looking round the champaign wide,
+Shows her a knife.--"What feverous hectic flame
+"Burns in thee, child?--What good can thee betide,
+"That thou should'st smile again?"--The evening came,
+And they had found Lorenzo's earthy bed;
+The flint was there, the berries at his head.
+XLV.
+Who hath not loiter'd in a green church-yard,
+And let his spirit, like a demon-mole,
+Work through the clayey soil and gravel hard,
+To see skull, coffin'd bones, and funeral stole;
+Pitying each form that hungry Death hath marr'd,
+And filling it once more with human soul?
+Ah! this is holiday to what was felt
+When Isabella by Lorenzo knelt.
+XLVI.
+She gaz'd into the fresh-thrown mould, as though
+One glance did fully all its secrets tell;
+Clearly she saw, as other eyes would know
+Pale limbs at bottom of a crystal well;
+Upon the murderous spot she seem'd to grow,
+Like to a native lily of the dell:
+Then with her knife, all sudden, she began
+To dig more fervently than misers can.
+XLVII.
+Soon she turn'd up a soiled glove, whereon
+Her silk had play'd in purple phantasies,
+She kiss'd it with a lip more chill than stone,
+And put it in her bosom, where it dries
+And freezes utterly unto the bone
+Those dainties made to still an infant's cries:
+Then 'gan she work again; nor stay'd her care,
+But to throw back at times her veiling hair.
+XLVIII.
+That old nurse stood beside her wondering,
+Until her heart felt pity to the core
+At sight of such a dismal labouring,
+And so she kneeled, with her locks all hoar,
+And put her lean hands to the horrid thing:
+Three hours they labour'd at this travail sore;
+At last they felt the kernel of the grave,
+And Isabella did not stamp and rave.
+XLIX.
+Ah! wherefore all this wormy circumstance?
+Why linger at the yawning tomb so long?
+O for the gentleness of old Romance,
+The simple plaining of a minstrel's song!
+Fair reader, at the old tale take a glance,
+For here, in truth, it doth not well belong
+To speak:--O turn thee to the very tale,
+And taste the music of that vision pale.
+L.
+With duller steel than the Persиan sword
+They cut away no formless monster's head,
+But one, whose gentleness did well accord
+With death, as life. The ancient harps have said,
+Love never dies, but lives, immortal Lord:
+If Love impersonate was ever dead,
+Pale Isabella kiss'd it, and low moan'd.
+'Twas love; cold,--dead indeed, but not dethroned.
+LI.
+In anxious secrecy they took it home,
+And then the prize was all for Isabel:
+She calm'd its wild hair with a golden comb,
+And all around each eye's sepulchral cell
+Pointed each fringed lash; the smeared loam
+With tears, as chilly as a dripping well,
+She drench'd away:--and still she comb'd, and kept
+Sighing all day--and still she kiss'd, and wept.
+LII.
+Then in a silken scarf,--sweet with the dews
+Of precious flowers pluck'd in Araby,
+And divine liquids come with odorous ooze
+Through the cold serpent pipe refreshfully,--
+She wrapp'd it up; and for its tomb did choose
+A garden-pot, wherein she laid it by,
+And cover'd it with mould, and o'er it set
+Sweet Basil, which her tears kept ever wet.
+LIII.
+And she forgot the stars, the moon, and sun,
+And she forgot the blue above the trees,
+And she forgot the dells where waters run,
+And she forgot the chilly autumn breeze;
+She had no knowledge when the day was done,
+And the new morn she saw not: but in peace
+Hung over her sweet Basil evermore,
+And moisten'd it with tears unto the core.
+LIV.
+And so she ever fed it with thin tears,
+Whence thick, and green, and beautiful it grew,
+So that it smelt more balmy than its peers
+Of Basil-tufts in Florence; for it drew
+Nurture besides, and life, from human fears,
+From the fast mouldering head there shut from view:
+So that the jewel, safely casketed,
+Came forth, and in perfumed leafits spread.
+LV.
+O Melancholy, linger here awhile!
+O Music, Music, breathe despondingly!
+O Echo, Echo, from some sombre isle,
+Unknown, Lethean, sigh to us--O sigh!
+Spirits in grief, lift up your heads, and smile;
+Lift up your heads, sweet Spirits, heavily,
+And make a pale light in your cypress glooms,
+Tinting with silver wan your marble tombs.
+LVI.
+Moan hither, all ye syllables of woe,
+From the deep throat of sad Melpomene!
+Through bronzed lyre in tragic order go,
+And touch the strings into a mystery;
+Sound mournfully upon the winds and low;
+For simple Isabel is soon to be
+Among the dead: She withers, like a palm
+Cut by an Indian for its juicy balm.
+LVII.
+O leave the palm to wither by itself;
+Let not quick Winter chill its dying hour!--
+It may not be--those Baalites of pelf,
+Her brethren, noted the continual shower
+From her dead eyes; and many a curious elf,
+Among her kindred, wonder'd that such dower
+Of youth and beauty should be thrown aside
+By one mark'd out to be a Noble's bride.
