The poems of John Keats

1. Imitation of Spenser

Now Morning from her orient chamber came,
And her first footsteps touch'd a verdant hill;
Crowning its lawny crest with amber flame,
Silv'ring the untainted gushes of its rill;
Which, pure from mossy beds, did down distill,
And after parting beds of simple flowers,
By many streams a little lake did fill,
Which round its marge reflected woven bowers,
And, in its middle space, a sky that never lowers.
There the king-fisher saw his plumage bright
Vieing with fish of brilliant dye below;
Whose silken fins, and golden scales light
Cast upward, through the waves, a ruby glow
There saw the swan his neck of arched snow,
And oar'd himself along with majesty;
Sparkled his jetty eyes; his feet did show
Beneath the waves like Afric's ebony,
And on his back a fay reclined voluptuously.
Ah! could I tell the wonders of an isle
That in that fairest lake had placed been,
I could e'en Dido of her grief beguile;
Or rob from aged Lear his bitter teen
For sure so fair a place was never seen,
Of all that ever charm'd romantic eye
It seem'd an emerald in the silver sheen
Of the bright waters; or as when on high,
Through clouds of fleecy white, laughs the coerulean sky.
And all around it dipp'd luxuriously
Slopings of verdure through the glassy tide,
Which, as it were in gentle amity,
Rippled delighted up the flowery side;
As if to glean the ruddy tears, it tried,
Which fell profusely from the rose-tree stem!
Haply it was the workings of its pride,
In strife to throw upon the shore a gem
Outvieing all the buds in Flora's diadem.

2. On Peace

O Peace! and dost thou with thy presence bless
The dwellings of this war-surrounded isle;
Soothing with placid brow our late distress,
Making the triple kingdom brightly smile?
The sweet companions that await on thee;
Complete my joy — let not my first wish fail,
Let the sweet mountain nymph thy favourite be,
With England's happiness proclaim Europa's liberty.
O Europe! let not sceptred tyrants see
That thou must shelter in thy former state;
Keep thy chains burst, and boldly say thou art free;
Give thy kings law — leave not uncurbed the great;
So with the honors past thou'lt win thy happier fate!

3. Lines Written on 29 May, the Anniversary of Charles's Restoration, on Hearing the Bells Ringing

Infatuate Britons, will you still proclaim
His memory, your direst, foulest shame?
Nor patriots revere?
Ah! when I hear each traitorous lying bell,
'Tis gallant Sydney's, Russell's, Vane's sad knell,
That pains my wounded ear.

4. Stay, ruby breasted warbler, stay

Stay, ruby-breasted warbler, stay,
And let me see thy sparkling eye,
Oh brush not yet the pearl-strung spray
Nor bow thy pretty head to fly.
Stay while I tell thee, fluttering thing,
That thou of love an emblem art,
Yes! patient plume thy little wing,
Whilst I my thoughts to thee impart.
When summer nights the dews bestow,
And summer suns enrich the day,
Thy notes the blossoms charm to blow,
Each opes delighted at thy lay.
So when in youth the eye's dark glance
Speaks pleasure from its circle bright,
The tones of love our joys enhance
And make superior each delight.
And when bleak storms resistless rove,
And ev'ry rural bliss destroy,
Nought comforts then the leafless grove
But thy soft note — its only joy —
E'en so the words of love beguile
When pleasure's tree no flower bears,
And draw a soft endearing smile
Amid the gloom of grief and tears.

5. Fill for me a brimming bowl

Fill for me a brimming bowl
And let me in it drown my soul
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 a Tuscan mid the snow
Of Lapland thinks on sweet Arno,
Even so for ever shall she be
The halo of my memory.

6. As from the darkening gloom a silver dove

As from the darkening gloom a silver dove
Upsoars, and darts into the eastern light,
On pinions that naught moves but pure delight,
So fled thy soul into the realms above,
Regions of peace and everlasting love;
Where happy spirits, crown'd with circlets bright
Of starry beam, and gloriously bedight,
Taste the high joy none but the blest can prove.
There thou or joinest the immortal quire
In melodies that even heaven fair
Fill with superior bliss, or, at desire
Of the omnipotent Father, cleavest the air
On holy message sent — what pleasure's higher?
Wherefore does any grief our joy impair?

7. To Lord Byron

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.
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.

8. Oh Chatterton! how very sad thy fate

O Chatterton! how very sad thy fate!
Dear child of sorrow — son of misery!
How soon the film of death obscur'd that eye,
Whence genius wildly flash'd, and high debate.
How soon that voice, majestic and elate,
Melted in dying numbers! Oh! how nigh
Was night to thy fair morning. Thou didst die
A half-blown flow'ret which cold blasts amate.
But this is past. Thou art among the stars
Of highest heaven to the rolling spheres
Thou sweetly singest naught thy hymning mars,
Above the ingrate world and human fears.
On earth the good man base detraction bars
From thy fair name, and waters it with tears.

9. Written on the Day That Mr. Leigh Hunt Left Prison

What though, for showing truth to flatter'd 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 unturn'dst 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?

10. To Hope

When by my solitary hearth I sit,
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 moon-beams 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
Chace 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 morbid fancy 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
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.

11. Ode to apollo

In thy western halls of gold
When thou sittest in thy state,
Bards, that erst sublimely told
Heroic deeds, and sang of fate,
With fervour seize their adamantine lyres,
Whose chords are solid rays, and twinkle radiant fires.
Here Homer with his nervous arms
Strikes the twanging harp of war,
And even the western splendour warms,
While the trumpets sound afar
But, what creates the most intense surprise,
His soul looks out through renovated eyes.
Then, through thy temple wide, melodious swells
The sweet majestic tone of Maro's lyre
The soul delighted on each accent dwells, —
Enraptured dwells, — not daring to respire,
The while he tells of grief around a funeral pyre.
'Tis awful silence then again;
Expectant stand the spheres;
Breathless the laurell'd peers,
Nor move, till ends the lofty strain,
Nor move till Milton's tuneful thunders cease,
And leave once more the ravish'd heavens in peace.
Thou biddest Shakspeare wave his hand,
And quickly forward spring
The Passions — a terrific band —
And each vibrates the string
That with its tyrant temper best accords,
While from their master's lips pour forth the inspiring words.
A silver trumpet Spenser blows,
And, as its martial notes to silence flee,
From a virgin chorus flows
A hymn in praise of spotless chastity.
'Tis still! wild warblings from the Aeolian lyre
Enchantment softly breathe, and tremblingly expire.
Next thy Tasso's ardent numbers
Float along the pleased air,
Calling youth from idle slumbers,
Rousing them from pleasure's lair —
Then o'er the strings his fingers gently move,
But when thou joinest with the Nine,
And all the powers of song combine,
We listen here on earth
The dying tones that fill the air,
And charm the ear of evening fair,
From thee, great God of Bards, receive their heavenly birth.

12. To Some Ladies

What though while the wonders of nature exploring,
I cannot your light, mazy footsteps attend;
Nor listen to accents, that almost adoring,
Bless Cynthia's face, the enthusiast's friend
Yet over the steep, whence the mountain stream rushes,
With you, kindest friends, in idea I muse;
Mark the clear tumbling crystal, its passionate gushes,
Its spray that the wild flower kindly bedews.
Why linger you so, the wild labyrinth strolling?
Why breathless, unable your bliss to declare?
Ah! you list to the nightingale's tender condoling,
Responsive to sylphs, in the moon beamy air.
'Tis morn, and the flowers with dew are yet drooping,
I see you are treading the verge of the sea
And now! ah, I see it — you just now are stooping
To pick up the keep-sake intended for me.
If a cherub, on pinions of silver descending,
Had brought me a gem from the fret-work of heaven;
And smiles with his star-cheering voice sweetly blending,
The blessings of Tighe had melodiously given;
It had not created a warmer emotion
Than the present, fair nymphs, I was blest with from you,
Than the shell, from the bright golden sands of the ocean
Which the emerald waves at your feet gladly threw.
For, indeed, 'tis a sweet and peculiar pleasure,
( And blissful is he who such happiness finds, )
To possess but a sand in the hour of leisure,
In elegant, pure, and aerial minds.

13. On Receiving a Curious Shell, and a Copy of Verses, from the Same Ladies

Hast thou from the caves of Golconda, a gem
Bright as the humming-bird's green diadem,
When it flutters in sun-beams that shine through a fountain?
Hast thou a goblet for dark sparkling wine?
That goblet right heavy, and massy, and gold?
And splendidly mark'd with the story divine
Of Armida the fair, and Rinaldo the bold?
Hast thou a steed with a mane richly flowing?
Hast thou a sword that thine enemy's smart is?
Hast thou a trumpet rich melodies blowing?
And wear'st thou the shield of the fam'd Britomartis?
What is it that hangs from thy shoulder, so brave,
Embroidered with many a spring-peering flower?
Is it a scarf that thy fair lady gave?
And hastest thou now to that fair lady's bower?
Ah! courteous Sir Knight, with large joy thou art crown'd;
Full many the glories that brighten thy youth!
I will tell thee my blisses, which richly abound
In magical powers to bless, and to sooth.
On this scroll thou seest written in characters fair
A sun-beamy tale of a wreath, and a chain;
And, warrior, it nurtures the property rare
Of charming my mind from the trammels of pain.
This canopy mark 'tis the work of a fay;
Beneath its rich shade did King Oberon languish,
When lovely Titania was far, far away,
And cruelly left him to sorrow, and anguish.
There, oft would he bring from his soft sighing lute
Wild strains to which, spell-bound, the nightingales listened;
The wondering spirits of heaven were mute,
And tears 'mong the dewdrops of morning oft glistened.
In this little dome, all those melodies strange,
Soft, plaintive, and melting, for ever will sigh;
Nor e'er will the notes from their tenderness change;
Nor e'er will the music of Oberon die.
So, when I am in a voluptuous vein,
I pillow my head on the sweets of the rose,
And list to the tale of the wreath, and the chain,
Till its echoes depart; then I sink to repose.
Full many the glories that brighten thy youth,
I too have my blisses, which richly abound
In magical powers, to bless and to sooth.

14. O come, dearest Emma! the rose is full blown

O come, my dear Emma! the rose is full blown,
The riches of Flora are lavishly strown,
The air is all softness, and crystal the streams,
The west is resplendently cloathed in beams.
O come! let us haste to the freshening shades,
The quaintly carv'd seats, and the opening glades;
Where the faeries are chanting their evening hymns,
And in the last sun-beam the sylph lightly swims.
And when thou art weary I'll find thee a bed,
Of mosses and flowers to pillow thy head
There, beauteous Emma, I'll sit at thy feet,
While my story of love I enraptured repeat.
So fondly I'll breathe, and so softly I'll sigh,
Thou wilt think that some amorous zephyr is nigh
Yet no — as I breathe I will press thy fair knee,
And then thou wilt know that the sigh comes from me.
Ah! why dearest girl should we lose all these blisses?
That mortal's a fool who such happiness misses;
So smile acquiescence, and give me thy hand,
With love-looking eyes, and with voice sweetly bland.

15. Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain

Woman! when I behold thee flippant, vain,
Inconstant, childish, proud, and full of fancies;
Without that modest softening that enhances
The downcast eye, repentant of the pain
That its mild light creates to heal again
E'en then, elate, my spirit leaps, and prances,
E'en then my soul with exultation dances
For that to love, so long, I've dormant lain
But when I see thee meek, and kind, and tender,
Heavens! how desperately do I adore
Thy winning graces; — to be thy defender
I hotly burn — to be a Calidore —
A very Red Cross Knight — a stout Leander —
Light feet, dark violet eyes, and parted hair;
Soft dimpled hands, white neck, and creamy breast,
Are things on which the dazzled senses rest
Till the fond, fixed eyes forget they stare.
From such fine pictures, heavens! I cannot dare
To turn my admiration, though unpossess'd
They be of what is worthy, — though not drest
In lovely modesty, and virtues rare.
Yet these I leave as thoughtless as a lark;
These lures I straight forget, — e'en ere I dine,
Or thrice my palate moisten but when I mark
Such charms with mild intelligences shine,
My ear is open like a greedy shark,
To catch the tunings of a voice divine.
Ah! who can e'er forget so fair a being?
Who can forget her half retiring sweets?
God! she is like a milk-white lamb that bleats
For man's protection. Surely the All-seeing,
Who joys to see us with his gifts agreeing,
Will never give him pinions, who intreats
Such innocence to ruin, — who vilely cheats
A dove-like bosom. In truth there is no freeing
One's thoughts from such a beauty; when I hear
A lay that once I saw her hand awake,
Her form seems floating palpable, and near;
Had I e'er seen her from an arbour take
A dewy flower, oft would that hand appear,
And o'er my eyes the trembling moisture shake.

16. O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell

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,
Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,
When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

17. To George Felton Mathew

Sweet are the pleasures that to verse belong,
And doubly sweet a brotherhood in song;
Nor can remembrance, Mathew! bring to view
A fate more pleasing, a delight more true
Than that in which the brother Poets joy'd,
Who with combined powers, their wit employ'd
To raise a trophy to the drama's muses.
The thought of this great partnership diffuses
Over the genius-loving heart, a feeling
Of all that's high, and great, and good, and healing.
Too partial friend! fain would I follow thee
Past each horizon of fine poesy;
Fain would I echo back each pleasant note
As o'er Sicilian seas, clear anthems float
'Mong the light skimming gondolas far parted,
Just when the sun his farewell beam has darted
But 'tis impossible; far different cares
Beckon me sternly from soft " Lydian airs " ,
And hold my faculties so long in thrall,
That I am oft in doubt whether at all
I shall again see Phoebus in the morning
Or flush'd Aurora in the roseate dawning!
Or a white Naiad in a rippling stream;
Or a rapt seraph in a moonlight beam;
Or again witness what with thee I've seen,
The dew by fairy feet swept from the green,
After a night of some quaint jubilee
Which every elf and fay had come to see
When bright processions took their airy march
Beneath the curved moon's triumphal arch.
But might I now each passing moment give
To the coy muse, with me she would not live
In this dark city, nor would condescend
'Mid contradictions her delights to lend.
Should e'er the fine-eyed maid to me be kind,
Ah! surely it must be whene'er I find
Some flowery spot, sequester'd, wild, romantic,
That often must have seen a poet frantic;
Where oaks, that erst the Druid knew, are growing,
Where the dark-leav'd laburnum's drooping clusters
Reflect athwart the stream their yellow lustres,
And intertwined the cassia's arms unite,
With its own drooping buds, but very white;
Where on one side are covert branches hung,
'Mong which the nightingales have always sung
In leafy quiet where to pry, aloof,
Atween the pillars of the sylvan roof,
Would be to find where violet beds were nestling,
And where the bee with cowslip bells was wrestling.
There must be too a ruin dark, and gloomy,
To say " joy not too much in all that's bloomy.
Yet this is vain — O Mathew lend thy aid
To find a place where I may greet the maid —
Where we may soft humanity put on,
And sit, and rhyme and think on Chatterton;
And that warm-hearted Shakespeare sent to meet him
Four laurell'd spirits, heaven-ward to intreat him.
With reverence would we speak of all the sages
Who have left streaks of light athwart their ages
And thou shouldst moralize on Milton's blindness,
And mourn the fearful dearth of human kindness
To those who strove with the bright golden wing
Of genius, to flap away each sting
Thrown by the pitiless world. We next could tell
Of those who in the cause of freedom fell;
Of our own Alfred, of Helvetian Tell;
Of him whose name to ev'ry heart's a solace,
High-minded and unbending William Wallace.
While to the rugged north our musing turns
We well might drop a tear for him, and Burns.
Felton! without incitements such as these,
How vain for me the niggard muse to tease
For thee, she will thy every dwelling grace,
And make " a sun-shine in a shady place "
For thou wast once a flowret blooming wild,
Close to the source, bright, pure, and undefil'd,
Whence gush the streams of song in happy hour
Came chaste Diana from her shady bower,
Just as the sun was from the east uprising;
Beheld thee, pluck'd thee, cast thee in the stream
To meet her glorious brother's greeting beam.
I marvel much that thou hast never told
How, from a flower, into a fish of gold
Apollo chang'd thee; how thou next didst seem
A black-eyed swan upon the widening stream;
And when thou first didst in that mirror trace
The placid features of a human face
That thou hast never told thy travels strange,
And all the wonders of the mazy range
O'er pebbly crystal, and o'er golden sands;
Kissing thy daily food from Naiad's pearly hands.

18. Had I a man's fair form, then might my sighs

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 enterprize
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 steep'd 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.