+LVIII.
+And, furthermore, her brethren wonder'd much
+Why she sat drooping by the Basil green,
+And why it flourish'd, as by magic touch;
+Greatly they wonder'd what the thing might mean:
+They could not surely give belief, that such
+A very nothing would have power to wean
+Her from her own fair youth, and pleasures gay,
+And even remembrance of her love's delay.
+LIX.
+Therefore they watch'd a time when they might sift
+This hidden whim; and long they watch'd in vain;
+For seldom did she go to chapel-shrift,
+And seldom felt she any hunger-pain;
+And when she left, she hurried back, as swift
+As bird on wing to breast its eggs again;
+And, patient as a hen-bird, sat her there
+Beside her Basil, weeping through her hair.
+LX.
+Yet they contriv'd to steal the Basil-pot,
+And to examine it in secret place:
+The thing was vile with green and livid spot,
+And yet they knew it was Lorenzo's face:
+The guerdon of their murder they had got,
+And so left Florence in a moment's space,
+Never to turn again.--Away they went,
+With blood upon their heads, to banishment.
+LXI.
+O Melancholy, turn thine eyes away!
+O Music, Music, breathe despondingly!
+O Echo, Echo, on some other day,
+From isles Lethean, sigh to us--O sigh!
+Spirits of grief, sing not your "Well-a-way!"
+For Isabel, sweet Isabel, will die;
+Will die a death too lone and incomplete,
+Now they have ta'en away her Basil sweet.
+LXII.
+Piteous she look'd on dead and senseless things,
+Asking for her lost Basil amorously:
+And with melodious chuckle in the strings
+Of her lorn voice, she oftentimes would cry
+After the Pilgrim in his wanderings,
+To ask him where her Basil was; and why
+'Twas hid from her: "For cruel 'tis," said she,
+"To steal my Basil-pot away from me."
+LXIII.
+And so she pined, and so she died forlorn,
+Imploring for her Basil to the last.
+No heart was there in Florence but did mourn
+In pity of her love, so overcast.
+And a sad ditty of this story born
+From mouth to mouth through all the country pass'd:
+Still is the burthen sung--"O cruelty,
+"To steal my Basil-pot away from me!"
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	53. To—	|	<poem>
+Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs
+Be echoed swiftly through that ivory shell,
+Thine ear, and find thy gentle heart; so well
+Would passion arm me for the enterprise:
+But ah! I am no knight whose foeman dies;
+No cuirass glistens on my bosom's swell;
+I am no happy shepherd of the dell
+Whose lips have trembled with a maiden's eyes.
+Yet must I dote upon thee,—call thee sweet,
+Sweeter by far than Hybla's honied roses
+When steeped in dew rich to intoxication.
+Ah! I will taste that dew, for me 'tis meet,
+And when the moon her pallid face discloses,
+I'll gather some by spells, and incantation.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	54. To Homer	|	<poem>
+Standing aloof in giant ignorance,
+Of thee I hear and of the Cyclades,
+As one who sits ashore and longs perchance
+To visit dolphin-coral in deep seas.
+So thou wast blind;--but then the veil was rent,
+For Jove uncurtain'd Heaven to let thee live,
+And Neptune made for thee a spumy tent,
+And Pan made sing for thee his forest-hive;
+Aye on the shores of darkness there is light,
+And precipices show untrodden green,
+There is a budding morrow in midnight,
+There is a triple sight in blindness keen;
+Such seeing hadst thou, as it once befel
+To Dian, Queen of Earth, and Heaven, and Hell.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	55. Answer To A Sonnet By J.H.Reynolds	|	<poem>
+"Dark eyes are dearer far
+Than those that mock the hyacinthine bell."
+Blue! 'Tis the life of heaven,—the domain
+Of Cynthia,—the wide palace of the sun,—
+The tent of Hesperus, and all his train,—
+The bosomer of clouds, gold, gray, and dun.
+Blue! 'Tis the life of waters:—Ocean
+And all its vassal streams, pools numberless,
+May rage, and foam, and fret, but never can
+Subside, if not to dark-blue nativeness.
+Blue! gentle cousin of the forest-green,
+Married to green in all the sweetest flowers—
+Forget-me-not,—the blue-bell,—and, that queen
+Of secrecy, the violet: what strange powers
+Hast thou, as a mere shadow! But how great,
+When in an Eye thou art alive with fate!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	56. Written On The Day That Mr Leigh Hunt Left Prison	|	<poem>
+What though, for showing truth to flattered state,
+Kind Hunt was shut in prison, yet has he,
+In his immortal spirit, been as free
+As the sky-searching lark, and as elate.
+Minion of grandeur! think you he did wait?
+Think you he nought but prison-walls did see,
+Till, so unwilling, thou unturnedst the key?
+Ah, no! far happier, nobler was his fate!
+In Spenser's halls he strayed, and bowers fair,
+Culling enchanted flowers; and he flew
+With daring Milton through the fields of air:
+To regions of his own his genius true
+Took happy flights. Who shall his fame impair
+When thou art dead, and all thy wretched crew?
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	57. Lines On The Mermaid Tavern	|	<poem>
+Souls of Poets dead and gone,
+What Elysium have ye known,
+Happy field or mossy cavern,
+Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
+Have ye tippled drink more fine
+Than mine host's Canary wine?
+Or are fruits of Paradise
+Sweeter than those dainty pies
+Of venison? O generous food!
+Drest as though bold Robin Hood
+Would, with his maid Marian,
+Sup and bowse from horn and can.
+I have heard that on a day
+Mine host's sign-board flew away,
+Nobody knew whither, till
+An astrologer's old quill
+To a sheepskin gave the story,
+Said he saw you in your glory,
+Underneath a new old sign
+Sipping beverage divine,
+And pledging with contented smack
+The Mermaid in the Zodiac.
+Souls of Poets dead and gone,
+What Elysium have ye known,
+Happy field or mossy cavern,
+Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	58. To One Who Has Been Long In City Pent	|	<poem>
+To one who has been long in city pent,
+'Tis very sweet to look into the fair
+And open face of heaven,--to breathe a prayer
+Full in the smile of the blue firmament.
+Who is more happy, when, with heart's content,
+Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair
+Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair
+And gentle tale of love and languishment?
+Returning home at evening, with an ear
+Catching the notes of Philomel,--an eye
+Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career,
+He mourns that day so soon has glided by:
+E'en like the passage of an angel's tear
+That falls through the clear ether silently.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	59. This Living Hand	|	<poem>
+This living hand, now warm and capable
+Of earnest grasping, would, if it were cold
+And in the icy silence of the tomb,
+So haunt thy days and chill thy dreaming nights
+That thou wouldst wish thine own heart dry of blood
+So in my veins red life might stream again,
+And thou be conscience-calmed - see here it is -
+I hold it towards you.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	60. A Thing of Beauty (Endymion)	|	<poem>
+A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
+Its lovliness increases; it will never
+Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
+A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
+Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
+Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
+A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
+Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
+Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
+Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkn'd ways
+Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
+Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
+From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
+Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
+For simple sheep; and such are daffodils
+With the green world they live in; and clear rills
+That for themselves a cooling covert make
+'Gainst the hot season; the mid-forest brake,
+Rich with a sprinkling of fair musk-rose blooms:
+And such too is the grandeur of the dooms
+We have imagined for the mighty dead;
+An endless fountain of immortal drink,
+Pouring unto us from the heaven's brink.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	61. How Many Bards Gild The Lapses Of Time!	|	<poem>
+How many bards gild the lapses of time!
+A few of them have ever been the food
+Of my delighted fancy,—I could brood
+Over their beauties, earthly, or sublime:
+And often, when I sit me down to rhyme,
+These will in throngs before my mind intrude:
+But no confusion, no disturbance rude
+Do they occasion; 'tis a pleasing chime.
+So the unnumbered sounds that evening store;
+The songs of birds—the whispering of the leaves—
+The voice of waters—the great bell that heaves
+With solemn sound,—and thousand others more,
+That distance of recognizance bereaves,
+Makes pleasing music, and not wild uproar.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	62. To John Hamilton Reynolds	|	<poem>
+O that a week could be an age, and we
+Felt parting and warm meeting every week,
+Then one poor year a thousand years would be,
+The flush of welcome ever on the cheek:
+So could we live long life in little space,
+So time itself would be annihilate,
+So a day's journey in oblivious haze
+To serve ourjoys would lengthen and dilate.
+O to arrive each Monday morn from Ind!
+To land each Tuesday from the rich Levant!
+In little time a host of joys to bind,
+And keep our souls in one eternal pant!
+This morn, my friend, and yester-evening taught
+Me how to harbour such a happy thought.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	63. To Ailsa Rock	|	<poem>
+Hearken, thou craggy ocean-pyramid,
+Give answer by thy voice—the sea-fowls' screams!
+When were thy shoulders mantled in huge streams?
+When from the sun was thy broad forehead hid?
+How long is't since the mighty Power bid
+Thee heave to airy sleep from fathom dreams—
+Sleep in the lap of thunder or sunbeams—
+Or when grey clouds are thy cold coverlid!
+Thou answer'st not; for thou art dead asleep.
+Thy life is but two dead eternities,
+The last in air, the former in the deep!
+First with the whales, last with the eagle-skies!
+Drowned wast thou till an earthquake made thee steep,
+Another cannot wake thy giant-size!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	64. Written Before Re-Reading King Lear	|	<poem>
+O golden-tongued Romance with serene lute!
+Fair plumed Syren! Queen of far away!
+Leave melodizing on this wintry day,
+Shut up thine olden pages, and be mute.
+Adieu! for once again the fierce dispute
+Betwixt damnation and impassioned clay
+Must I burn through; once more humbly assay
+The bitter-sweet of this Shakespearian fruit.