19. Hadst thou liv'd in days of old

Hadst thou liv'd in days of old,
O what wonders had been told
Of thy lively countenance,
And thy humid eyes that dance
In the midst of their own brightness;
In the very fane of lightness.
Over which thine eyebrows, leaning,
Picture out each lovely meaning
In a dainty bend they lie,
Like to streaks across the sky,
Or the feathers from a crow,
Fallen on a bed of snow.
Of thy dark hair that extends
Into many graceful bends
As the leaves of hellebore
Turn to whence they sprung before.
And behind each ample curl
Peeps the richness of a pearl.
With a glossy waviness;
Full, and round like globes that rise
From the censer to the skies
Through sunny air. Add too, the sweetness
Of thy honied voice; the neatness
Of thine ankle lightly turn'd
With those beauties, scarce discern'd,
Kept with such sweet privacy,
That they seldom meet the eye
Of the little loves that fly
Round about with eager pry.
Saving when, with freshening lave,
Thou dipp'st them in the taintless wave;
Like twin water lillies, born
In the coolness of the morn.
O, if thou hadst breathed then,
Now the Muses had been ten.
Couldst thou wish for lineage higher
Than twin sister of Thalia?
At least for ever, evermore,
Will I call the Graces four.
Hadst thou liv'd when chivalry
Lifted up her lance on high,
Tell me what thou wouldst have been.
Ah! I see the silver sheen
Of thy broidered, floating vest
Cov'ring half thine ivory breast;
Which, O heavens! I should see;
But that cruel destiny
Has placed a golden cuirass there;
Keeping secret what is fair.
Like sunbeams in a cloudlet nested
Thy locks in knightly casque are rested
O'er which bend four milky plumes
Like the gentle lilly's blooms
Springing from a costly vase.
See with what a stately pace
Comes thine alabaster steed;
Servant of heroic deed!
O'er his loins, his trappings glow
Like the northern lights on snow.
Mount his back! thy sword unsheath!
Sign of the enchanter's death;
Bane of every wicked spell;
Silencer of dragon's yell.
Alas! thou this wilt never do
Thou art an enchantress too,
And wilt surely never spill
Blood of those whose eyes can kill.

20. I am as brisk

I am as brisk
As a bottle of wisk-k
Ey and as nimble
As a milliner's thimble.

21. Give me women, wine, and snuff

Give me women, wine and snuff
You may do so sans objection
Till the day of resurrection;
For bless my beard they aye shall be
My beloved trinity.

22. Specimen of an Induction to a Poem

Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry;
For large white plumes are dancing in mine eye.
Not like the formal crest of latter days
But bending in a thousand graceful ways;
So graceful, that it seems no mortal hand,
Or e'en the touch of Archimago's wand,
Could charm them into such an attitude.
We must think rather, that in playful mood,
Some mountain breeze had turned its chief delight,
To show this wonder of its gentle might.
Lo! I must tell a tale of chivalry;
For while I muse, the lance points slantingly
Athwart the morning air: some lady sweet,
Who cannot feel for cold her tender feet,
From the worn top of some old battlement
Hails it with tears, her stout defender sent:
And from her own pure self no joy dissembling,
Wraps round her ample robe with happy trembling.
Sometimes, when the good knight his rest would take,
It is reflected, clearly, in a lake,
With the young ashen boughs, 'gainst which it rests,
And th' half seen mossiness of linnets' nests.
Ah! shall I ever tell its cruelty,
When the fire flashes from a warrior's eye,
And his tremendous hand is grasping it,
And his dark brow for very wrath is knit?
Or when his spirit, with more calm intent,
Leaps to the honors of a tournament,
And makes the gazers round about the ring
Stare at the grandeur of the ballancing?
No, no! this is far off: — then how shall I
Revive the dying tones of minstrelsy,
Which linger yet about lone gothic arches,
In dark green ivy, and among wild larches?
How sing the splendour of the revelries,
When buts of wine are drunk off to the lees?
And that bright lance, against the fretted wall,
Is slung with shining cuirass, sword, and shield,
Where ye may see a spur in bloody field?
Light-footed damsels move with gentle paces
Round the wide hall, and show their happy faces;
Or stand in courtly talk by fives and sevens:
Like those fair stars that twinkle in the heavens.
Yet must I tell a tale of chivalry:
Or wherefore comes that steed so proudly by?
Wherefore more proudly does the gentle knight
Rein in the swelling of his ample might?
Spenser! thy brows are arched, open, kind,
And come like a clear sun-rise to my mind;
And always does my heart with pleasure dance,
When I think on thy noble countenance
Where never yet was ought more earthly seen
Than the pure freshness of thy laurels green.
Therefore, great bard, I not so fearfully
Call on thy gentle spirit to hover nigh
My daring steps: or if thy tender care,
Thus startled unaware,
Be jealous that the foot of other wight
Should madly follow that bright path of light
Trac'd by thy lov'd Libertas; he will speak,
And tell thee that my prayer is very meek;
That I will follow with due reverence,
And start with awe at mine own strange pretence.
Him thou wilt hear; so I will rest in hope
To see wide plains, fair trees and lawny slope
The morn, the eve, the light, the shade, the flowers;
Clear streams, smooth lakes, and overlooking towers.

23. Calidore: A Fragment

Young Calidore is paddling o'er the lake;
His healthful spirit eager and awake
To feel the beauty of a silent eve,
Which seem'd full loath this happy world to leave;
The light dwelt o'er the scene so lingeringly.
He bares his forehead to the cool blue sky,
And smiles at the far clearness all around,
Until his heart is well nigh over wound,
And turns for calmness to the pleasant green
Of easy slopes, and shadowy trees that lean
And show their blossoms trim.
Scarce can his clear and nimble eye-sight follow
The freaks, and dartings of the black-wing'd swallow,
Delighting much, to see it half at rest,
Dip so refreshingly its wings, and breast
'Gainst the smooth surface, and to mark anon,
The widening circles into nothing gone.
And now the sharp keel of his little boat
Comes up with ripple, and with easy float,
And glides into a bed of water lillies:
Broad leav'd are they and their white canopies
Are upward turn'd to catch the heavens' dew.
Near to a little island's point they grew;
Whence Calidore might have the goodliest view
Of this sweet spot of earth. The bowery shore
Went off in gentle windings to the hoar
And light blue mountains: but no breathing man
With a warm heart, and eye prepared to scan
Nature's clear beauty, could pass lightly by
Objects that look'd out so invitingly
On either side. These, gentle Calidore
Greeted, as he had known them long before.
The sidelong view of swelling leafiness,
Which the glad setting sun in gold doth dress;
Whence ever and anon the jay outsprings,
And scales upon the beauty of its wings.
The lonely turret, shatter'd, and outworn,
Stands venerably proud; too proud to mourn
Its long lost grandeur: fir trees grow around,
Aye dropping their hard fruit upon the ground.
The little chapel with the cross above
Upholding wreaths of ivy; the white dove,
That on the window spreads his feathers light,
And seems from purple clouds to wing its flight.
Green tufted islands casting their soft shades
Across the lake; sequester'd leafy glades,
That through the dimness of their twilight show
Large dock leaves, spiral foxgloves, or the glow
Of the wild cat's eyes, or the silvery stems
Of delicate birch trees, or long grass which hems
These pleasant things, and heaven was bedewing
The mountain flowers, when his glad senses caught
A trumpet's silver voice. Ah! it was fraught
With many joys for him: the warder's ken
Had found white coursers prancing in the glen:
Friends very dear to him he soon will see;
So pushes off his boat most eagerly,
And soon upon the lake he skims along,
Deaf to the nightingale's first under-song;
Nor minds he the white swans that dream so sweetly:
His spirit flies before him so completely.
And now he turns a jutting point of land,
Whence may be seen the castle gloomy, and grand
Nor will a bee buzz round two swelling peaches,
Before the point of his light shallop reaches
Those marble steps that through the water dip
Now over them he goes with hasty trip,
And scarcely stays to ope the folding doors
Anon he leaps along the oaken floors
Of halls and corridors.
Delicious sounds! those little bright-eyed things
That float about the air on azure wings,
Had been less heartfelt by him than the clang
Of clattering hoofs; into the court he sprang,
Just as two noble steeds, and palfreys twain,
Were slanting out their necks with loosened rein;
While from beneath the threat'ning portcullis
They brought their happy burthens. What a kiss,
What gentle squeeze he gave each lady's hand!
How tremblingly their delicate ancles spann'd!
Into how sweet a trance his soul was gone,
While whisperings of affection
Made him delay to let their tender feet
Come to the earth; with an incline so sweet
From their low palfreys o'er his neck they bent
And whether there were tears of languishment,
Or that the evening dew had pearl'd their tresses,
He feels a moisture on his cheek, and blesses
With lips that tremble, and with glistening eye
All the soft luxury
That nestled in his arms. A dimpled hand,
Hung from his shoulder like the drooping flowers
Of whitest cassia, fresh from summer showers
And this he fondled with his happy cheek
As if for joy he would no further seek;
When the kind voice of good Sir Clerimond
Came to his ear, like something from beyond
His present being: so he gently drew
His warm arms, thrilling now with pulses new,
From their sweet thrall, and forward gently bending,
Thank'd heaven that his joy was never ending;
While 'gainst his forehead he devoutly press'd
A hand heaven made to succour the distress'd;
A hand that from the world's bleak promontory
Had lifted Calidore for deeds of glory.
Amid the pages, and the torches' glare
There stood a knight, patting the flowing hair
Of his proud horse's mane: he was withal
A man of elegance, and stature tall:
So that the waving of his plumes would be
High as the berries of a wild ash tree,
Or as the winged cap of Mercury.
His armour was so dexterously wrought
In shape, that sure no living man had thought
It hard, and heavy steel: but that indeed
It was some glorious form, some splendid weed,
In which a spirit new come from the skies
Might live, and show itself to human eyes.
'Tis the far-fam'd, the brave Sir Gondibert,
Said the good man to Calidore alert;
While the young warrior with a step of grace
Came up, — a courtly smile upon his face,
And mailed hand held out, ready to greet
The large-eyed wonder, and ambitious heat
Of the aspiring boy; who as he led
Those smiling ladies, often turned his head
To admire the visor arched so gracefully
Over a knightly brow; while they went by
The lamps that from the high-roof'd hall were pendent,
And gave the steel a shining quite transcendent.
Soon in a pleasant chamber they are seated;
The sweet-lipp'd ladies have already greeted
All the green leaves that round the window clamber,
To show their purple stars, and bells of amber.
Sir Gondibert has doff'd his shining steel,
Gladdening in the free and airy feel
Of a light mantle; and while Clerimond
Is looking round about him with a fond
And placid eye, young Calidore is burning
To hear of knightly deeds, and gallant spurning
Of all unworthiness; and how the strong of arm
Kept off dismay, and terror, and alarm
From lovely woman while brimful of this,
He gave each damsel's hand so warm a kiss,
And had such manly ardour in his eye,
That each at other look'd half staringly;
And then their features started into smiles
Sweet as blue heavens o'er enchanted isles.
Softly the breezes from the forest came,
Softly they blew aside the taper's flame;
Clear was the song from Philomel's far bower;
Grateful the incense from the lime-tree flower;
Mysterious, wild, the far heard trumpet's tone;
Lovely the moon in ether, all alone
Sweet too the converse of these happy mortals,
As that of busy spirits when the portals
Are closing in the west; or that soft humming
We hear around when Hesperus is coming.
Sweet be their sleep.

24. To one who has been long in city pent

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.

25. Oh! how I love, on a fair summer's eve

When streams of light pour down the golden west,
And on the balmy zephyrs tranquil rest
The silver clouds, far — far away to leave
All meaner thoughts, and take a sweet reprieve
From little cares; to find, with easy quest,
A fragrant wild, with Nature's beauty drest,
And there into delight my soul deceive.
There warm my breast with patriotic lore,
Musing on Milton's fate — on Sydney's bier —
Till their stern forms before my mind arise
Perhaps on the wing of poesy upsoar,
Full often dropping a delicious tear,
When some melodious sorrow spells mine eyes.

26. To a Friend Who Sent Me Some Roses

As late I rambled in the happy fields,
What time the sky-lark 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 excell'd
But when, O Wells! thy roses came to me
My sense with their deliciousness was spell'd
Soft voices had they, that with tender plea
Whisper'd of peace, and truth, and friendliness unquell'd.

27. Happy is England! I could be content

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
And float with them about the summer waters.

28. To My Brother George

Many the wonders I this day have seen
The sun, when first he kist away the tears
That fill'd the eyes of morn; — the laurel'd 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-discover'd revels keeping.
But what, without the social thought of thee,
Would be the wonders of the sky and sea?

29. To My Brother George

Full many a dreary hour have I past,
My brain bewilder'd, 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 outstretch'd 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, naught they see
In water, earth, or air, but poesy.
It has been said, dear george, and true I hold it,
That when a Poet is in such a trance,
In air he 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 naught 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 brimm'd 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 reveal'd 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 naught 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
Such tales as needs must with amazement spell you.
These are the living pleasures of the bard
But richer far posterity's award.
What does he murmur with his latest breath,
While his proud eye looks through 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 form'd a snowy circle on the grass,
And plac'd 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 foster'd in my youthful years
The pearls, that on each glist'ning circlet sleep,
Gush ever and anon with silent creep,
Lured by the innocent dimples. To sweet rest
Shall the dear babe, upon its mother's breast,
Be lull'd with songs of mine. Fair world, adieu!
Thy dales, and hills, are fading from my view
Swiftly I mount, upon wide spreading pinions,
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,
Stretch'd on the grass at my best lov'd employment
Of scribbling lines for you. These things I thought
While, in my face, the freshest breeze I caught.
E'en now I'm pillow'd 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 streak'd with purple, and green.
Now 'tis I see a canvass'd ship, and now
Mark the bright silver curling round her prow.
I see the lark down-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!

30. To Charles Cowden Clarke

Oft have you seen a swan superbly frowning,
He slants his neck beneath the waters bright
So silently, it seems a beam of light
Come from the Galaxy anon he sports, —
With outspread wings the Naiad Zephyr courts,
Or ruffles all the surface of the lake
In striving from its crystal face to take
Some diamond water drops, and them to treasure
In milky nest, and sip them off at leisure.
But not a moment can he there insure them,
Nor to such downy rest can he allure them;
For down they rush as though they would be free,
And drop like hours into eternity.
Just like that bird am I in loss of time,
Whene'er I venture on the stream of rhyme;
With shatter'd boat, oar snapt, and canvass rent,
I slowly sail, scarce knowing my intent;
Still scooping up the water with my fingers,
In which a trembling diamond never lingers.
By this, friend Charles, you may full plainly see
Why I have never penn'd a line to thee
Because my thoughts were never free, and clear,
And little fit to please a classic ear;
Because my wine was of too poor a savour
For one whose palate gladdens in the flavour
Of sparkling Helicon — small good it were
To take him to a desert rude, and bare,
Who had on Baiae's shore reclin'd at ease,
While Tasso's page was floating in a breeze
That gave soft music from Armida's bowers,
Mingled with fragrance from her rarest flowers
Small good to one who had by Mulla's stream
Fondled the maidens with the breasts of cream;
Who had beheld Belphoebe in a brook,
And lovely Una in a leafy nook,
And Archimago leaning o'er his book
Who had of all that's sweet tasted, and seen,
From silv'ry ripple, up to beauty's queen;
From the sequester'd haunts of gay Titania,
To the blue dwelling of divine Urania
One, who, of late, had ta'en sweet forest walks
With him who elegantly chats, and talks —
The wrong'd Libertas, — who has told you stories
Of troops chivalrous prancing through a city,
And tearful ladies made for love, and pity
With many else which I have never known.
Thus have I thought; and days on days have flown
Slowly, or rapidly — unwilling still
For you to try my dull, unlearned quill.
Nor should I now, but that I've known you long;
That you first taught me all the sweets of song
The grand, the sweet, the terse, the free, the fine;
What swell'd with pathos, and what right divine
Spenserian vowels that elope with ease,
And float along like birds o'er summer seas;
Miltonian storms, and more, Miltonian tenderness;
Michael in arms, and more, meek Eve's fair slenderness.
Who read for me the sonnet swelling loudly
Up to its climax and then dying proudly?
Who found for me the grandeur of the ode,
Growing, like Atlas, stronger from its load?
Who let me taste that more than cordial dram,
The sharp, the rapier-pointed epigram?
Shew'd me that epic was of all the king,
Round, vast, and spanning all like Saturn's ring?
You too upheld the veil from Clio's beauty,
And pointed out the patriot's stern duty;
The might of Alfred, and the shaft of Tell;
The hand of Brutus, that so grandly fell
Upon a tyrant's head. Ah! had I never seen,
Or known your kindness, what might I have been?
What my enjoyments in my youthful years,
Bereft of all that now my life endears?
And can I e'er these benefits forget?
And can I e'er repay the friendly debt?
No, doubly no; — yet should these rhymings please,
I shall roll on the grass with two-fold ease
For I have long time been my fancy feeding
With hopes that you would one day think the reading
Of my rough verses not an hour misspent;
Should it e'er be so, what a rich content!
Some weeks have pass'd since last I saw the spires
In lucent Thames reflected — warm desires
And morning shadows streaking into slimness
Across the lawny fields, and pebbly water;
To mark the time as they grow broad, and shorter;
To feel the air that plays about the hills,
And sips its freshness from the little rills;
To see high, golden corn wave in the light
When Cynthia smiles upon a summer's night,
And peers among the cloudlet's jet and white,
As though she were reclining in a bed
Of bean blossoms, in heaven freshly shed —
No sooner had I stepp'd into these pleasures
Than I began to think of rhymes and measures
The air that floated by me seem'd to say
Write! thou wilt never have a better day.
And so I did. When many lines I'd written,
Though with their grace I was not oversmitten,
Yet, as my hand was warm, I thought I'd better
Trust to my feelings, and write you a letter.
Such an attempt required an inspiration
Of peculiar sort, — a consummation; —
Which, had I felt, these scribblings might have been
Verses from which the soul would never wean
But many days have past since last my heart
Was warm'd luxuriously by divine Mozart;
By Arne delighted, or by Handel madden'd;
Or by the song of Erin pierc'd and sadden'd
What time you were before the music sitting,
And the rich notes to each sensation fitting;
Since I have walk'd with you through shady lanes
That freshly terminate in open plains,
And revel'd in a chat that ceased not
When at night-fall among your books we got
No, nor when supper came, nor after that, —
Nor when reluctantly I took my hat;
No, nor till cordially you shook my hand
Mid-way between our homes — your accents bland
Still sounded in my ears, when I no more
Could hear your footsteps touch the grav'ly floor.
Sometimes I lost them, and then found again;
You chang'd the footpath for the grassy plain.
That well you know to honour — " Life's very toys
With him, " said I, " will take a pleasant charm;
It cannot be that ought will work him harm.
These thoughts now come o'er me with all their might —
Again I shake your hand, — friend Charles, good night.

31. How many bards gild the lapses of time

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 unnumber'd sounds that evening store;
The songs of birds — the whisp'ring of the leaves —
The voice of waters — the great bell that heaves
With solemn sound, — and thousand others more,
That distance of recognizance bereaves,
Make pleasing music, and not wild uproar.

32. On First Looking into Chapman's Homer

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.

33. Keen, fitful gusts are whisp'ring here and there

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.
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.

34. On Leaving Some Friends at an Early Hour

Give me a golden pen, and let me lean
On heap'd 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.

35. To My Brothers

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 fix'd, as in poetic sleep,
Upon the lore so voluble and deep,
That aye at fall of night our care condoles.
This is your birth-day Tom, and I rejoice
That thus it passes smoothly, quietly.
Many such eves of gently whisp'ring 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.

36. Addressed to Haydon

Highmindedness, a jealousy for good,
A loving-kindness for the great man's fame,
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-mong'ring, pitiable brood.
How glorious this affection for the cause
Of stedfast genius, toiling gallantly!
What when a stout unbending champion awes
Envy, and Malice to their native sty?
Unnumber'd souls breathe out a still applause,
Proud to behold him in his country's eye.

37. Addressed to the Same

Great spirits now on earth are sojourning;
He of the cloud, the cataract, the lake,
Who on Helvellyn's summit, wide awake,
Catches his freshness from archangel's wing
He of the rose, the violet, the spring,
The social smile, the chain for freedom's sake
And lo! — whose stedfastness would never take
A meaner sound than Raphael's whispering.
And other spirits there are standing apart
Upon the forehead of the age to come;
These, these will give the world another heart,
And other pulses. Hear ye not the hum
Of mighty workings? —
Listen awhile ye nations, and be dumb.

38. To G.A.W.

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 wand'ring in a trance
Of sober thought? or when starting away,
With careless robe, to meet the morning ray,
Thou spar'st 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.

39. To Kosciusko

Good Kosciusko, thy great name alone
It comes upon us like the glorious pealing
Of the wide spheres — an everlasting tone.
And now it tells me, that in worlds unknown,
The names of heroes, burst from clouds concealing,
Are changed to harmonies, for ever stealing
Through cloudless blue, and round each silver throne.
It tells me too, that on a happy day,
When some good spirit walks upon the earth,
Thy name with Alfred's, and the great of yore
Gently commingling, gives tremendous birth
To a loud hymn, that sounds far, far away
To where the great God lives for evermore.

40. Sleep and Poetry

What is more gentle than a wind in summer?
What is more soothing than the pretty hummer
That stays one moment in an open flower,
And buzzes cheerily from bower to bower?
What is more tranquil than a musk-rose blowing
In a green island, far from all men's knowing?
More healthful than the leafiness of dales?
More secret than a nest of nightingales?
More serene than Cordelia's countenance?
More full of visions than a high romance?
What, but thee, Sleep? Soft closer of our eyes!
Low murmurer of tender lullabies!
Light hoverer around our happy pillows!
Wreather of poppy buds, and weeping willows!
Silent entangler of a beauty's tresses!
Most happy listener! when the morning blesses
Thee for enlivening all the cheerful eyes
That glance so brightly at the new sun-rise.
But what is higher beyond thought than thee?
Fresher than berries of a mountain tree?
More strange, more beautiful, more smooth, more regal,
Than wings of swans, than doves, than dim-seen eagle?
What is it? And to what shall I compare it?
It has a glory, and nought else can share it
The thought thereof is awful, sweet, and holy,
Chacing away all worldliness and folly;
Coming sometimes like fearful claps of thunder,
Or the low rumblings earth's regions under;
Of all the secrets of some wond'rous thing
That breathes about us in the vacant air;
So that we look around with prying stare,
Perhaps to see shapes of light, aerial lymning,
And catch soft floatings from a faint-heard hymning;
To see the laurel wreath, on high suspended,
That is to crown our name when life is ended.
Sometimes it gives a glory to the voice,
And from the heart up-springs " rejoice! rejoice!"
Sounds which will reach the Framer of all things,
And die away in ardent mutterings.
No one who once the glorious sun has seen,
And all the clouds, and felt his bosom clean
For his great Maker's presence, but must know
What 'tis I mean, and feel his being glow
Therefore no insult will I give his spirit,
By telling what he sees from native merit.
O Poesy! for thee I hold my pen
That am not yet a glorious denizen
Of thy wide heaven — Should I rather kneel
Upon some mountain-top until I feel
A glowing splendour round about me hung,
And echo back the voice of thine own tongue?
O Poesy! for thee I grasp my pen
That am not yet a glorious denizen
Of thy wide heaven; yet, to my ardent prayer,
Yield from thy sanctuary some clear air,
Smoothed for intoxication by the breath
Of flowering bays, that I may die a death
Of luxury, and my young spirit follow
The morning sun-beams to the great Apollo
Like a fresh sacrifice; or, if I can bear
The o'erwhelming sweets, 'twill bring to me the fair
Visions of all places a bowery nook
Will be elysium — an eternal book
Whence I may copy many a lovely saying
About the leaves, and flowers — about the playing
Of nymphs in woods, and fountains; and the shade
Keeping a silence round a sleeping maid;
And many a verse from so strange influence
That we must ever wonder how, and whence
It came. Also imaginings will hover
Vistas of solemn beauty, where I'd wander
In happy silence, like the clear Meander
Through its lone vales; and where I found a spot
Of awfuller shade, or an enchanted grot,
Or a green hill o'erspread with chequered dress
Of flowers, and fearful from its loveliness,
Write on my tablets all that was permitted,
All that was for our human senses fitted.
Then the events of this wide world I'd seize
Like a strong giant, and my spirit teaze
Till at its shoulders it should proudly see
Wings to find out an immortality.
Stop and consider! life is but a day;
A fragile dew-drop on its perilous way
From a tree's summit; a poor Indian's sleep
While his boat hastens to the monstrous steep
Of Montmorenci. Why so sad a moan?
Life is the rose's hope while yet unblown;
The reading of an ever-changing tale;
The light uplifting of a maiden's veil;
A pigeon tumbling in clear summer air;
A laughing school-boy, without grief or care,
Riding the springy branches of an elm.
O for ten years, that I may overwhelm
Myself in poesy; so I may do the deed
That my own soul has to itself decreed.
Then will I pass the countries that I see
In long perspective, and continually
Taste their pure fountains. First the realm I'll pass
Of Flora, and old Pan sleep in the grass,
Feed upon apples red, and strawberries,
And choose each pleasure that my fancy sees;
Catch the white-handed nymphs in shady places,
To woo sweet kisses from averted faces, —
Play with their fingers, touch their shoulders white
Into a pretty shrinking with a bite
As hard as lips can make it till agreed,
A lovely tale of human life we'll read.
And one will teach a tame dove how it best
May fan the cool air gently o'er my rest;
Another, bending o'er her nimble tread,
Will set a green robe floating round her head,
Smiling upon the flowers and the trees
Another will entice me on, and on
Through almond blossoms and rich cinnamon;
Till in the bosom of a leafy world
We rest in silence, like two gems upcurl'd
In the recesses of a pearly shell.
And can I ever bid these joys farewell?
Yes, I must pass them for a nobler life,
Where I may find the agonies, the strife
Of human hearts for lo! I see afar,
O'er-sailing the blue cragginess, a car
And steeds with streamy manes — the charioteer
Looks out upon the winds with glorious fear
And now the numerous tramplings quiver lightly
Along a huge cloud's ridge; and now with sprightly
Wheel downward come they into fresher skies,
Tipt round with silver from the sun's bright eyes.
Still downward with capacious whirl they glide;
And now I see them on a green-hill's side
In breezy rest among the nodding stalks.
The charioteer with wond'rous gesture talks
To the trees and mountains; and there soon appear
Shapes of delight, of mystery, and fear,
Passing along before a dusky space
Made by some mighty oaks as they would chase
Some ever-fleeting music on they sweep.
Lo! how they murmur, laugh, and smile, and weep
Some with upholden hand and mouth severe;
Some with their faces muffled to the ear
Between their arms; some, clear in youthful bloom,
Go glad and smilingly athwart the gloom;
Some looking back, and some with upward gaze;
Yes, thousands in a thousand different ways
Flit onward — now a lovely wreath of girls
Dancing their sleek hair into tangled curls;
And now broad wings. Most awfully intent
The driver of those steeds is forward bent,
And seems to listen: O that I might know
All that he writes with such a hurrying glow.
The visions all are fled — the car is fled
Into the light of heaven, and in their stead
A sense of real things comes doubly strong,
My soul to nothingness but I will strive
Against all doubtings, and will keep alive
The thought of that same chariot, and the strange
Journey it went. Is there so small a range
In the present strength of manhood, that the high
Imagination cannot freely fly
As she was wont of old? prepare her steeds,
Paw up against the light, and do strange deeds
Upon the clouds? Has she not shewn us all?
From the clear space of ether, to the small
Breath of new buds unfolding? From the meaning
Of Jove's large eye-brow, to the tender greening
Of April meadows? Here her altar shone,
E'en in this isle; and who could paragon
The fervid choir that lifted up a noise
Of harmony, to where it aye will poise
Its mighty self of convoluting sound,
Huge as a planet, and like that roll round,
Eternally around a dizzy void?
Ay, in those days the Muses were nigh cloy'd
With honors; nor had any other care
Than to sing out and sooth their wavy hair.
Could all this be forgotten? yes, a schism
Nurtured by foppery and barbarism,
Made great Apollo blush for this his land.
Men were thought wise who could not understand
His glories with a puling infant's force
They sway'd about upon a rocking horse,
And thought it Pegasus. Ah dismal soul'd!
The winds of heaven blew, the ocean roll'd
Its gathering waves — ye felt it not. The blue
Bared its eternal bosom, and the dew
Of summer nights collected still to make
The morning precious beauty was awake!
Why were ye not awake? But ye were dead
To things ye knew not of, — were closely wed
To musty laws lined out with wretched rule
And compass vile so that ye taught a school
Of dolts to smooth, inlay, and clip, and fit,
Till, like the certain wands of Jacob's wit,
Their verses tallied. Easy was the task
A thousand handicraftsmen wore the mask
That blasphemed the bright Lyrist to his face,
And did not know it, — no, they went about,
Holding a poor, decrepid standard out
Mark'd with most flimsy mottos, and in large
The name of one Boileau! o ye whose charge
It is to hover round our pleasant hills!
Whose congregated majesty so fills
My boundly reverence, that I cannot trace
Your hallowed names, in this unholy place,
So near those common folk; did not their shames
Affright you? Did our old lamenting Thames
Delight you? Did ye never cluster round
Delicious Avon, with a mournful sound,
And weep? Or did ye wholly bid adieu
To regions where no more the laurel grew?
Or did ye stay to give a welcoming
To some lone spirits who could proudly sing
Their youth away, and die? 'Twas even so
But let me think away those times of woe
Now 'tis a fairer season; ye have breathed
Rich benedictions o'er us; ye have wreathed
Fresh garlands for sweet music has been heard
In many places; — some has been upstirr'd
From out its crystal dwelling in a lake,
By a swan's ebon bill; from a thick brake,
Nested and quiet in a valley mild,
Bubbles a pipe; fine sounds are floating wild
About the earth happy are ye and glad.
These things are doubtless yet in truth we've had
Strange thunders from the potency of song;
Mingled indeed with what is sweet and strong,
From majesty but in clear truth the themes
Are ugly clubs, the poets Polyphemes
Disturbing the grand sea. A drainless shower
Of light is poesy; 'tis the supreme of power;
'Tis might half slumb'ring on its own right arm.
The very archings of her eye-lids charm
A thousand willing agents to obey,
And still she governs with the mildest sway
But strength alone though of the Muses born
Is like a fallen angel trees uptorn,
Darkness, and worms, and shrouds, and sepulchres
And thorns of life; forgetting the great end
Of poesy, that it should be a friend
To sooth the cares, and lift the thoughts of man.
Yet I rejoice a myrtle fairer than
E'er grew in Paphos, from the bitter weeds
Lifts its sweet head into the air, and feeds
A silent space with ever sprouting green.
All tenderest birds there find a pleasant screen,
Creep through the shade with jaunty fluttering,
Nibble the little cupped flowers and sing.
Then let us clear away the choaking thorns
From round its gentle stem; let the young fawns,
Yeaned in after times, when we are flown,
Find a fresh sward beneath it, overgrown
With simple flowers let there nothing be
More boisterous than a lover's bended knee;
Nought more ungentle than the placid look
Of one who leans upon a closed book;
Nought more untranquil than the grassy slopes
Between two hills. All hail delightful hopes!
As she was wont, th' imagination
Into most lovely labyrinths will be gone,
And they shall be accounted poet kings
Who simply tell the most heart-easing things.
O may these joys be ripe before I die.
Will not some say that I presumptuously
Have spoken? that from hastening disgrace
'Twere better far to hide my foolish face?
That whining boyhood should with reverence bow
Ere the dread thunderbolt could reach? How!
If I do hide myself, it sure shall be
In the very fane, the light of Poesy
If I do fall, at least I will be laid
Beneath the silence of a poplar shade;
And over me the grass shall be smooth shaven;
And there shall be a kind memorial graven.
But off despondence! miserable bane!
They should not know thee, who athirst to gain
A noble end, are thirsty every hour.
What though I am not wealthy in the dower
Of spanning wisdom; though I do not know
The shiftings of the mighty winds that blow
Of man though no great minist'ring reason sorts
Out the dark mysteries of human souls
To clear conceiving yet there ever rolls
A vast idea before me, and I glean
Therefrom my liberty; thence too I've seen
The end and aim of poesy. 'Tis clear
As any thing most true; as that the year
Is made of the four seasons — manifest
As a large cross, some old cathedral's crest,
Lifted to the white clouds. Therefore should I
Be but the essence of deformity,
A coward, did my very eye-lids wink
At speaking out what I have dared to think.
Ah! rather let me like a madman run
Over some precipice; let the hot sun
Melt my Dedalian wings, and drive me down
Convuls'd and headlong! Stay! an inward frown
Of conscience bids me be more calm awhile.
An ocean dim, sprinkled with many an isle,
Spreads awfully before me. How much toil!
How many days! what desperate turmoil!
Ere I can have explored its widenesses.
Ah, what a task! upon my bended knees,
I could unsay those — no, impossible!
Impossible! for sweet relief I'll dwell
On humbler thoughts, and let this strange assay
Begun in gentleness die so away.
E'en now all tumult from my bosom fades
I turn full hearted to the friendly aids
That smooth the path of honour; brotherhood,
And friendliness the nurse of mutual good.
The hearty grasp that sends a pleasant sonnet
Into the brain ere one can think upon it;
The silence when some rhymes are coming out;
And when they're come, the very pleasant rout
The message certain to be done to-morrow —
'Tis perhaps as well that it should be to borrow
Some precious book from out its snug retreat,
To cluster round it when we next shall meet.
Scarce can I scribble on; for lovely airs
Are fluttering round the room like doves in pairs;
Many delights of that glad day recalling,
And with these airs come forms of elegance
Stooping their shoulders o'er a horse's prance,
Careless, and grand — fingers soft and round
Parting luxuriant curls; — and the swift bound
Of Bacchus from his chariot, when his eye
Made Ariadne's cheek look blushingly.
Thus I remember all the pleasant flow
Of words at opening a portfolio.
Things such as these are ever harbingers
To trains of peaceful images the stirs
Of a swan's neck unseen among the rushes
A linnet starting all about the bushes
A butterfly, with golden wings broad parted,
Nestling a rose, convuls'd as though it smarted
With over pleasure — many, many more,
Might I indulge at large in all my store
Of luxuries yet I must not forget
Sleep, quiet with his poppy coronet
For what there may be worthy in these rhymes
I partly owe to him — and thus the chimes
Of friendly voices had just given place
To as sweet a silence, when I 'gan retrace
The pleasant day, upon a couch at ease.
It was a poet's house who keeps the keys
Of pleasure's temple. Round about were hung
The glorious features of the bards who sung
In other ages — cold and sacred busts
Smiled at each other. Happy he who trusts
To clear futurity his darling fame!
Then there were fauns and satyrs taking aim
At swelling apples with a frisky leap
And reaching fingers, 'mid a luscious heap
Of vine leaves. Then there rose to view a fane
Of liny marble, and thereto a train
Of nymphs approaching fairly o'er the sward
One, loveliest, holding her white hand toward
The dazzling sun-rise two sisters sweet
Bending their graceful figures till they meet
Over the trippings of a little child
And some are hearing, eagerly, the wild
Thrilling liquidity of dewy piping.
See, in another picture, nymphs are wiping
Cherishingly Diana's timorous limbs; —
At the bath's edge, and keeps a gentle motion
With the subsiding crystal as when ocean
Heaves calmly its broad swelling smoothness o'er
Its rocky marge, and balances once more
The patient weeds; that now unshent by foam
Feel all about their undulating home.
Sappho's meek head was there half smiling down
At nothing; just as though the earnest frown
Of over thinking had that moment gone
From off her brow, and left her all alone.
Great Alfred's too, with anxious, pitying eyes,
As if he always listened to the sighs
Of the goaded world; and Kosciusko's worn
By horrid suffrance — mightily forlorn.
Petrarch, outstepping from the shady green,
Starts at the sight of Laura; nor can wean
His eyes from her sweet face. Most happy they!
For over them was seen a free display
Of out-spread wings, and from between them shone
The face of Poesy from off her throne
She overlook'd things that I scarce could tell.
The very sense of where I was might well
Keep Sleep aloof but more than that there came
Thought after thought to nourish up the flame
Within my breast; so that the morning light
Surprised me even from a sleepless night;
And up I rose refresh'd, and glad, and gay,
Resolving to begin that very day
These lines; and howsoever they be done,
I leave them as a father does his son.