+Chief Poet! and ye clouds of Albion,
+Begetters of our deep eternal theme,
+When through the old oak Forest I am gone,
+Let me not wander in a barren dream,
+But when I am consumed in the Fire,
+Give me new Phoenix wings to fly at my desire.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	65. Written On A Blank Space At The End Of Chaucer's Tale Of The Flowre And The Lefe	|	<poem>
+This pleasant tale is like a little copse:
+The honied lines so freshly interlace,
+To keep the reader in so sweet a place,
+So that he here and there full-hearted stops;
+And oftentimes he feels the dewy drops
+Come cool and suddenly against his face,
+And, by the wandering melody, may trace
+Which way the tender-legged linnet hops.
+Oh! what a power has white Simplicity!
+What mighty power has this gentle story!
+I, that do ever feel athirst for glory,
+Could at this moment be content to lie
+Meekly upon the grass, as those whose sobbings
+Were heard of none beside the mournful robins.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	66. Written On A Blank Space At The End Of Chaucer's Tale Of The Flowre And The Lefe	|	<poem>
+This pleasant tale is like a little copse:
+The honied lines so freshly interlace,
+To keep the reader in so sweet a place,
+So that he here and there full-hearted stops;
+And oftentimes he feels the dewy drops
+Come cool and suddenly against his face,
+And, by the wandering melody, may trace
+Which way the tender-legged linnet hops.
+Oh! what a power has white Simplicity!
+What mighty power has this gentle story!
+I, that do ever feel athirst for glory,
+Could at this moment be content to lie
+Meekly upon the grass, as those whose sobbings
+Were heard of none beside the mournful robins.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	67. To Haydon	|	<poem>
+Haydon! forgive me that I cannot speak
+Definitively of these mighty things;
+Forgive me, that I have not eagle's wings,
+That what I want I know not where to seek,
+And think that I would not be over-meek,
+In rolling out upfollowed thunderings,
+Even to the steep of Heliconian springs,
+Were I of ample strength for such a freak.
+Think, too, that all these numbers should be thine;
+Whose else? In this who touch thy vesture's hem?
+For, when men stared at what was most divine
+With brainless idiotism and o'erwise phlegm,
+Thou hadst beheld the full Hesperian shine
+Of their star in the east, and gone to worship them!
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	68. To G.A.W.	|	<poem>
+Nymph of the downward smile and sidelong glance!
+In what diviner moments of the day
+Art thou most lovely?—when gone far astray
+Into the labyrinths of sweet utterance,
+Or when serenely wandering in a trance
+Of sober thought? Or when starting away,
+With careless robe to meet the morning ray,
+Thou sparest the flowers in thy mazy dance?
+Haply 'tis when thy ruby lips part sweetly,
+And so remain, because thou listenest:
+But thou to please wert nurtured so completely
+That I can never tell what mood is best;
+I shall as soon pronounce which Grace more neatly
+Trips it before Apollo than the rest.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	69. Give Me Women, Wine, and Snuff	|	<poem>
+GIVE me women, wine, and snuff
+Untill I cry out "hold, enough!"
+You may do so sans objection
+Till the day of resurrection:
+For, bless my beard, they aye shall be
+My beloved Trinity.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	70. His Last Sonnet	|	<poem>
+Bright star, would I were steadfast as thou art! -
+Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
+And watching, with eternal lids apart,
+Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,
+The moving waters at their priestlike task
+Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
+Or gazing on the new soft fallen mask
+Of snow upon the mountains and the moors -
+No -yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
+Pillowed upon my fair love's ripening breast,
+To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
+Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
+Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
+And so live ever -or else swoon to death.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	71. Last Sonnet	|	<poem>
+BRIGHT Star, would I were steadfast as thou art--
+Not in lone splendour hung aloft the night,
+And watching, with eternal lids apart,
+Like Nature's patient sleepless Eremite,
+The moving waters at their priest-like task
+Of pure ablution round earth's human shores,
+Or gazing on the new soft-fallen mask
+Of snow upon the mountains and the moors--
+No--yet still steadfast, still unchangeable,
+Pillow'd upon my fair love's ripening breast,
+To feel for ever its soft fall and swell,
+Awake for ever in a sweet unrest,
+Still, still to hear her tender-taken breath,
+And so live ever--or else swoon to death.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	72. Fancy	|	<poem>
+Ever let the Fancy roam,
+Pleasure never is at home:
+At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
+Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;
+Then let winged Fancy wander
+Through the thought still spread beyond her:
+Open wide the mind's cage-door,
+She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar.
+O sweet Fancy! let her loose;
+Summer's joys are spoilt by use,
+And the enjoying of the Spring
+Fades as does its blossoming;
+Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too,
+Blushing through the mist and dew,
+Cloys with tasting: What do then?
+Sit thee by the ingle, when
+The sear faggot blazes bright,
+Spirit of a winter's night;
+When the soundless earth is muffled,
+And the caked snow is shuffled
+From the ploughboy's heavy shoon;
+When the Night doth meet the Noon
+In a dark conspiracy
+To banish Even from her sky.
+Sit thee there, and send abroad,
+With a mind self-overaw'd,
+Fancy, high-commission'd:--send her!