41. I stood tip-toe upon a little hill

I stood tip-toe upon a little hill,
The air was cooling, and so very still,
That the sweet buds which with a modest pride
Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside,
Their scantly leaved, and finely tapering stems,
Had not yet lost those starry diadems
Caught from the early sobbing of the morn.
The clouds were pure and white as flocks new shorn,
And fresh from the clear brook; sweetly they slept
On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept
Born of the very sigh that silence heaves
For not the faintest motion could be seen
Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green.
There was wide wand'ring for the greediest eye,
To peer about upon variety;
Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim,
And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim;
To picture out the quaint, and curious bending
Of a fresh woodland alley, never ending;
Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves,
Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves.
I gazed awile, and felt as light, and free
As though the fanning wings of Mercury
Had played upon my heels I was light-hearted,
And many pleasures to my vision started;
So I straightway began to pluck a posey
Of luxuries bright, milky, soft and rosy.
A bush of May flowers with the bees about them;
Ah, sure no tasteful nook would be without them;
And let a lush laburnum oversweep them,
And let long grass grow round the roots to keep them
Moist, cool and green; and shade the violets,
That they may bind the moss in leafy nets.
A filbert hedge with wild briar overtwined,
And clumps of woodbine taking the soft wind
Upon their summer thrones; there too should be
The frequent chequer of a youngling tree,
That with a score of light green brethren shoots
From the quaint mossiness of aged roots
Round which is heard a spring-head of clear waters
Babbling so wildly of its lovely daughters
The spreading blue bells it may haply mourn
That such fair clusters should be rudely torn
From their fresh beds, and scattered thoughtlessly
By infant hands, left on the path to die.
Open afresh your round of starry folds,
Ye ardent marigolds!
Dry up the moisture from your golden lids,
For great Apollo bids
That in these days your praises should be sung
On many harps, which he has lately strung;
Tell him, I have you in my world of blisses
So haply when I rove in some far vale,
His mighty voice may come upon the gale.
Here are sweet peas, on tip-toe for a flight
With wings of gentle flush o'er delicate white,
And taper fingers catching at all things,
To bind them all about with tiny rings.
Linger awile upon some bending planks
That lean against a streamlet's rushy banks,
And watch intently Nature's gentle doings
They will be found softer than ring-dove's cooings.
How silent comes the water round that bend;
Not the minutest whisper does it send
To the o'erhanging sallows blades of grass
Slowly across the chequer'd shadows pass.
Why, you might read two sonnets, ere they reach
To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach
A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds;
Where swarms of minnows show their little heads,
Staying their wavy bodies 'gainst the streams,
To taste the luxury of sunny beams
Temper'd with coolness. How they ever wrestle
With their own sweet delight, and ever nestle
Their silver bellies on the pebbly sand.
If you but scantily hold out the hand,
That very instant not one will remain;
But turn your eye, and they are there again.
The ripples seem right glad to reach those cresses,
And cool themselves among the em'rald tresses;
The while they cool themselves, they freshness give,
And moisture, that the bowery green may live
So keeping up an interchange of favours,
Like good men in the truth of their behaviours.
Sometimes goldfinches one by one will drop
From low hung branches; little space they stop;
But sip, and twitter, and their feathers sleek;
Then off at once, as in a wanton freak
Or perhaps, to show their black, and golden wings,
Pausing upon their yellow flutterings.
Were I in such a place, I sure should pray
That nought less sweet might call my thoughts away,
Fanning away the dandelion's down;
Than the light music of her nimble toes
Patting against the sorrel as she goes.
How she would start, and blush, thus to be caught
Playing in all her innocence of thought.
O let me lead her gently o'er the brook,
Watch her half-smiling lips, and downward look;
O let me for one moment touch her wrist;
Let me one moment to her breathing list;
And as she leaves me may she often turn
Her fair eyes looking through her locks auburne.
What next? A tuft of evening primroses,
O'er which the mind may hover till it dozes;
O'er which it well might take a pleasant sleep,
But that 'tis ever startled by the leap
Of buds into ripe flowers; or by the flitting
Of diverse moths, that aye their rest are quitting;
Or by the moon lifting her silver rim
Above a cloud, and with a gradual swim
Coming into the blue with all her light.
O Maker of sweet poets, dear delight
Of this fair world, and all its gentle livers;
Spangler of clouds, halo of crystal rivers,
Mingler with leaves, and dew and tumbling streams,
Closer of lovely eyes to lovely dreams,
Lover of loneliness, and wandering,
Of upcast eye, and tender pondering!
Thee must I praise above all other glories
That smile us on to tell delightful stories.
For what has made the sage or poet write
But the fair paradise of Nature's light?
In the calm grandeur of a sober line,
We see the waving of the mountain pine;
And when a tale is beautifully staid,
We feel the safety of a hawthorn glade
When it is moving on luxurious wings,
The soul is lost in pleasant smotherings
Fair dewy roses brush against our faces,
And flowering laurels spring from diamond vases;
O'er head we see the jasmine and sweet briar,
And bloomy grapes laughing from green attire;
While at our feet, the voice of crystal bubbles
So that we feel uplifted from the world,
Walking upon the white clouds wreath'd and curl'd.
So felt he, who first told, how Psyche went
On the smooth wind to realms of wonderment;
What Psyche felt, and Love, when their full lips
First touch'd; what amorous, and fondling nips
They gave each other's cheeks; with all their sighs,
And how they kist each other's tremulous eyes
The silver lamp, — the ravishment, — the wonder —
The darkness, — loneliness, — the fearful thunder;
Their woes gone by, and both to heaven upflown,
To bow for gratitude before Jove's throne.
So did he feel, who pull'd the boughs aside,
That we might look into a forest wide,
To catch a glimpse of Fauns, and Dryades
Coming with softest rustle through the trees;
And garlands woven of flowers wild, and sweet,
Upheld on ivory wrists, or sporting feet
Telling us how fair, trembling Syrinx fled
Arcadian Pan, with such a fearful dread.
Poor nymph, — poor Pan, — how he did weep to find,
Nought but a lovely sighing of the wind
Along the reedy stream; a half heard strain,
Full of sweet desolation — balmy pain.
What first inspired a bard of old to sing
Narcissus pining o'er the untainted spring?
In some delicious ramble, he had found
A little space, with boughs all woven round;
And in the midst of all, a clearer pool
Than e'er reflected in its pleasant cool
The blue sky here, and there, serenely peeping
Through tendril wreaths fantastically creeping.
And on the bank a lonely flower he spied,
A meek and forlorn flower, with naught of pride,
Drooping its beauty o'er the watery clearness,
To woo its own sad image into nearness
Deaf to light Zephyrus it would not move;
But still would seem to droop, to pine, to love
So while the Poet stood in this sweet spot,
Some fainter gleamings o'er his fancy shot;
Of young Narcissus, and sad Echo's bale.
Where had he been, from whose warm head out-flew
That sweetest of all songs, that ever new,
That aye refreshing, pure deliciousness,
Coming ever to bless
The wanderer by moonlight? to him bringing
Shapes from the invisible world, unearthly singing
From out the middle air, from flowery nests,
And from the pillowy silkiness that rests
Full in the speculation of the stars.
Ah! surely he had burst our mortal bars;
Into some wond'rous region he had gone,
To search for thee, divine Endymion!
He was a Poet, sure a lover too,
Who stood on Latmus' top, what time there blew
Soft breezes from the myrtle vale below;
And brought in faintness solemn, sweet, and slow
A hymn from Dian's temple; while upswelling,
The incense went to her own starry dwelling.
But though her face was clear as infant's eyes,
Though she stood smiling o'er the sacrifice,
The Poet wept at her so piteous fate,
Wept that such beauty should be desolate
So in fine wrath some golden sounds he won,
And gave meek Cynthia her Endymion.
Queen of the wide air; thou most lovely queen
Of all the brightness that mine eyes have seen!
As thou exceedest all things in thy shine,
So every tale, does this sweet tale of thine.
O for three words of honey, that I might
Tell but one wonder of thy bridal night!
Where distant ships do seem to show their keels,
Phoebus awhile delayed his mighty wheels,
And turned to smile upon thy bashful eyes,
Ere he his unseen pomp would solemnize.
The evening weather was so bright, and clear,
That men of health were of unusual cheer;
Stepping like Homer at the trumpet's call,
Or young Apollo on the pedestal
And lovely women were as fair and warm,
As Venus looking sideways in alarm.
The breezes were ethereal, and pure,
The languid sick; it cool'd their fever'd sleep,
And soothed them into slumbers full and deep.
Soon they awoke clear eyed nor burnt with thirsting,
Nor with hot fingers, nor with temples bursting
And springing up, they met the wond'ring sight
Of their dear friends, nigh foolish with delight;
Who feel their arms, and breasts, and kiss and stare,
And on their placid foreheads part the hair.
Young men, and maidens at each other gaz'd
With hands held back, and motionless, amaz'd
To see the brightness in each other's eyes;
And so they stood, fill'd with a sweet surprise,
Until their tongues were loos'd in poesy.
Therefore no lover did of anguish die
But the soft numbers, in that moment spoken,
Made silken ties, that never may be broken.
Cynthia! I cannot tell the greater blisses,
That follow'd thine, and thy dear shepherd's kisses
Was there a Poet born? — but now no more,

42. Written in Disgust of Vulgar Superstition

The church bells toll a melancholy round,
Calling the people to some other prayers,
Some other gloominess, more dreadful cares,
More hearkening to the sermon's horrid sound.
Surely the mind of man is closely bound
In some black spell; seeing that each one tears
Himself from fireside joys, and Lydian airs,
And converse high of those with glory crown'd.
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.

43. On the Grasshopper and Cricket

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
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.

44. After dark vapours have opressed our plains

After dark vapours have oppress'd our plains
For a long dreary season, comes a day
Born of the gentle south, and clears away
From the sick heavens all unseemly stains.
The anxious month, relieving from its pains,
Takes as a long-lost right the feel of May,
The eyelids with the passing coolness play,
Like rose leaves with the drip of summer rains.
The calmest thoughts come round us — as of leaves
Budding, — fruit ripening in stillness, — autumn suns
Smiling at eve upon the quiet sheaves, —
Sweet Sappho's cheek, — a sleeping infant's breath, —
The gradual sand that through an hour-glass runs, —
A woodland rivulet, — a poet's death.

45. To a Young Lady Who Sent Me a Laurel Crown

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!

46. On Receiving a Laurel Crown from Leigh Hunt

Minutes are flying swiftly, and as yet
Nothing unearthly has enticed my brain
Into a delphic labyrinth — I would fain
Catch an unmortal thought to pay the debt
I owe to the kind poet who has set
Upon my ambitious head a glorious gain.
Two bending laurel sprigs — 'tis nearly pain
To be conscious of such a coronet.
Gorgeous as I would have it — only I see
A trampling down of what the world most prizes,
Turbans and crowns, and blank regality;
And then I run into most wild surmises
Of all the many glories that may be.

47. To the Ladies Who Saw Me Crowned

What is there in the universal earth
More lovely than a wreath from the bay tree?
Haply a halo round the moon — a glee
Circling from three sweet pair of lips in mirth;
And haply you will say the dewy birth
Of morning roses — riplings tenderly
Spread by the halcyon's breast upon the sea —
But these comparisons are nothing worth —
Then is there nothing in the world so fair?
The silvery tears of April? — Youth of May?
Or June that breaths out life for butterflies?
No — none of these can from my favourite bear
Away the palm — yet shall it ever pay
Due reverence to your most sovereign eyes.

48. God of the golden bow

God of the golden bow,
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!
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!

49. This pleasant tale is like a little copse

This pleasant tale is like a little copse
The honied lines do 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 hath white simplicity!
What mighty power has this gentle story!
I that for ever feel athirst for glory
Meekly upon the grass, as those whose sobbings
Were heard of none beside the mournful robins.

50. To Leigh Hunt, Esq.

Glory and loveliness have passed away;
For if we wander out in early morn,
No wreathed incense do we see upborne
Into the east, to meet the smiling day
No crowd of nymphs soft voic'd and young, and gay,
In woven baskets bringing ears of corn,
Roses, and pinks, and violets, to adorn
The shrine of Flora in her early May .
But there are left delights as high as these,
And I shall ever bless my destiny,
That in a time, when under pleasant trees
Pan is no longer sought, I feel a free
A leafy luxury, seeing I could please
With these poor offerings, a man like thee.

51. On Seeing the Elgin Marbles

My spirit is too weak — mortality
Weighs heavily on me like unwilling sleep,
And each imagin'd pinnacle and steep
Of godlike hardship tells me I must die
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 undescribable 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.

52. To Haydon with a Sonnet Written on Seeing the Elgin Marbles

Haydon! forgive me that I cannot speak
Definitively on 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 upfollow'd thunderings,
Even to the steep of Heliconian springs,
Were I of ample strength for such a freak —
Think too, that all those numbers should be thine;
Whose else? in this who touch thy vesture's hem?
For when men star'd at what was most divine
Thou hadst beheld the Hesperean shine
Of their star in the east, and gone to worship them.

53. On a Leander Which Miss Reynolds, My Kind Friend, Gave Me

Come hither all sweet maidens soberly,
Down-looking — ay, and with a chastened light,
Hid in the fringes of your eyelids white,
And meekly let your fair hands joined be,
As if so gentle that ye could not see,
Untouch'd, a victim of your beauty bright —
Sinking away to his young spirit's night,
Sinking bewilder'd 'mid the dreary sea
'Tis young Leander toiling to his death.
Nigh swooning, he doth purse his weary lips
For Hero's cheek, and smiles against her smile.
O horrid dream! see how his body dips
Dead-heavy; arms and shoulders gleam awhile
He's gone up bubbles all his amorous breath!

54. On The Story of Rimini

Who loves to peer up at the morning sun,
With half-shut eyes and comfortable cheek,
Let him, with this sweet tale, full often seek
For meadows where the little rivers run;
Of heaven — Hesperus — let him lowly speak
These numbers to the night, and starlight meek,
Or moon, if that her hunting be begun.
He who knows these delights, and too is prone
To moralise upon a smile or tear,
Will find at once a region of his own,
A bower for his spirit, and will steer
To alleys, where the fir-tree drops its cone,
Where robins hop, and fallen leaves are sear.

55. On the sea

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 where 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 dinn'd with uproar rude,
Or fed too much with cloying melody, —
Sit ye near some old cavern's mouth, and brood

56. Unfelt, unheard, unseen

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 fullness 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.

57. Hither, hither, love

Hither, hither, love —
'Tis a shady mead —
Hither, hither, love,
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 this boon hath sent —
If I die and wither
I shall die content.

58. You say you love; but with a voice

You say you love; but with a voice
Chaster than a nun's, who singeth
While the chime-bell ringeth —
O love me truly!
You say you love; but with a smile
Cold as sunrise in September,
As you were Saint Cupid's nun,
And kept his weeks of Ember.
O love me truly!
You say you love — but then your lips
Coral tinted teach no blisses,
More than coral in the sea —
They never pout for kisses —
O love me truly!
You say you love; but then your hand
No soft squeeze for squeeze returneth,
It is like a statue's, dead, —
While mine to passion burneth —
O love me truly!
O breathe a word or two of fire!
Smile, as if those words should burn me,
Squeeze as lovers should — O kiss
And in thy heart inurn me!
O love me truly!
Before he went to feed with owls and bats
Nebuchadnezzar had an ugly dream,
Worse than an hus'if's when she thinks her cream
Made a naumachia for mice and rats.
So scared, he sent for that " good king of cats"
Young Daniel, who soon did pluck the beam
From out his eye, and said " I do not deem
Your sceptre worth a straw — your cushions old door-mats"
A horrid nightmare similar somewhat
Of late has haunted a most valiant crew
Of loggerheads and chapmen — we are told
That any Daniel though he be a sot
Can make their lying lips turn pale of hue
By drawling out " Ye are that head of gold."

59. The Gothic looks solemn

The Gothic looks solemn,
The plain Doric column
Supports an old bishop and crosier;
The mouldering arch,
Shaded o'er by a larch
Stands next door to Wilson the Hosier.
Vice — that is, by turns, —
The black tassell trencher or common hat;
The Chantry boy sings,
The steeple-bell rings,
And as for the chancellor — dominat).
There are plenty of trees,
And plenty of ease,
And plenty of fat deer for parsons;
And when it is venison,
Short is the benison, —
Then each on a leg or thigh fastens.

60. O grant that like to Peter I

O grant that like to Peter I
May like to Peter B,
And tell me, lovely Jesus, Y
Old Jonah went to C.

61. Think not of it, sweet one, so

Think not of it, sweet one, so; —
Give it not a tear;
Sigh thou mayst, and bid it go
Any — any where.
Do not look so sad, sweet one, —
Sad and fadingly;
Shed one drop, then it is gone,
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.

62. Endymion: A Poetic Romance 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 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,
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,
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
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;
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, o'ertaking
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
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,
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
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 owlet's 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,
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
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
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 faun and satyr flies
For willing service; whether to surprise
The squatted hare while in half sleeping fit;
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 huntsmen 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
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,
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 childrens' children bred
Thermopylae 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 firament,
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,
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.
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;
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,
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
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 sere leaves and twigs, might all be heard.
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
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;
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 dear-head 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 has been unhappy at the change
Wrought suddenly in me. What indeed more strange?
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
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 tighten 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
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 the opening clouds, I saw emerge
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,
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
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 aye 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
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
With leaden looks the solitary breeze
Bluster'd, and slept, and its wild self did teaze
With wayward melancholy; and I 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,
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
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
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,
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
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,
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
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
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.
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 screne of drooping weeds, and spread
Thick, as to curtain up some wood-nymph's home.
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
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?
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.

63. Endymion: A Poetic Romance BOOK II

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!
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, — signing, — 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 chafing restlessness, is yet more drear
Than to be crush'd, in striving to uprear
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.
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,
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,
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
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,
To make us feel existence, and to show
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,
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
Its 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
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,
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 lighting, 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
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.
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 raught
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.
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 the zephyr-boughs among!
A homeward fever parches up my tongue —
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,
O 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 cold 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
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
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,
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,
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 oderous 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,
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
Who would not be so imprison'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
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!"
Rubbing their sleepy eyes with lazy wrists,
And doubling over head 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 tighten'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 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,
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.
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
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
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
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
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,
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
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.
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, delicious fair!
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 dov'd Ida the divine!
Endymion! dearest! Ah, unhappy me!
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 't 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
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 vailed — my crystalline 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
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;
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-doom'd 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
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,
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,
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
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
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.
Amid the thrushes' 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 show
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
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,
Towards it by a sandy path, and lo!
More suddenly than doth a moment go,
The visions of the earth were gone and fled —

64. Endymion: A Poetic Romance BOOK III

There are who lord it o'er their fellow-men
With most prevailing tinsel who unpen
Their baaing vanities, to browse away
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,
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,
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,
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
The thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and fright'ning
Their savage eyes with unaccustomed lightning.
Where will the spendour 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.
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,
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 blithely sing
And mesh my dewy flowers all the night.
No melody was like a passing spright
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,
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,
Quicksand, and whirlpool, and deserted shore
Were emblem'd in the woof; with every shape
That skims, or dives, or sleeps, 'twixt cape and cape.
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 shew 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
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 sirens, 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,
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
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 the 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 humane 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
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
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,
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 coming 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
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
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 —
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
"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
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,
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.
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
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
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.
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
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
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
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 mutterings 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
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,
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,
Of diverse 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 placed;
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
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 stroke
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
'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.
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,
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,
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
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
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
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 thou my Cythera 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;
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
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
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,
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!

65. Endymion: A Poetic Romance BOOK IV

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,
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 tomorrow-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
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,
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
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 fell my heart is cut for them in twain."
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.
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 speak'st of? Are not these green nooks
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?
"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,
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 aweeping 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
'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,
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,
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. —
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
u
Thou art her mother,
And her brother,
Her playmate, and her wooer in the shade."
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. —
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
Of his swift magic. Diving swans appear
Above the crystal circlings white and clear;
And catch the cheated eye in wide 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
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.
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
To divine powers from his hand full fain
Juno's proud birds are pecking pearly grain
He tries the nerve of Phoebuts 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,
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,
When 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
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 daedale 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.
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 silverly, 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 scymitar;
Bright signal that she only stoop'd to tie
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
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
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 masque, 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!
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 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
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 aye 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 to? 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 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!
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 mayest always know whither I roam,
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
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,
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
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
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!
When all great Latmos so exalt will 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
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,
'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
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,
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
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 miscall grief, bale, sorrow, heartbreak, woe,
What is there to plain of? By Titan's foe
I am but rightly serv'd. " So saying, he
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,
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
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

66. In Drear Nighted December

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
Writh'd not at passed joy?
To know the change and feel it,
When there is none to heal it,
Nor numbed sense to steel it,
Was never said in rhyme.

67. Apollo to the Graces

Apol. Which of the fairest three
Apol. Today will ride with me?
Apol. My steeds are all pawing on the thresholds of morn
Apol. Which of the fairest three
Apol. Today will ride with me
Apol. Across the gold autumn's whole kingdoms of corn?
Grac. I will, I — I — I —
Grac. O young apollo let me fly along with thee,
Grac. I will — I, I, I,
Grac. The many many wonders see
Grac. I — I — I — I —
Grac. And thy lyre shall never have a slackened string;
Grac. I, I, I, I,
Grac. Thro' the whole golden day will sing.

68. To Mrs. Reynolds's Cat

Cat! who hast past thy grand climacteric,
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 —
Thy tail's tip is nicked 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'dst on glass-bottled wall.

69. Lines on Seeing a Lock of Milton's Hair

Chief of organic numbers!
Old scholar of the spheres!
Thy spirit never slumbers,
But rolls about our ears,
For ever, and for ever!
O what a mad endeavour
Worketh he,
Who to thy sacred and ennobled hearse
Would offer a burnt sacrifice of verse
And melody.
How heavenward thou soundest,
Live temple of sweet noise,
And discord unconfoundest,
Giving delight new joys,
And pleasure nobler pinions!
O, where are thy dominions?
Lend thine ear
To a young Delian oath, — aye, by thy soul,
By all that from thy mortal lips did roll,
And by the kernal of thine earthly love,
Beauty, in things on earth, and things above
When every childish fashion
Has vanish'd from my rhyme,
Will I, grey-gone in passion,
Leave to an after-time
Hymning and harmony
Of thee, and of thy works, and of thy life;
But vain is now the burning and the strife,
Pangs are in vain, until I grow high-rife
With old philosophy,
And mad with glimpses of futurity!
For many years my offerings must be hush'd;
When I do speak, I'll think upon this hour,
Because I feel my forehead hot and flush'd,
Even at the simplest vassal of thy power, —
A lock of thy bright hair, —
Sudden it came,
And I was startled, when I caught thy name
Coupled so unaware;
Yet, at the moment, temperate was my blood.
I thought I had beheld it from the Flood.

70. On Sitting Down to Read King Lear Once Again

O golden tongued Romance, with serene lute!
Fair plumed syren, queen of far-away!
Leave melodizing on this wintry day,
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.

71. When I have fears that I may cease to be

When I have fears that I may cease to be
Before my pen has glean'd my teeming brain,
Before high-piled books, in charact'ry,
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.

72. O blush not so! O blush not so

O blush not so! O blush not so!
Or I shall think ye 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 naught,
And a blush for just begun it.
O say not so! O say not so!
For it sounds of Eve's sweet pippin;
By these loosen'd hips 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 our 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 cut the sweet apple and share it!

73. Hence burgendy, claret, and port

Hence burgundy, claret, and port,
Away with old hock and madeira,
Too earthly ye are for my sport;
There's a beverage brighter and clearer.
Instead of a pitiful rummer,
My wine overbrims a whole summer;
My bowl is the sky,
And I drink at my eye,
Till I feel in the brain
A Delphian pain —
Then follow, my Caius! then follow
On the green of the hill
We will drink our fill
Of golden sunshine,
Till our brains intertwine
With the glory and grace of Apollo!

74. God of the Meridian

God of the meridian,
And of the east and west,
To thee my soul is flown,
And my body is earthward press'd.
It is an awful mission,
A terrible division;
And leaves a gulph austere
To be fill'd with worldly fear.
Aye, when the soul is fled
To high above our head,
Affrighted do we gaze
After its airy maze,
As doth a mother wild,
When her young infant child
Is in an eagle's claws —
And is not this the cause
Of madness? — God of Song,
Thou bearest me along
Through sights I scarce can bear
O let me, let me share
With the hot lyre and thee,
The staid philosophy.
Temper my lonely hours,
And let me see thy bowers
More unalarm'd!

75. Robin Hood

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,
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 " grene 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.

76. Lines on the Mermaid Tavern

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
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?
Welcome joy, and welcome sorrow,
Lethe's weed and Hermes' feather;
Come to-day, and come to-morrow,
I do love you both together!
I love to mark sad faces in fair weather;
And hear a merry laugh amid the thunder;
Fair and foul I love together.
Meadows sweet where flames burn under,
And a giggle at a wonder;
Visage sage at pantomime;
Funeral, and steeple-chime;
Infant playing with a skull;
Morning fair, and stormwreck'd hull;
Nightshade with the woodbine kissing;
Serpents in red roses hissing;
Cleopatra regal-dress'd
With the aspic at her breast;
Dancing music, music sad,
Both together, sane and mad;
Muses bright and Muses pale;
Sombre Saturn, Momus hale; —
Laugh and sigh, and laugh again;
Oh the sweetness of the pain!
Muses bright, and Muses pale,
Bare your faces of the veil;
Let me see; and let me write
Of the day, and of the night —
Both together — let me slake
All my thirst for sweet heart-ache!
Let my bower be of yew,
Interwreath'd with myrtles new;
Pines and lime-trees full in bloom,
And my couch a low grass tomb

77. Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb

Time's sea hath been five years at its slow ebb;
Long hours have to and fro let creep the sand;
Since I was tangled in thy beauty's web,
And yet I never look on midnight sky,
But I behold thine eyes' well memoried light;
I cannot look upon the rose's dye,
But to thy cheek my soul doth take its flight;
I cannot look on any budding flower,
But my fond ear, in fancy at thy lips,
And harkening for a love-sound, doth devour
Its sweets in the wrong sense — Thou dost eclipse
Every delight with sweet remembering,
And grief unto my darling joys dost bring.

78. To the Nile

Son of the old moon-mountains African!
Stream 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 them 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 sun-rise. Green isles hast thou too,
And to the sea as happily dost haste.

79. Spenser, a jealous honorer of thine

Spenser! a jealous honourer of thine,
A forester deep in thy midmost trees,
Did last eve ask my promise to refine
Some English that might strive thine ear to please.
But Elfin Poet 'tis impossible
For an inhabitant of wintry earth
To rise like Phoebus with a golden quell
Fire-wing'd and make a morning in his mirth.
It is impossible to escape from toil
O' the sudden and receive thy spiriting
The flower must drink the nature of the soil
Before it can put forth its blossoming
Be with me in the summer days and I
Will for thine honour and his pleasure try.

80. Blue! — 'Tis the life of heaven — the domain

Blue! 'Tis the life of heaven, — the domain
The tent of Hesperus, and all his train, —
The bosomer of clouds, gold, grey 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!

81. O thou whose face hath felt the winter's wind

O thou whose face hath felt the winter's wind,
Whose eye has seen the snow-clouds hung in mist,
And the black elm tops 'mong the freezing stars,
To thee the spring will be a harvest-time.
O thou, whose only book has been the light
Of supreme darkness which thou feddest on
Night after night when Phoebus was away,
To thee the spring shall be a triple morn.
O fret not after knowledge — I have none,
And yet my song comes native with the warmth.
O fret not after knowledge — I have none,
And yet the evening listens. He who saddens
At thought of idleness cannot be idle,
And he's awake who thinks himself asleep.

82. Extracts from an Opera

O! were I one of the Olympian twelve,
Their godships should pass this into a law, —
That when a man doth set himself in toil
After some beauty veiled far away,
Each step he took should make his lady's hand
More soft, more white, and her fair cheek more fair;
And for each briar-berry he might eat,
A kiss should bud upon the tree of love,
And pulp and ripen richer every hour,
To melt away upon the traveller's lips.

83. DAISY'S SONG

The sun, with his great eye,
Sees not so much as I;
And the moon, all silver-proud,
Might as well be in a cloud.
And O the spring — the spring!
I lead the life of a king!
Couch'd in the teeming grass,
I spy each pretty lass.
I look where no one dares,
And I stare where no one stares,
And when the night is nigh,
Lambs bleat my lullaby.

84. FOLLY'S SONG

When wedding fiddles are a-playing,
Huzza for folly O!
And when maidens go a-maying,
Huzza for folly O!
When a milk-pail is upset,
Huzza for folly O!
And the clothes left in the wet,
Huzza for folly O!
When the barrel's set abroach,
Huzza for folly O!
When kate eyebrow keeps a coach,
Huzza for folly O!
When the pig is over-toasted,
Huzza for folly O!
And the cheese is over-roasted,
Huzza for folly O!
When sir snap is with his lawyer,
Huzza for folly O!
And miss chip has kiss'd the sawyer;
Huzza for folly O!

85. O, I am frighten'd with most hateful thoughts

Oh, I am frighten'd with most hateful thoughts!
Perhaps her voice is not a nightingale's,
Perhaps her teeth are not the fairest pearl;
Her eye-lashes may be, for aught I know,
Not longer than the May-fly's small fan-horns;
There may not be one dimple on her hand;
And freckles many; ah! a careless nurse,
In haste to teach the little thing to walk,
May have crumpt up a pair of Dian's legs,
And warpt the ivory of a Juno's neck.

86. Song

The stranger lighted from his steed,
And ere he spake a word,
He seiz'd my lady's lily hand,
And kiss'd it all unheard.
The stranger walk'd into the hall,
And ere he spake a word,
And kiss'd my lady's cherry lips,
And kiss'd 'em all unheard.
The stranger walk'd into the bower, —
But my lady first did go, —
Aye hand in hand into the bower,
Where my lord's roses blow.
My lady's maid had a silken scarf,
And a golden ring had she,
Again on his fair palfrey.

87. Asleep! O sleep a little while white pearl

Asleep! o sleep a little while, white pearl!
And let me kneel, and let me pray to thee,
And let me call heaven's blessing on thine eyes,
And let me breathe into the happy air,
That doth enfold and touch thee all about,
Vows of my slavery, my giving up,
My sudden adoration, my great love!

88. Four seasons fill the measure of the year

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 nigh
His 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.

89. For there's Bishop's Teign

For there's Bishop's Teign
And King's Teign
And Coomb at the clear Teign head —
Where close by the stream
You may have your cream
All spread upon barley bread.
There's Arch Brook
And there's Larch Brook
Both turning many a mill
And cooling the drouth
Of the salmon's mouth
And fattening his silver gill.
There is Wild Wood,
A mild hood
To the sheep on the lea o' the down,
Where the golden furze,
With its green, thin spurs,
Doth catch at the maiden's gown.
There is Newton Marsh
With its spear grass harsh —
A pleasant summer level
Where the maidens sweet
Of the Market Street
Do meet in the dusk to revel.
There's the barton rich
With dyke and ditch
And hedge for the thrush to live in
For the buzzing bee
And a bank for the wasp to hive in.
And O, and O
The daisies blow
And the primroses are waken'd,
And the violet white
Sits in silver plight,
And the green bud's as long as the spike end.
Then who would go
Into dark Soho,
And chatter with dack'd-hair'd critics,
When he can stay
For the new-mown hay,
And startle the dappled prickets?

90. Where be ye going, you Devon maid

Where be ye going, you Devon maid?
And what have ye there in 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 hang up on the willow,
And we will sigh in the daisy's eye
And kiss on a grass-green pillow.