+She has vassals to attend her:
+She will bring, in spite of frost,
+Beauties that the earth hath lost;
+She will bring thee, all together,
+All delights of summer weather;
+All the buds and bells of May,
+From dewy sward or thorny spray;
+All the heaped Autumn's wealth,
+With a still, mysterious stealth:
+She will mix these pleasures up
+Like three fit wines in a cup,
+And thou shalt quaff it:--thou shalt hear
+Distant harvest-carols clear;
+Rustle of the reaped corn;
+Sweet birds antheming the morn:
+And, in the same moment, hark!
+'Tis the early April lark,
+Or the rooks, with busy caw,
+Foraging for sticks and straw.
+Thou shalt, at one glance, behold
+The daisy and the marigold;
+White-plum'd lillies, and the first
+Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst;
+Shaded hyacinth, alway
+Sapphire queen of the mid-May;
+And every leaf, and every flower
+Pearled with the self-same shower.
+Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep
+Meagre from its celled sleep;
+And the snake all winter-thin
+Cast on sunny bank its skin;
+Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see
+Hatching in the hawthorn-tree,
+When the hen-bird's wing doth rest
+Quiet on her mossy nest;
+Then the hurry and alarm
+When the bee-hive casts its swarm;
+Acorns ripe down-pattering,
+While the autumn breezes sing.
+Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose;
+Every thing is spoilt by use:
+Where's the cheek that doth not fade,
+Too much gaz'd at? Where's the maid
+Whose lip mature is ever new?
+Where's the eye, however blue,
+Doth not weary? Where's the face
+One would meet in every place?
+Where's the voice, however soft,
+One would hear so very oft?
+At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth
+Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.
+Let, then, winged Fancy find
+Thee a mistress to thy mind:
+Dulcet-ey'd as Ceres' daughter,
+Ere the God of Torment taught her
+How to frown and how to chide;
+With a waist and with a side
+White as Hebe's, when her zone
+Slipt its golden clasp, and down
+Fell her kirtle to her feet,
+While she held the goblet sweet
+And Jove grew languid.--Break the mesh
+Of the Fancy's silken leash;
+Quickly break her prison-string
+And such joys as these she'll bring.--
+Let the winged Fancy roam,
+Pleasure never is at home.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	73. Fill For Me A Brimming Bowl	|	<poem>
+Fill for me a brimming bowl
+And in it let me drown my soul:
+But put therein some drug, designed
+To Banish Women from my mind:
+For I want not the stream inspiring
+That fills the mind with--fond desiring,
+But I want as deep a draught
+As e'er from Lethe's wave was quaff'd;
+From my despairing heart to charm
+The Image of the fairest form
+That e'er my reveling eyes beheld,
+That e'er my wandering fancy spell'd.
+In vain! away I cannot chace
+The melting softness of that face,
+The beaminess of those bright eyes,
+That breast--earth's only Paradise.
+My sight will never more be blest;
+For all I see has lost its zest:
+Nor with delight can I explore,
+The Classic page, or Muse's lore.
+Had she but known how beat my heart,
+And with one smile reliev'd its smart
+I should have felt a sweet relief,
+I should have felt ``the joy of grief.''
+Yet as the Tuscan mid the snow
+Of Lapland dreams on sweet Arno,
+Even so for ever shall she be
+The Halo of my Memory.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	74. To Byron	|	<poem>
+Byron! how sweetly sad thy melody!
+Attuning still the soul to tenderness,
+As if soft Pity, with unusual stress,
+Had touch'd her plaintive lute, and thou, being by,
+Hadst caught the tones, nor suffer'd them to die.
+O'ershadowing sorrow doth not make thee less
+Delightful: thou thy griefs dost dress
+With a bright halo, shining beamily,
+As when a cloud the golden moon doth veil,
+Its sides are ting'd with a resplendent glow,
+Through the dark robe oft amber rays prevail,
+And like fair veins in sable marble flow;
+Still warble, dying swan! still tell the tale,
+The enchanting tale, the tale of pleasing woe.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	75. Ode to Fanny	|	<poem>
+Physician Nature! Let my spirit blood!
+O ease my heart of verse and let me rest;
+Throw me upon thy Tripod, till the flood
+Of stifling numbers ebbs from my full breast.
+A theme! a theme! great nature! give a theme;
+Let me begin my dream.
+I come -- I see thee, as thou standest there,
+Beckon me not into the wintry air.
+Ah! dearest love, sweet home of all my fears,
+And hopes, and joys, and panting miseries, --
+To-night, if I may guess, thy beauty wears
+A smile of such delight,
+As brilliant and as bright,
+As when with ravished, aching, vassal eyes,
+Lost in soft amaze,
+I gaze, I gaze!
+Who now, with greedy looks, eats up my feast?
+What stare outfaces now my silver moon!
+Ah! keep that hand unravished at the least;
+Let, let, the amorous burn --
+But pr'ythee, do not turn
+The current of your heart from me so soon.
+O! save, in charity,
+The quickest pulse for me.
+Save it for me, sweet love! though music breathe
+Voluptuous visions into the warm air;
+Though swimming through the dance's dangerous wreath,
+Be like an April day,
+Smiling and cold and gay,
+A temperate lilly, temperate as fair;
+Then, Heaven! there will be
+A warmer June for me.
+Why, this, you'll say, my Fanny! is not true:
+Put your soft hand upon your snowy side,
+Where the heart beats: confess -- 'tis nothing new --
+Must not a woman be
+A feather on the sea,
+Sway'd to and fro by every wind and tide?
+Of as uncertain speed
+As blow-ball from the mead?
+I know it -- and to know it is despair
+To one who loves you as I love, sweet Fanny!
+Whose heart goes fluttering for you every where,
+Nor, when away you roam,
+Dare keep its wretched home,
+Love, love alone, his pains severe and many:
+Then, loveliest! keep me free,
+From torturing jealousy.
+Ah! if you prize my subdued soul above
+The poor, the fading, brief, pride of an hour;
+Let none profane my Holy See of love,
+Or with a rude hand break
+The sacramental cake:
+Let none else touch the just new-budded flower;
+If not -- may my eyes close,
+Love! on their lost repose.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	76. Where's the Poet?	|	<poem>
+Where's the Poet? show him! show him,
+Muses nine! that I may know him.
+'Tis the man who with a man
+Is an equal, be he King,
+Or poorest of the beggar-clan
+Or any other wonderous thing
+A man may be 'twixt ape and Plato;
+'Tis the man who with a bird,
+Wren or Eagle, finds his way to
+All its instincts; he hath heard
+The Lion's roaring, and can tell
+What his horny throat expresseth,
+And to him the Tiger's yell
+Come articulate and presseth
+Or his ear like mother-tongue.
+</poem>	++++
+++++	77. Stanzas	|	<poem>
+IN a drear-nighted December,
+Too happy, happy tree,
+Thy branches ne'er remember
+Their green felicity:
+The north cannot undo them,
+With a sleety whistle through them;
+Nor frozen thawings glue them
+From budding at the prime.
+In a drear-nighted December,
+Too happy, happy brook,
+Thy bubblings ne'er remember
+Apollo's summer look;
+But with a sweet forgetting,
+They stay their crystal fretting,
+Never, never petting
+About the frozen time.
+Ah! would 'twere so with many
+A gentle girl and boy!
+But were there ever any
+Writhed not at passed joy?
+To know the change and feel it,
+When there is none to heal it,
+Nor numbed sense to steal it,
+Was never said in rhyme.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	78. Song of the Indian Maid, from 'Endymion'	|	<poem>
+wooer from the clouds,
+But hides and shrouds
+Beneath dark palm-trees by a river side?
+And as I sat, over the light blue hills
+There came a noise of revellers: the rills
+Into the wide stream came of purple hue--
+'Twas Bacchus and his crew!
+The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrills
+From kissing cymbals made a merry din--
+'Twas Bacchus and his kin!
+Like to a moving vintage down they came,
+Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all on flame;
+All madly dancing through the pleasant valley,
+To scare thee, Melancholy!
+O then, O then, thou wast a simple name!
+And I forgot thee, as the berried holly
+By shepherds is forgotten, when in June
+Tall chestnuts keep away the sun and moon:--
+I rush'd into the folly!
+Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood,
+Trifling his ivy-dart, in dancing mood,
+With sidelong laughing;
+And little rills of crimson wine imbrued
+His plump white arms and shoulders, enough white
+For Venus' pearly bite;
+And near him rode Silenus on his ass,
+Pelted with flowers as he on did pass
+Tipsily quaffing.
+'Whence came ye, merry Damsels! whence came ye,
+So many, and so many, and such glee?
+Why have ye left your bowers desolate,
+Your lutes, and gentler fate?'--
+'We follow Bacchus! Bacchus on the wing,
+A-conquering!
+Bacchus, young Bacchus! good or ill betide,
+We dance before him thorough kingdoms wide:--
+Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
+To our wild minstrelsy!'
+'Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs! whence came ye,
+So many, and so many, and such glee?
+Why have ye left your forest haunts, why left
+Your nuts in oak-tree cleft?'--
+'For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree;
+For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms,
+And cold mushrooms;
+For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth;
+Great god of breathless cups and chirping mirth!
+Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
+To our mad minstrelsy!'
+Over wide streams and mountains great we went,
+And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy tent,
+Onward the tiger and the leopard pants,
+With Asian elephants:
+Onward these myriads--with song and dance,
+With zebras striped, and sleek Arabians' prance,
+Web-footed alligators, crocodiles,
+Bearing upon their scaly backs, in files,
+Plump infant laughers mimicking the coil
+Of seamen, and stout galley-rowers' toil:
+With toying oars and silken sails they glide,
+Nor care for wind and tide.
+Mounted on panthers' furs and lions' manes,
+From rear to van they scour about the plains;
+A three days' journey in a moment done;
+And always, at the rising of the sun,
+About the wilds they hunt with spear and horn,
+On spleenful unicorn.