91. Over the hill and over the dale

Over the hill and over the dale,
And over the bourn to Dawlish —
Where gingerbread wives have a scanty sale
And gingerbread nuts are smallish.
Rantipole Betty she ran down a hill
And kick'd up her petticoats fairly
Says I I'll be Jack if you will be Gill.
So she sat on the grass debonnairly.
Here's somebody coming, here's somebody coming
Says I 'tis the wind at a parley
So without any fuss any hawing and humming
She lay on the grass debonnairly.
Here's somebody here and here's somebody there!
Say's I hold your tongue you young gipsey.
So she held her tongue and lay plump and fair
And dead as a venus tipsy.
O who would'nt hie to Dawlish fair
O who would'nt stop in a meadow
And make the wild fern for a bed do.

92. Dear Reynolds, as last night I lay in bed

Dear Reynolds, as last night I lay in bed,
There came before my eyes that wonted thread
Of shapes, and shadows and remembrances,
That every other minute vex and please
Things all disjointed come from north and south,
Two witch's eyes above a cherub's mouth,
Voltaire with casque and shield and habergeon,
And Alexander with his night-cap on —
Old Socrates a tying his cravat;
And Hazlitt playing with Miss Edgeworth's cat;
And Junius Brutus pretty well so, so,
Making the best of's way towards Soho.
Few are there who escape these visitings —
Perhaps one or two, whose lives have patent wings;
And through whose curtains peeps no hellish nose,
No wild boar tushes, and no mermaid's toes
But flowers bursting out with lusty pride;
And young Aeolian harps personified,
Some, Titian colours touch'd into real life. —
The sacrifice goes on; the pontiff knife
Gleams in the sun, the milk-white heifer lows,
The pipes go shrilly, the libation flows
A white sail shews above the green-head cliff
Moves round the point, and throws her anchor stiff.
The mariners join hymn with those on land. —
You know the Enchanted Castle it doth stand
Upon a rock on the border of a lake
Nested in trees, which all do seem to shake
From some old magic like Urganda's sword.
O Phoebus that I had thy sacred word
To shew this castle in fair dreaming wise
Unto my friend, while sick and ill he lies.
You know it well enough, where it doth seem
A mossy place, a Merlin's hall, a dream.
You know the clear lake, and the little isles,
The mountains blue, and cold near neighbour rills —
All which elsewhere are but half animate
Here do they look alive to love and hate;
To smiles and frowns; they seem a lifted mound
Part of the building was a chosen see
Built by a banish'd santon of Chaldee
The other part two thousand years from him
Was built by Cuthbert de Saint Aldebrim;
Then there's a little wing, far from the sun,
Built by a Lapland witch turn'd maudlin nun —
And many other juts of aged stone
Founded with many a mason-devil's groan.
The doors all look as if they oped themselves,
The windows as if latch'd by fays and elves —
And from them comes a silver flash of light
As from the westward of a summer's night;
Or like a beauteous woman's large blue eyes
Gone mad through olden songs and poesies —
See what is coming from the distance dim!
A golden galley all in silken trim!
Three rows of oars are lightening moment-whiles
Into the verdurous bosoms of those isles.
Towards the shade under the castle wall
It comes in silence — now tis hidden all.
The clarion sounds; and from a postern grate
An echo of sweet music doth create
A fear in the poor herdsman who doth bring
His beasts to trouble the enchanted spring
He tells of the sweet music and the spot
To all his friends, and they believe him not.
O that our dreamings all of sleep or wake
Would all their colours from the sunset take
From something of material sublime,
Rather than shadow our own soul's daytime
In the dark void of night. For in the world
We jostle — but my flag is not unfurl'd
On the admiral staff — and to philosophize
I dare not yet! — Oh never will the prize,
High reason, and the lore of good and ill
Be my award. Things cannot to the will
Be settled, but they tease us out of thought.
Or is it that imagination brought
Beyond its proper bound, yet still confined, —
Lost in a sort of purgatory blind,
Cannot refer to any standard law
Of either earth or heaven? — It is a flaw
In happiness to see beyond our bourn —
It spoils the singing of the nightingale.
Dear Reynolds, I have a mysterious tale
And cannot speak it. The first page I read
Upon a lampit rock of green sea weed
Among the breakers — 'Twas a quiet eve;
The rocks were silent — the wide sea did weave
An untumultuous fringe of silver foam
Along the flat brown sand. I was at home,
And should have been most happy — but I saw
Too far into the sea; where every maw
The greater on the less feeds evermore —
But I saw too distinct into the core
Of an eternal fierce destruction,
And so from happiness I far was gone.
Still am I sick of it and though to-day
I've gathered young spring-leaves, and flowers gay
Of periwinkle and wild strawberry,
Still do I that most fierce destruction see,
The shark at savage prey — the hawk at pounce,
The gentle robin, like a pard or ounce,
Ravening a worm — Away ye horrid moods,
Moods of one's mind! you know I hate them well,
You know I'd sooner be a clapping bell
To some Kamschatkan missionary church,
Than with these horrid moods be left in lurch —
Do you get health — and Tom the same — I'll dance,
And from detested moods in new romance
Take refuge — Of bad lines a centaine dose
Is sure enough — and so " here follows prose " . —

93. To J.R.

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 our joys 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

94. Isabella; or, The Pot of Basil

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.
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.
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.
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;
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."
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!
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.
"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.
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.
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.
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
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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
Why were they proud? again we ask aloud,
Why in the name of Glory were they proud?
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
Today 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.
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.
"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.
So the two brothers and their murder'd man
Rode past fair Florence, to where Arno's stream
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.
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.
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.
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?"
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.
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
From his north cavern. So sweet Isabel
By gradual decay from beauty fell,
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.
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.
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.
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.
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,
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.
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.
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."
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;
"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."
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.
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.
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 scull, 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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
With duller steel than the Persean 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.
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.
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.
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,
Hung over her sweet basil evermore,
And moisten'd it with tears unto the core.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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.
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 you " 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.
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."
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!"

95. Mother of Hermes! and still youthful Maia

Mother of Hermes! and still youthful Maia!
May I sing to thee
As thou wast hymned on the shores of Baiae?
In earlier Sicilian? or thy smiles
Seek, as they once were sought, in Grecian isles,
By bards who died content in pleasant sward,
Leaving great verse unto a little clan?
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.

96. To Homer

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.

97.

Give me your patience sister while I frame
Exact in capitals your golden name
Or sue the fair Apollo and he will
Rouse from his heavy slumber and instill
Great love in me for thee and Poesy.
Imagine not that greatest mastery
And kingdom over all the realms of verse
Nears more to heaven in aught than when we nurse
And surety give to love and brotherhood.
Anthropophagi in Othello's mood;
Ulysses stormed, and his enchanted belt
Glowed with the muse, but they are never felt
Unbosom'd so and so eternal made,
Such tender incense in their laurel shade,
To all the regent sisters of the Nine
As this poor offering to you, sister mine.
Kind sister! aye, this third name says you are;
Enchanted has it been the Lord knows where.
And may it taste to you like good old wine,
Sons, daughters and a home like honied hive.

98. Sweet, sweet is the greeting of eyes

Sweet, sweet is the greeting of eyes,
And sweet is the voice in its greeting,
When adieux have grown old and goodbyes
Fade away where old time is retreating.
Warm the nerve of a welcoming hand,
And earnest a kiss on the brow,
When we meet over sea and o'er land
Where furrows are new to the plough.

99. On Visiting the Tomb of Burns

The town, the churchyard, and the setting sun,
The clouds, the trees, the rounded hills all seem,
Though beautiful, cold — strange — as in a dream,
I dreamed long ago, now new begun.
The short-liv'd, paly summer is but won
From winter's ague, for one hour's gleam;
Though sapphire-warm, their stars do never beam
All is cold beauty; pain is never done
For who has mind to relish, Minos-wise,
The real of beauty, free from that dead hue
Sickly imagination and sick pride
Cast wan upon it? Burns! with honour due
I oft have honour'd thee. Great shadow, hide
Thy face; I sin against thy native skies.

100. Old Meg she was a gipsey

Old Meg she was a gipsey,
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,
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!

101. There was a naughty bay

There was a naughty boy,
A naughty boy was he,
He would not stop at home,
He could not quiet be —
He took
In his knapsack
A book
Full of vowels
And a shirt
With some towels —
A slight cap
For night cap —
A hair brush,
Comb ditto,
New stockings
Fold old ones
Would split O!
This knapsack
Tight at's back
He rivetted close
And followed his nose
To the north,
To the north,
And follow'd his nose
To the north.
There was a naughty boy
And a naughty boy was he,
For nothing would he do
But scribble poetry —
He took
An ink stand
In his hand
And a pen
Big as ten
In the other.
And away
In a pother
He ran
To the mountains
And fountains
And ghostes
And postes
And witches
And ditches
And wrote
In his coat
When the weather
Was cool,
Fear of gout,
And without
When the weather
Was warm —
Och the charm
When we choose
To follow one's nose
To the north,
To the north,
To follow one's nose to the north!
There was a naughty boy
And a naughty boy was he,
He kept little fishes
In washing tubs three
In spite
Of the might
Of the maid
Nor affraid
Of his granny-good —
He often would
Hurly burly
Get up early
And go
By hook or crook
To the brook
And bring home
Miller's thumb,
Tittlebat
Not over fat,
Minnows small
As the stall
Of a glove,
Not above
The size
Of a nice
Little baby's
Little finger —
O he made
'Twas his trade
Of fish a pretty kettle
Of fish a pretty kettle
A kettle!
There was a naughty boy,
And a naughty boy was he,
He ran away to Scotland
The people for to see —
There he found
That the ground
Was as hard,
That a yard
Was as long,
That a song
Was as merry,
That a cherry
Was as red —
That lead
Was as weighty,
That fourscore
Was as eighty,
That a door
Was as wooden
As in England —
So he stood in
His shoes and he wonder'd,
He wonder'd,
He stood in his
Shoes and he wonder'd.

102. Ah! ken ye what I met the day

Ah! ken ye what I met the day
Out oure the mountains
A coming down by craggies grey
An mossie fountains —
Ah goud hair'd Marie yeve I pray
Ane minute's guessing —
For that I met upon the way
Is past expressing.
As I stood where a rocky brig
A torrent crosses
I spied upon a misty rig
A troup o' horses —
And as they trotted down the glen
I sped to meet them
To see if I might know the men
To stop and greet them.
First Willie on his sleek mare came
At canting gallop
His long hair rustled like a flame
On board a shallop.
Then came his brother Rab and then
Young Peggy's mither
And Peggy too — adown the glen
They went togither —
I saw her wrappit in her hood
Fra wind and raining —
Her cheek was flush wi' timid blood
Twixt growth and waning —
She turn'd her dazed head full oft
For there her brithers
Came riding with her bridegroom soft
And mony ithers.
Young Tam came up an' eyed me quick
With reddened cheek —
Braw Tam was daffed like a chick —
He coud na speak —
Ah Marie they are all gane hame
Through blustering weather
An every heart is full on flame
An light as feather.
Ah! Marie they are all gone hame
Fra happy wedding,
Whilst I — Ah is it not a shame?

103. To Ailsa Rock

Hearken, thou craggy ocean pyramid!
Give answer from 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 —
Drown'd wast thou till an earthquake made thee steep,
Another cannot wake thy giant size.

104. This mortal body of a thousand days

This mortal body of a thousand days
Now fills, O Burns, a space in thine own room,
Where thou didst dream alone on budded bays,
Happy and thoughtless of thy day of doom!
My pulse is warm with thine old barley-bree,
My head is light with pledging a great soul,
My eyes are wandering, and I cannot see,
Fancy is dead and drunken at its goal;
Yet can I stamp my foot upon thy floor,
Yet can I ope thy window-sash to find
The meadow thou hast tramped o'er and o'er, —
Yet can I think of thee till thought is blind, —
Yet can I gulp a bumper to thy name, —
O smile among the shades, for this is fame!

105. All gentle folks who owe a grudge

All gentle folk who owe a grudge
To any living thing
Open your ears and stay your trudge
Whilst I in dudgeon sing.
The gadfly he hath stung me sore —
O may he ne'er sting you!
But we have many a horrid bore
He may sting black and blue.
Has any here an old grey mare
With three legs all her store,
O put it to her buttocks bare
And straight she'll run on four.
Has any here a lawyer suit
Of 17,43 —
Take lawyer's nose and put it to't
Is there a man in Parliament
Dumb founder'd in his speech,
O let his neighbour make a rent
And put one in his breech.
O Lowther how much better thou
Hadst figur'd t' other day
When to the folks thou mad'st a bow
And hadst no more to say.
If lucky gadfly had but ta'en
His seat upon thine a — e
And put thee to a little pain
To save thee from a worse.
Better than Southey it had been,
Better than Mr. D — ,
Better than Wordsworth too, I ween,
Better than Mr. V — .
Forgive me pray good people all
For deviating so —
In spirit sure I had a call —
And now I on will go.
Has any here a daughter fair
Too fond of reading novels,
Too apt to fall in love with care
And charming Mister Lovels?
O put a gadfly to that thing
She keeps so white and pert —
I mean the finger for the ring,
And it will breed a wort.
Has any here a pious spouse
Who seven times a day
Scolds as King David pray'd, to chouse
And have her holy way?
O let a gadfly's little sting
Persuade her sacred tongue
That noises are a common thing
But that her bell has rung.
And as this is the summum bo-o
Num of all conquering,
I leave withouten wordes mo
The gadfly's little sting.

106. Of late two dainties were before me plac'd

Of late two dainties were before me plac'd
Sweet, holy, pure, sacred and innocent,
From the ninth sphere to me benignly sent
That gods might know my own particular taste.
First the soft bag-pipe mourn'd with zealous haste,
The Stranger next with head on bosom bent
Sigh'd; rueful again the piteous bag-pipe went,
Again the Stranger sighings fresh did waste.
O bag-pipe thou didst steal my heart away —
O Stranger thou my nerves from pipe didst charm —
O bag-pipe thou didst re-assert thy sway —
Alas! I could not choose. Ah! my poor heart,
Mum chance art thou with both oblig'd to part.

107. There is a joy in footing slow across a silent plain

There is a charm in footing slow across a silent plain,
Where patriot battle has been fought, when glory had the gain;
There is a pleasure on the heath where Druids old have been,
Where mantles grey have rustled by and swept the nettles green;
There is a joy in every spot made known by times of old,
New to the feet, although each tale a hundred times be told;
There is a deeper joy than all, more solemn in the heart,
More parching to the tongue than all, of more divine a smart,
When weary steps forget themselves upon a pleasant turf,
Upon hot sand, or flinty road, or sea-shore iron scurf,
Toward the castle or the cot, where long ago was born
One who was great through mortal days, and died of fame unshorn
Light heather-bells may tremble then, but they are far away;
Wood-lark may sing from sandy fern, — the sun may hear his lay;
Runnels may kiss the grass on shelves and shallows clear,
But their low voices are not heard, though come on travels drear;
Blood-red the sun may set behind black mountain peaks;
Blue tides may sluice and drench their time inaves and weedy creeks;
Eagles may seem to sleep wing-wide upon the air;
Ring-doves may fly convuls'd across to some high-cedar'd lair;
But the forgotten eye is still fast lidded to the ground,
As palmer's, that with weariness, mid-desert shrine hath found
At such a time the soul's a child, in childhood is the brain;
Forgotten is the worldly heart — alone, it beats in vain. —
Aye, if a madman could have leave to pass a healthful day
To tell his forehead's swoon and faint when first began decay,
He might make tremble many a one whose spirit had gone forth
Scanty the hour and few the steps beyond the bourn of care,
Beyond the sweet and bitter world, — beyond it unaware!
Scanty the hour and few the steps, because a longer stay
Would bar return, and make a man forget his mortal way
O horrible! to lose the sight of well remember'd face,
Of brother's eyes, of sister's brow — constant to every place;
Filling the air, as on we move, with portraiture intense;
More warm than those heroic tints that pain a painter's sense,
When shapes of old come striding by, and visages of old,
Locks shining black, hair scanty grey, and passions manifold.
No, no, that horror cannot be, for at the cable's length
Man feels the gentle anchor pull and gladdens in its strength —
One hour, half-idiot, he stands by mossy waterfall,
But in the very next he reads his soul's memorial —
He reads it on the mountain's height, where chance he may sit down
Upon rough marble diadem — that hill's eternal crown.
Yet be his anchor e'er so fast, room is there for a prayer
That man may never lose his mind on mountains black and bare;
That he may stray league after league some great birthplace to find
And keep his vision clear from speck, his inward sight unblind.