+I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adown
+Before the vine-wreath crown!
+I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and sing
+To the silver cymbals' ring!
+I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierce
+Old Tartary the fierce!
+The kings of Ind their jewel-sceptres vail,
+And from their treasures scatter pearled hail;
+Great Brahma from his mystic heaven groans,
+And all his priesthood moans,
+Before young Bacchus' eye-wink turning pale.
+Into these regions came I, following him,
+Sick-hearted, weary--so I took a whim
+To stray away into these forests drear,
+Alone, without a peer:
+And I have told thee all thou mayest hear.
+Young Stranger!
+I've been a ranger
+In search of pleasure throughout every clime;
+Alas! 'tis not for me!
+Bewitch'd I sure must be,
+To lose in grieving all my maiden prime.
+Come then, Sorrow,
+Sweetest Sorrow!
+Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast:
+I thought to leave thee,
+And deceive thee,
+But now of all the world I love thee best.
+There is not one,
+No, no, not one
+But thee to comfort a poor lonely maid;
+Thou art her mother,
+And her brother,
+Her playmate, and her wooer in the shade.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	79. Song of the Indian Maid, from 'Endymion'	|	<poem>
+O SORROW!
+Why dost borrow
+The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?--
+To give maiden blushes
+To the white rose bushes?
+Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips?
+O Sorrow!
+Why dost borrow
+The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?--
+To give the glow-worm light?
+Or, on a moonless night,
+To tinge, on siren shores, the salt sea-spry?
+O Sorrow!
+Why dost borrow
+The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue?--
+To give at evening pale
+Unto the nightingale,
+That thou mayst listen the cold dews among?
+O Sorrow!
+Why dost borrow
+Heart's lightness from the merriment of May?--
+A lover would not tread
+A cowslip on the head,
+Though he should dance from eve till peep of day--
+Nor any drooping flower
+Held sacred for thy bower,
+Wherever he may sport himself and play.
+To Sorrow
+I bade good morrow,
+And thought to leave her far away behind;
+But cheerly, cheerly,
+She loves me dearly;
+She is so constant to me, and so kind:
+I would deceive her
+And so leave her,
+But ah! she is so constant and so kind.
+Beneath my palm-trees, by the river side,
+I sat a-weeping: in the whole world wide
+There was no one to ask me why I wept,--
+And so I kept
+Brimming the water-lily cups with tears
+Cold as my fears.
+Beneath my palm-trees, by the river side,
+I sat a-weeping: what enamour'd bride,
+Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds,
+But hides and shrouds
+Beneath dark palm-trees by a river side?
+And as I sat, over the light blue hills
+There came a noise of revellers: the rills
+Into the wide stream came of purple hue--
+'Twas Bacchus and his crew!
+The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrills
+From kissing cymbals made a merry din--
+'Twas Bacchus and his kin!
+Like to a moving vintage down they came,
+Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all on flame;
+All madly dancing through the pleasant valley,
+To scare thee, Melancholy!
+O then, O then, thou wast a simple name!
+And I forgot thee, as the berried holly
+By shepherds is forgotten, when in June
+Tall chestnuts keep away the sun and moon:--
+I rush'd into the folly!
+Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood,
+Trifling his ivy-dart, in dancing mood,
+With sidelong laughing;
+And little rills of crimson wine imbrued
+His plump white arms and shoulders, enough white
+For Venus' pearly bite;
+And near him rode Silenus on his ass,
+Pelted with flowers as he on did pass
+Tipsily quaffing.
+'Whence came ye, merry Damsels! whence came ye,
+So many, and so many, and such glee?
+Why have ye left your bowers desolate,
+Your lutes, and gentler fate?'--
+'We follow Bacchus! Bacchus on the wing,
+A-conquering!
+Bacchus, young Bacchus! good or ill betide,
+We dance before him thorough kingdoms wide:--
+Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
+To our wild minstrelsy!'
+'Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs! whence came ye,
+So many, and so many, and such glee?
+Why have ye left your forest haunts, why left
+Your nuts in oak-tree cleft?'--
+'For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree;
+For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms,
+And cold mushrooms;
+For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth;
+Great god of breathless cups and chirping mirth!
+Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
+To our mad minstrelsy!'
+Over wide streams and mountains great we went,
+And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy tent,
+Onward the tiger and the leopard pants,
+With Asian elephants:
+Onward these myriads--with song and dance,
+With zebras striped, and sleek Arabians' prance,
+Web-footed alligators, crocodiles,
+Bearing upon their scaly backs, in files,
+Plump infant laughers mimicking the coil
+Of seamen, and stout galley-rowers' toil:
+With toying oars and silken sails they glide,
+Nor care for wind and tide.
+Mounted on panthers' furs and lions' manes,
+From rear to van they scour about the plains;
+A three days' journey in a moment done;
+And always, at the rising of the sun,
+About the wilds they hunt with spear and horn,
+On spleenful unicorn.
+I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adown
+Before the vine-wreath crown!
+I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and sing
+To the silver cymbals' ring!
+I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierce
+Old Tartary the fierce!
+The kings of Ind their jewel-sceptres vail,
+And from their treasures scatter pearled hail;
+Great Brahma from his mystic heaven groans,
+And all his priesthood moans,
+Before young Bacchus' eye-wink turning pale.
+Into these regions came I, following him,
+Sick-hearted, weary--so I took a whim
+To stray away into these forests drear,
+Alone, without a peer:
+And I have told thee all thou mayest hear.
+Young Stranger!
+I've been a ranger
+In search of pleasure throughout every clime;
+Alas! 'tis not for me!
+Bewitch'd I sure must be,
+To lose in grieving all my maiden prime.
+Come then, Sorrow,
+Sweetest Sorrow!
+Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast:
+I thought to leave thee,
+And deceive thee,
+But now of all the world I love thee best.
+There is not one,
+No, no, not one
+But thee to comfort a poor lonely maid;
+Thou art her mother,
+And her brother,
+Her playmate, and her wooer in the shade.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	80. Keen, Fitful Gusts are Whisp'ring Here and There	|	<poem>
+Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there
+Among the bushes half leafless, and dry;
+The stars look very cold about the sky,
+And I have many miles on foot to fare.
+Yet feel I little of the cool bleak air,
+Or of the dead leaves rustling drearily,
+Or of those silver lamps that burn on high,
+Or of the distance from home's pleasant lair:
+For I am brimfull of the friendliness
+That in a little cottage I have found;
+Of fair-hair'd Milton's eloquent distress,
+And all his love for gentle Lycid drown'd;
+Of lovely Laura in her light green dress,
+And faithful Petrarch gloriously crown'd.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	81. To Mrs Reynolds' Cat	|Cat! who hast pass’d thy grand climacteric,
+	<poem>
+How many mice and rats hast in thy days
+Destroy’d? How many tit bits stolen? Gaze
+With those bright languid segments green, and prick
+Those velvet ears - but pr’ythee do not stick
+Thy latent talons in me - and upraise
+Thy gentle mew - and tell me all thy frays,
+Of fish and mice, and rats and tender chick.
+Nay, look not down, nor lick thy dainty wrists -
+For all thy wheezy asthma - and for all
+Thy tail’s tip is nick’d off - and though the fists
+Of many a maid have given thee many a maul,
+Still is that fur as soft, as when the lists
+In youth thou enter’dest on glass bottled wall.	</poem>	++++
+++++	82. Fragment of an Ode to Maia	|	<poem>
+MOTHER of Hermes! and still youthful Maia!
+May I sing to thee
+As thou wast hymned on the shores of Baiae?
+Or may I woo thee
+In earlier Sicilian? or thy smiles
+Seek as they once were sought, in Grecian isles,
+By bards who died content on pleasant sward,
+Leaving great verse unto a little clan?
+O give me their old vigour! and unheard
+Save of the quiet primrose, and the span
+Of heaven, and few ears,
+Rounded by thee, my song should die away
+Content as theirs,
+Rich in the simple worship of a day.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	83. Lines from Endymion	|	<poem>
+A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
+Its loviliness increases; it will never
+Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
+A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
+Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
+Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
+A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
+Spite of despondance, of the inhuman dearth
+Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
+Of all the unhealthy and o`er-darkened ways
+Made for our searching: yes, inspite of all,
+Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
+From our dark spirits.
+	</poem>	++++
+++++	84. Bards of Passion and of Mirth, written on the Blank Page before Beaumont and Fletcher's Tragi-Comedy 'The Fair Maid of the Inn'	|	<poem>
+BARDS of Passion and of Mirth,
+Ye have left your souls on earth!
+Have ye souls in heaven too,
+Doubled-lived in regions new?
+Yes, and those of heaven commune
+With the spheres of sun and moon;
+With the noise of fountains wondrous,
+And the parle of voices thund'rous;
+With the whisper of heaven's trees
+And one another, in soft ease
+Seated on Elysian lawns
+Browsed by none but Dian's fawns;
+Underneath large blue-bells tented,
+Where the daisies are rose-scented,
+And the rose herself has got
+Perfume which on earth is not;
+Where the nightingale doth sing
+Not a senseless, tranced thing,
+But divine melodious truth;
+Philosophic numbers smooth;
+Tales and golden histories
+Of heaven and its mysteries.
+Thus ye live on high, and then
+On the earth ye live again;
+And the souls ye left behind you
+Teach us, here, the way to find you,
+Where your other souls are joying,
+Never slumber'd, never cloying.
+Here, your earth-born souls still speak
+To mortals, of their little week;
+Of their sorrows and delights;
+Of their passions and their spites;
+Of their glory and their shame;
+What doth strengthen and what maim.
+Thus ye teach us, every day,
+Wisdom, though fled far away.
+Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
+Ye have left your souls on earth!
+Ye have souls in heaven too,
+Double-lived in regions new!
+	</poem>	++++

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