108. Not Aladdin magian

Not Aladdin magian
Ever such a work began;
Not the Wizard of the Dee
Ever such a dream could see;
Not St. John, in Patmos' isle,
In the passion of his toil,
When he saw the churches seven,
Golden aisl'd, built up in heaven,
Gaz'd at such a rugged wonder.
As I stood its roofing under,
Lo! I saw one sleeping there,
On the marble cold and bare.
While the surges wash'd his feet,
And his garments white did beat
Drench'd about the sombre rocks,
On his neck his well-grown locks,
Lifted dry above the main,
Were upon the curl again.
"What is this? and what art thou?"
"What art thou? and what is this?"
Whisper'd I, and strove to kiss
The spirit's hand, to wake his eyes;
Up he started in a trice
"I am Lycidas, " said he,
"Fam'd in funeral minstrelsy!
This was architected thus
By the great Oceanus! —
Here his mighty waters play
Hollow organs all the day;
Here by turns his dolphins all,
Finny palmers great and small,
Come to pay devotion due —
Each a mouth of pearls must strew.
Many a mortal of these days,
Dares to pass our sacred ways,
Dares to touch audaciously
This cathedral of the sea!
I have been the pontiff-priest
Where the waters never rest,
Where a fledgy sea-bird choir
Soars for ever; holy fire
I have hid from mortal man;
Proteus is my sacristan.
But the stupid eye of mortal
Hath pass'd beyond the rocky portal;
So for ever will I leave
Such a taint, and soon unweave
All the magic of the place."
So saying, with a spirit's glance
He dived!

109. Read me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud

Read me a lesson, Muse, and speak it loud
Upon the top of Nevis, blind in mist!
I look into the chasms, and a shroud
Vaporous doth hide them, — just so much I wist
Mankind do know of hell; I look o'erhead,
And there is sullen mist, — even so much
Mankind can tell of heaven; mist is spread
Before the earth, beneath me, — even such,
Even so vague is man's sight of himself!
Here are the craggy stones beneath my feet, —
Thus much I know that, a poor witless elf,
I tread on them, — that all my eye doth meet
Is mist and crag, not only on this height,
But in the world of thought and mental might!

110. Upon my life, Sir Nevis,I am piqu'd

Mrs.c. Upon my life Sir Nevis I am pique'd
Mrs.c. That I have so far panted tugg'd and reek'd
Mrs.c. And now am sitting 'on you just to bate,
Mrs.c. Without your paying me one compliment.
Mrs.c. Alas 'tis so with all, when our intent
Mrs.c. Is plain, and in the eye of all mankind
Mrs.c. We fair ones show a preference, too blind!
Mrs.c. You gentleman immediately turn tail —
Mrs.c. O let me then my hapless fate bewail!
Mrs.c. Ungrateful baldpate, have I not disdain'd
Mrs.c. The pleasant valleys — have I not mad brain'd
Mrs.c. Deserted all my pickles and preserves,
Mrs.c. My china closet too — with wretched nerves
Mrs.c. To boot — say, wretched ingrate, have I not
Mrs.c. Left my soft cushion chair and caudle pot?
Mrs.c. 'Tis true I had no corns — no! thank the fates,
Mrs.c. My shoemaker was always Mr. Bates.
Mrs.c. And if not Mr. Bates why I'm not old!
Mrs.c. Still dumb, ungrateful Nevis — still so cold!
(Here the lady took some more whiskey and was putting even
More to her lips when she dashed it to the ground, for the
Mountain began to grumble — which continued for a few
Minutes before he thus began,)
Nev. What whining bit of tongue and mouth thus dares
Nev. Disturb my slumber of a thousand years?
Nev. Even so long my sleep has been secure —
Nev. And to be so awaked I'll not endure.
Nev. Oh pain — for since the eagle's earliest scream
Nev. I've had a dam'd confounded ugly dream,
Nev. A nightmare sure. What, madam, was it you?
Nev. It cannot be! My old eyes are not true!
Nev. Red-Crag-, my spectacles! Now let me see!
Nev. Good heavens, lady, how the gemini
Nev. Did you get here? O I shall split my sides!
Nev. I shall earthquake —
Mrs.c. Sweet Nevis, do not quake, for though I love
Mrs.c. Your honest countenance all things above,
Mrs.c. Truly I should not like to be convey'd
Mrs.c. So far into your bosom — gentle maid
Mrs.c. Pray thee be calm and do not quake nor stir,
Mrs.c. No not a stone, or I shall go in fits —
Nev. I must — I shall — I meet not such tit bits —
Nev. I meet not such sweet creatures every day —
Nev. By my old night-cap, night-cap night and day,
Nev. I must have one sweet buss — I must and shall!
Nev. Red-Crag-! — What, madam, can you then repent
Nev. Of all the toil and vigour you have spent
Nev. To see Ben nevis and to touch his nose?
Nev. Red-Crag-, I say! O I must have you close!
Nev. Red-Crag-, there lies beneath my farthest toe
Nev. A vein of sulphur — go dear Red-Crag-, go —
Nev. And rub your flinty back against it — budge!
Nev. Dear madam, I must kiss you, faith I must!
Nev. I must embrace you with my dearest gust!
Nev. Block-head, d'ye hear — Block-head, I'll make her feel —
Nev. There lies beneath my east leg's northern heel
Nev. A cave of young earth-dragons — well, my boy,
Nev. Go thither quick and so complete my joy
Nev. Take you a bundle of the largest pines
Nev. And where the sun on fiercest phosphor shines
Nev. Fire them and ram them in the dragons' nest,
Nev. Then will the dragons fry and fizz their best
Nev. Until ten thousand now no bigger than
Nev. Poor alligators — poor things of one span —
Nev. Will each one swell to twice ten times the size
Nev. Of northern whale — then for the tender prize —
Nev. The moment then — for then will Red-Crag- rob
Nev. His flinty back — and I shall kiss and snub
Nev. And press my dainty morsel to my breast.
Nev. Block-head, make haste! O Muses weep the rest —
Nev. The lady fainted and he thought her dead
Nev. So pulled the clouds again about his head
Nev. And went to sleep again — soon she was rous'd
Nev. By her affrighted servants — next day hous'd
Nev. That fainting fit was not delayed too late.

111. On Some Skulls in Beauley Abbey, near Inverness

In silent barren synod met
Within these roofless walls,
Poor skull, thy fingers set ablaze,
With silver saint in golden rays,
The holy missal; thou did'st craze
'Mid bead and spangle,
While others pass'd their idle days
In coil and wrangle.
This lily-colour'd skull, with all
The teeth complete, so white and small,
Belong'd to one whose early pall
A lover shaded;
He died ere superstition's gall
His heart invaded.

112. Fragment of a Castle-builder

Nature withheld cassandra in the skies,
For more adornment, a full thousand years;
She took their cream of beauty's fairest dyes,
And shap'd and tinted her above all peers
Meanwhile love kept her dearly with his wings,
And underneath their shadow fill'd her eyes
With such a richness that the cloudy kings
Of high olympus utter'd slavish sighs.
When from the heavens I saw her first descend,
My heart took fire, and only burning pains,
They were my pleasures — they my life's sad end;
Love pour'd her beauty into my warm veins . . .
Cb. In short, Convince you that however wise
Cb. You may have grown from convent libraries,
Cb. I have, by many yards at least, been carding
A longer skein of wit in Convent Garden.
Ber. A very Eden that same place must be!
Ber. Pray what demesne? Whose lordship's legacy?
Ber. What, have you convents in that Gothic isle?
Ber. Pray pardon me, I cannot help but smile.
Cb. Sir, Convent Garden is a monstrous beast
Cb. From morning, four o'clock, to twelve at noon,
Cb. It swallows cabbages without a spoon,
Cb. And then, from 12 till two, this Eden made is
Cb. A promenade for cooks and ancient ladies;
Cb. It swallows chairmen, damns, and hackney coaches.
Cb. In short, sir, 'tis a very place for monks,
Cb. For it containeth twenty thousand punks,
Cb. Which any man may number for his sport,
Cb. By following fat elbows up a court.
Cb. In such like nonsense would I pass an hour
Cb. With random friar, or rake upon his tour,
Cb. Or one of few of that imperial host
Cb. Who came unmaimed from the Russian frost.
Cb. To-night I'll have my friar — let me think
Cb. About my room, — I'll have it in the pink;
Cb. It should be rich and sombre, and the moon,
Cb. Just in its mid-life in the midst of June,
Cb. Should look thro' four large windows and display
Cb. Clear, but for golden vases in the way,
Cb. Their glassy diamonding on Turkish floor;
Cb. The tapers keep aside, an hour and more,
Cb. To see what else the moon alone can show;
Cb. While the night-breeze doth softly let us know
Cb. My terrace is well bower'd with oranges.
Cb. Upon the floor the dullest spirit sees
Cb. A guitar-ribband and a lady's glove
Cb. Beside a crumple-leaved tale of love;
Cb. A tambour-frame, with Venus sleeping there,
Cb. All finish'd but some ringlets of her hair;
Cb. A viol, bowstrings torn, cross-wise upon
Cb. A glorious folio of Anacreon;
Cb. A skull upon a mat of roses lying,
Cb. Ink'd purple with a song concerning dying;
Cb. An hour-glass on the turn, amid the trails
Cb. Of passion-flower; — just in time there sails
Cb. A cloud across the moon, — the lights bring in!
Cb. And see what more my phantasy can win.
Cb. It is a gorgeous room, but somewhat sad;
Cb. The draperies are so as tho' they had
Cb. Been made for Cleopatra's winding-sheet;
Cb. And opposite the stedfast eye doth meet
Cb. A spacious looking-glass, upon whose face,
Cb. In letters raven-sombre, you may trace
Cb. Greek busts and statuary have ever been
Cb. Held, by the finest spirits, fitter far
Cb. Than vase grotesque and Siamesian jar;
Cb. Therefore 'tis sure a want of Attic taste
Cb. That I should rather love a Gothic waste
Cb. Of eyesight on cinque-coloured potter's clay,
Cb. Than on the marble fairness of old Greece.
Cb. My table-coverlits of Jason's fleece
Cb. And black Numidian sheep-wool should be wrought,
Cb. Gold, black, and heavy, from the lama brought.
Cb. My ebon sofa should delicious be
Cb. With down from Leda's cygnet progeny.
Cb. My pictures all Salvator's, save a few
Cb. Of Titian's portraiture, and one, tho' new,
Cb. Of Haydon's in its fresh magnificence.
Cb. My wine — O good! 'tis here at my desire,
Cb. And I must sit to supper with my friar.

113. And what is Love? — It is a doll dress'd up

And what is love? it is a doll dress'd up
For idleness to cosset, nurse, and dandle;
A thing of soft misnomers, so divine
That silly youth doth think to make itself
Divine by loving, and so goes on
Yawning and doting a whole summer long,
Till Miss's comb is made a pearl tiara,
And common Wellingtons turn Romeo boots;
Till Cleopatra lives at Number Seven,
And Antony resides in Brunswick Square.
Fools! if some passions high have warm'd the world,
If Queens and soldiers have play'd deep for hearts,
It is no reason why such agonies
Should be more common than the growth of weeds.
Fools! make me whole again that weighty pearl
The queen of Egypt melted, and I'll say
That ye may love in spite of beaver hats.

114. 'Tis the "witching time of night"

'Tis the witching hour of night,
Orbed is the moon and bright,
And the stars they glisten, glisten,
Seeming with bright eyes to listen —
For what listen they?
See they glisten in alarm,
And the moon is waxing warm
To hear what I shall say.
Moon! keep wide thy golden ears —
Hearken, stars! and hearken, spheres! —
Hearken, thou eternal sky!
I sing an infant's lullaby,
A pretty lullaby.
Listen, listen, listen, listen,
Glisten, glisten, glisten, glisten,
And hear my lullaby!
Though the rushes that will make
Its cradle still are in the lake —
Though the linen that will be
Its swathe, is on the cotton tree —
Though the woollen that will keep
It warm, is on the silly sheep —
Listen, starlight, listen, listen,
Glisten, glisten, glisten, glisten,
And hear my lullaby!
Child, I see thee! Child, I've found thee
Midst of the quiet all around thee!
Child, I see thee! Child, I spy thee!
And thy mother sweet is nigh thee!
Child, I know thee! Child no more,
But a Poet evermore!
See, see, the lyre, the lyre,
In a flame of fire,
Upon the little cradle's top
Flaring, flaring, flaring,
Past the eyesight's bearing.
Awake it from its sleep,
And see if it can keep
Its eyes upon the blaze —
Amaze, amaze!
It stares, it stares, it stares,
It dares what no one dares!
It lifts its little hand into the flame
Unharm'd, and on the strings
Paddles a little tune, and sings,
With dumb endeavour sweetly —
Bard art thou completely!
Little child
'Tis now free to stupid face,
To cutters, and to fashion boats,
To cravats and to petticoats —
The great sea shall war it down,
For its fame shall not be blown
At each farthing quadrille dance.
O' th' western wild,
Bard art thou completely!
Sweetly with dumb endeavour,
A Poet now or never,
Little child
O' th' western wild,

115. Where's the Poet? Show him! show him

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 wondrous 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
Comes articulate and presseth
On his ear like mother-tongue; . . .

116. Fancy

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
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 lilies, 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
Wheres the cheek that doth not fade,
Too much gaz'd at? Wheres 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-eyed 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

117. Bards of passion and of mirth

Bards of passion and of mirth,
Ye have left your souls on earth!
Have ye souls in heaven too,
Double-lived in regions new?
Yes, and those of heaven commune
With the spheres of sun and moon;
With the noise of fountains wond'rous,
And the parle of voices thund'rous;
With the whisper of heaven's trees
And one another, in soft ease
Seated on Elysian lawns
Brows'd 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 does 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!

118. Spirit here that reignest

Spirit here that reignest!
Spirit here that painest!
Spirit here that burnest!
Spirit here that mournest!
Spirit! I bow
My forehead low,
Enshaded with thy pinions!
Spirit! I look
All passion-struck
Into thy pale dominions!
Spirit here that laughest!
Spirit here that quaffest!
Spirit here that dancest!
Noble soul that prancest!
Spirit! with thee
I join in the glee,
Spirit! I flush
With a Bacchanal blush
Just fresh from the banquet of Comus!

119. I had a dove, and the sweet dove died

I had a dove and the sweet dove died;
And I have thought it died of grieving
O, what could it grieve for? It was tied,
With a silken thread of my own hand's weaving;
Sweet little red feet! why did you die —
Why would you leave me, sweet dove! why?
You liv'd alone on the forest-tree,
Why, pretty thing! could you not live with me?
I kiss'd you oft and gave you white peas;
Why not live sweetly, as in the green trees?

120. Hush. hush, tread softly, hush, hush, my dear

Hush, hush! tread softly! hush, hush, my dear!
All the house is asleep, but we know very well
That the jealous, the jealous old bald-pate may hear,
Tho' you've padded his night-cap — O sweet Isabel!
Tho' your feet are more light than a faery's feet,
Who dances on bubbles where brooklets meet, —
Hush, hush! soft tiptoe! hush, hush, my dear!
For less than a nothing the jealous can hear.
No leaf doth tremble, no ripple is there
On the river, — all's still, and the night's sleepy eye
Closes up, and forgets all its Lethean care,
Charm'd to death by the drone of the humming may-fly;
And the moon, whether prudish or complaisant,
Has fled to her bower, well knowing I want
No light in the dusk, no torch in the gloom,
But my Isabel's eyes, and her lips pulp'd with bloom.
Lift the latch! ah gently! ah tenderly — sweet!
We are dead if that latchet gives one little clink!
Well done — now those lips, and a flowery seat —
The old man may sleep, and the planets may wink;
The shut rose shall dream of our loves and awake
Full-blown, and such warmth for the morning's take,
The stock-dove shall hatch her soft brace and shall coo,

121. Ah! woe is me! poor Silver-wing

Ah! woe is me! poor Silver-wing!
That I must chaunt thy lady's dirge,
And death to this fair haunt of spring,
Of melody, and streams of flowery verge, —
Poor Silver-wing! Ah! woe is me!
That I must see
These blossoms snow upon thy lady's pall!
Go, pretty page! and in her ear
Whisper that the hour is near!
Softly tell her not to fear
Such calm favonian burial!
Go, pretty page! and soothly tell, —
The blossoms hang by a melting spell,
And fall they must, ere a star wink thrice
Upon her closed eyes,
That now in vain are weeping their last tears,
At sweet life leaving, and these arbours green, —
Rich dowry from the spirit of the spheres, —
Alas! poor queen!

122. The Eve of St. Agnes

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 wooly 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;
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 fairily
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.
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 not 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 hall-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
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
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 unespied,
And win perhaps that night a peerless bride,
While legion'd fairies pac'd the coverlet,
And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed.
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
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 gazed 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 clarionet,
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 from forth the closet brought a heap
Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd
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 ceased — 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
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 thou 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, — saved 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;
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 ay, 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.

123. The Eve of St. Mark

Upon a Sabbath-day it fell;
Twice holy was the Sabbath-bell,
That call'd the folk to evening prayer;
The city streets were clean and fair
From wholesome drench of April rains;
And, on the western window panes,
The chilly sunset faintly told
Of unmatured green vallies cold,
Of the green thorny bloomless hedge,
Of rivers new with spring-tide sedge,
Of primroses by shelter'd rills,
Twice holy was the Sabbath-bell
The silent streets were crowded well
With staid and pious companies,
Warm from their fire-side orat'ries;
And moving, with demurest air,
To even-song, and vesper prayer.
Each arched porch, and entry low,
Was fill'd with patient folk and slow,
With whispers hush, and shuffling feet,
While play'd the organ loud and sweet.
The bells had ceased, the prayers begun,
And Bertha had not yet half done
A curious volume, patch'd and torn,
That all day long, from earliest morn,
Had taken captive her two eyes,
Among its golden broideries;
Perplex'd her with a thousand things, —
The stars of heaven, and angels' wings,
Martyrs in a fiery blaze,
Azure saints in silver rays,
Aaron's breastplate, and the seven
Candlesticks John saw in heaven,
The winged Lion of Saint Mark,
And the Covenantal Ark,
With its many mysteries,
Cherubim and golden mice.
Bertha was a maiden fair,
Dwelling in the old Minster-Square;
From her fire-side she could see,
Sidelong, its rich antiquity,
Far as the bishop's garden-wall;
Where sycamores and elm-trees tall,
Full-leaved, the forest had outstript,
By no sharp north-wind ever nipt,
So shelter'd by the mighty pile.
Bertha arose, and read awhile,
With forehead 'gainst the window-pane.
Again she tried, and then again,
Until the dusk eve left her dark
Upon the legend of St. Mark.
From plaited lawn-frill, fine and thin,
She lifted up her soft warm chin,
With aching neck and swimming eyes,
And dazed with saintly imag'ries.
All was gloom, and silent all,
Save now and then the still foot-fall
Of one returning homewards late,
Past the echoing minster-gate.
The clamorous daws, that all the day
Above tree-tops and towers play,
Pair by pair had gone to rest,
Each in its ancient belfry-nest,
To music of the drowsy chimes.
All was silent, all was gloom,
Abroad and in the homely room
Down she sat, poor cheated soul!
And struck a lamp from the dismal coal;
Leaned forward, with bright drooping hair
And slant book, full against the glare.
Her shadow, in uneasy guise,
Hover'd about, a giant size,
On ceiling-beam and old oak chair,
The parrot's cage, and panel square;
And the warm angled winter screen,
On which were many monsters seen,
Call'd doves of Siam, Lima mice,
And legless birds of paradise,
Macaw, and tender av'davat,
And silken-furr'd Angora cat.
Untired she read, her shadow still
Glower'd about, as it would fill
The room with wildest forms and shades,
As though some ghostly queen of spades
Had come to mock behind her back,
And dance, and ruffle her garments black.
Untired she read the legend page,
Of holy Mark, from youth to age,
On land, on sea, in pagan chains,
Rejoicing for his many pains.
Sometimes the learned eremite,
With golden star, or dagger bright,
Referr'd to pious poesies
Written in smallest crow-quill size
Beneath the text; and thus the rhyme
Was parcell'd out from time to time
— " Als writith he of swevenis,
Men han beforne they wake in bliss,
Whanne that hir friendes thinke hem bound
In crimped shroude farre under grounde;
A saint er its nativitie,
Gif that the modre ( God her blesse! )
Kepen in solitarinesse,
And kissen devoute the holy croce.
Of Goddes love, and Sathan's force, —
He writith; and thinges many mo
Of swiche thinges I may not show.
Bot I must tellen verilie
Somdel of Sainte Cicilie,
And chieflie what he auctorethe
Of Sainte Markis life and dethe "
At length her constant eyelids come
Upon the fervent martyrdom;
Then lastly to his holy shrine,
Exalt amid the tapers' shine
At Venice, —

124. Why did I laugh tonight? No voice will tell

Why did I laugh to-night? 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.

125. When they were come unto the Faery's court

When they were come into the Faery's court
They rang — no one at home — all gone to sport
And dance and kiss and love as faeries do
For faeries be as humans, lovers true —
Amid the woods they were, so lone and wild,
Where even the robin feels himself exil'd
And where the very brooks as if afraid
Hurry along to some less magic shade.
"No one at home! " the fretful Princess cry'd
"And all for nothing such a dreary ride,
And all for nothing my new diamond cross,
No one to see my Persian feathers toss,
No one to see my Ape, my Dwarf, my Fool,
Ape, Dwarf and Fool, why stand you gaping there?
Burst the door open, quick — or I declare
I'll switch you soundly and in pieces tear."
The Dwarf began to tremble and the Ape
Star'd at the Fool, the Fool was all agape,
The Princess grasp'd her switch, but just in time
The Dwarf with piteous face began to rhyme.
"O mighty Princess, did you ne'er hear tell
What your poor servants know but too too well?
Know you the three great crimes in faery land?
The first, alas! poor Dwarf, I understand —
I made a whipstock of a faery's wand —
The next is snoring in their company —
The next, the last, the direst of the three
Is making free when they are not at home.
I was a Prince — a baby Prince — my doom
You see, I made a whipstock of a wand —
My top has henceforth slept in faery land.
He was a Prince, the Fool, a grown up prince,
But he has never been a king's son since
He fell a-snoring at a faery ball —
Your poor Ape was a prince, and he, poor thing,
Picklock'd a faery's boudoir — now no king,
But Ape — so pray your highness stay awhile;
'Tis sooth indeed, we know it to our sorrow —
Persist and you) may be an Ape tomorrow " —
While the Dwarf spake the princess all for spite
Peel'd the brown hazel twig to lilly white,
Clench'd her small teeth, and held her lips apart,
Try'd to look unconcern'd with beating heart.
They saw her highness had made up her mind
Quavering like the reeds before the wind,
And they had had it, but, O happy chance!
The Ape for very fear began to dance
And grin'd as all his ugliness did ache —
She staid her vixen fingers for his sake,
He was so very ugly then she took
Her pocket mirror and began to look
First at herself and then at him and then
She smil'd at her own beauteous face again.
Yet for all this — for all her pretty face
She took it in her head to see the place.
Women gain little from experience
Either in lovers, husbands or expence.
"The more the beauty, the more fortune too
Beauty before the wide world never knew " —
So each Fair reasons, tho' it oft miscarries.
She thought her pretty face would please the faeries,
"My darling Ape I won't whip you today —
Give me the picklock, sirrah, and go play."
They all three wept — but counsel was as vain
As crying " c'up, biddy " to drops of rain.
Yet lingeringly did the sad Ape forth draw
The picklock from the pocket in his jaw.
The princess took it and dismounting straight
Trip'd in blue silver'd slippers to the gate
And touch'd the wards, the door full courteously
Opened — she enter'd with her servants three.
Again it clos'd and there was nothing seen
But the Mule grazing on the herbage green.
The Mule no sooner saw himself alone
Than he prick'd up his ears — and said " well done!
At least, unhappy prince, I may be free —
No more a princess shall side-saddle me.
O king of Otahaiete — tho' a mule
Aye every inch a king " — tho' " Fortune's fool " —
Well done — for by what Mr. Dwarfy said
I would not give a sixpence for her head."
Even as he spake he trotted in high glee
To the knotty side of an old pollard tree
And rub'd his sides against the mossed bark
Till his girths burst and left him naked stark
Except his bridle — how get rid of that,
Buckled and tied with many a twist and plait?
At last it struck him to pretend to sleep
And then the thievish monkies down would creep
No sooner thought of than adown he lay,
And filch the unpleasant trammels quite away.
Shamm'd a good snore — the monkey-men descended
And whom they thought to injure they befriended.
They hung his bridle on a topmost bough
And off he went, run, trot, or any how.
As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
When lulled Argus, baffled, swoon'd and slept,
So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright
So play'd, so charm'd, so conquer'd, 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 griev'd that 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 kiss'd, and fair the form
I floated with, about that melancholy storm.

126. Character of C.B.

He is to weet a melancholy carle
Thin in the waist, with bushy head of hair,
As hath the seeded thistle when in parle
It holds the zephyr, ere it sendeth fair
Its light balloons into the summer air;
Therto his beard had not begun to bloom,
No brush had touch'd his chin or razor sheer;
No care had touch'd his cheek with mortal doom,
But new he was and bright as scarf from Persian loom.
Ne cared he for wine, or half-and-half;
Ne cared he for fish or flesh or fowl,
And sauces held he worthless as the chaff;
He 'sdeigned the swine-head at the wassail-bowl;
Ne with lewd ribbalds sat he cheek by jowl;
Ne with sly lemans in the scorner's chair;
But after water-brooks this pilgrim's soul
Panted, and all his food was woodland air
Though he would oft-times feast on gilliflowers rare.
The slang of cities in no wise he knew,
Tipping the wink to him was heathen Greek;
He sipp'd no olden Tom or ruin blue,
Or nantz or cherry-brandy drank full meek
By many a damsel hoarse and rouge of cheek;
Nor did he know each aged watchman's beat,
Nor in obscured purlieus would he seek
For curled Jewesses, with ankles neat,

127. Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art

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.

128. Hyperion: A Fragment. Book I

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
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 tenour 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.
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 falling 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 of the 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,
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."
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'reignty, and rule, and majesty;—
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 eagle's 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
Savour of poisonous brass and metal sick:
And so, when harbour'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
While far within each aisle and deep recess,
His winged minions in close clusters stood,
Amaz'd and full of fear; 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 why have I seen ye?
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,
These crystalline pavillions, 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
Won from the gaze of many centuries:
Now lost, save what we find on remnants huge
Of stone, or marble 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, oh brightest child!
Of these, thy brethren and the Goddesses!
There is sad feud among ye, and rebellion
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.
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
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.
Coeus, 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.
Creu's 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.
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 hurtling 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:
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 full 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 dimn'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
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, no-where 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 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.
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?
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 poz'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 timidily 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 we weep,
And know that we had parted from all hope.
I stood upon a shore, a pleasant shore,
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
Presumptous, 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
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 slumberous calm are fled;
Those days, all innocent of scathing war,
When all the fair Existences of heaven
Came 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,
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 splendour, 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 brillance 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 Ia'petus, and Creu's 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!"
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 every thing 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.
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 has 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
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 splendour 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, stedfast 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
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

129. La Belle Dame sans Merci

A Ballad
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
Alone and palely loitering?
The sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.
O what can ail thee, knight-at-arms,
So haggard and so woe-begone?
The squirrel's granary is full,
And the harvest's done.
I see a lilly on thy brow,
With anguish moist and fever dew,
And on thy cheeks 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 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.
I set her on my pacing steed,
And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she bend, and sing
A faery's song.
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 wept, and sigh'd full sore,
And there I shut her wild wild eyes
With kisses four.
And there she lulled me asleep,
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;
They cried — " La belle dame sans merci
Hath thee in thrall!"
I saw their starved lips in the gloam,
With horrid warning gaped wide,
And I awoke and found me here,
On the cold hill's side.
And this is why I sojourn here,
Though the sedge has wither'd from the lake,
And no birds sing.

130. Song of Four Fairies: Fire, Air, Earth, and Water

Sal. Happy, happy glowing fire!
Zep. Fragrant air! Delicious light!
Dus. Let me to my glooms retire!
Brea. I to green-weed rivers bright!
Sal. Happy, happy glowing Fire!
Sal. Dazzling bowers of soft retire,
Sal. Ever let my nourish'd wing,
Sal. Like a bat's, still wandering,
Sal. Faintly fan your fiery spaces,
Sal. Spirit sole in deadly places.
Sal. In unhaunted roar and blaze,
Sal. Open eyes that never daze,
Sal. Let me see the myriad shapes
Sal. Of men, and beasts, and fish, and apes,
Sal. Portray'd in many a fiery den,
Sal. And wrought by spumy bitumen.
Sal. On the deep intenser roof,
Sal. Arched every way aloof,
Sal. Let me breathe upon their skies,
Sal. And anger their live tapestries;
Sal. Free from cold, and every care,
Sal. Of chilly rain, and shivering air.
Zep. Spirit of Fire! away! away!
Zep. Or your very roundelay
Zep. Will sear my plumage newly budded
Zep. From its quilled sheath, all studded
Zep. With the self-same dews that fell
Zep. On the may-grown asphodel.
Zep. Spirit of Fire — away! away!
Brea. Spirit of fire — away! away!
Brea. Zephyr, blue-eyed fairy, turn,
Brea. And see my cool sedge-buried urn,
Brea. Where it rests its mossy brim
Brea. 'Mid water-mint and cresses dim;
Brea. And the flowers, in sweet troubles,
Brea. Lift their eyes above the bubbles,
Brea. Like our Queen, when she would please
Brea. To sleep, and Oberon will teaze.
Brea. Love me, blue-eyed fairy true,
Brea. Soothly I am sick for you.
Zep. Gentle Breama! by the first
Zep. Violet young nature nurst,
Zep. I will bathe myself with thee,
Zep. So you sometimes follow me
Zep. Beyond the nimble-wheeled quest
Zep. Of the golden-presenc'd sun
Zep. Come with me, o'er tops of trees,
Zep. To my fragrant palaces,
Zep. Where they ever floating are
Zep. Beneath the cherish of a star
Zep. Call'd Vesper, who with silver veil
Zep. Ever hides his brilliance pale,
Zep. Ever gently-drows'd doth keep
Zep. Twilight for the fayes to sleep.
Zep. Fear not that your watery hair
Zep. Will thirst in drouthy ringlets there;
Zep. Clouds of stored summer rains
Zep. Thou shalt taste, before the stains
Zep. Of the mountain soil they take,
Zep. And too unlucent for thee make.
Zep. I love thee, crystal fairy, true!
Zep. Sooth I am as sick for you!
Sal. Out, ye aguish fairies, out!
Sal. Chilly lovers, what a rout
Sal. Keep ye with your frozen breath,
Sal. Colder than the mortal death.
Sal. Adder-eyed Dusketha, speak,
Sal. Shall we leave these, and go seek
Sal. In the earth's wide entrails old
Sal. Couches warm as their's are cold?
Sal. O for a fiery gloom and thee,
Sal. Dusketha, so enchantingly
Sal. Freckle-wing'd and lizard-sided!
Dus. By thee, sprite, will I be guided!
Dus. I care not for cold or heat;
Dus. Frost and flame, or sparks, or sleet,
Dus. To my essence are the same; —
Dus. But I honour more the flame.
Dus. Sprite of Fire, I follow thee
Dus. Wheresoever it may be,
Dus. To the torrid spouts and fountains,
Dus. Underneath earth-quaked mountains;
Dus. Or, at thy supreme desire,
Dus. Touch the very pulse of fire
Dus. With my bare unlidded eyes.
Sal. Sweet Dusketha! Paradise!
Sal. Off, ye icy spirits, fly!
Sal. Frosty creatures of the sky!
Dus. Breathe upon them, fiery sprite!
Zep. and Brea. Away! away to our delight!
Sal. Go, feed on icicles, while we
Dus. Lead me to those feverous glooms,
Sus. Sprite of fire! brea. Me to the blooms,
Brea. Blue-eyed Zephyr, of those flowers
Brea. Far in the west where the May-cloud lowers;
Brea. And the beams of still Vesper, when winds are all wist,
Brea. Are shed thro' the rain and the milder mist,
Brea. And twilight your floating bowers.

131. Sonnet to Sleep

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.

132. Ode to Psyche

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 bid adieu,
As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,
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 phoebe'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 inspired.
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
A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
To let the warm Love in!

133. On Fame

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 gipsey, will not speak to those
Who have not learnt to be content without her;
A jilt, whose ear was never whisper'd close,
Who thinks they scandal her who talk about her;
A very gipsey 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!
Make your best bow to her and bid adieu,
Then, if she likes it, she will follow you.

134. On Fame

How fever'd is the man, who cannot look
Upon his mortal days with temperate blood,
Who vexes all the leaves of his life's book,
And robs his fair name of its maidenhood;
It is as if the rose should pluck herself,
Or the ripe plum finger its misty bloom,
As if a Naiad, like a meddling elf,
Should darken her pure grot with muddy gloom
But the rose leaves herself upon the briar,
For winds to kiss and grateful bees to feed,
And the ripe plum still wears its dim attire,
The undisturbed lake has crystal space;
Why then should man, teasing the world for grace,
Spoil his salvation for a fierce miscreed?

135. If by dull rhymes our English must be chain'd

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
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.

136. Two or three posies

Two or three posies
With two or three simples —
Two or three noses
With two or three pimples —
Two or three wise men
And two or three ninny's —
Two or three purses
And two or three guineas —
Two or three raps
At two or three doors —
Two or three naps
Of two or three hours —
Two or three cats
And two or three mice —
Two or three sprats
At a very great price —
Two or three sandies
And two or three tabbies —
Two or three dandies
And two Mrs — mum!
Two or three smiles
And two or three frowns —
Two or three miles
To two or three towns —
Two or three pegs
For two or three bonnets —
Two or three dove eggs
To hatch into sonnets.

137. Ode to a Nightingale

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 Provencal 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
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
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?

138. Ode on a Grecian Urn

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,
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.

139. Ode on Melancholy

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.
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 shall taste the sadness of her might,
And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

140. Ode on Indolence

One morn before me were three figures seen,
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
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 softly 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,

141. Shed no tear — O shed no tear

Shed no tear — O, shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Weep no more! O! weep no more!
Young buds sleep in the root's white core.
Dry your eyes! Oh! dry your eyes,
For I was taught in Paradise
To ease my breast of melodies —
Shed no tear.
Overhead! look overhead!
'Mong the blossoms white and red —
Look up, look up. I flutter now
On this flush pomegranate bough.
See me! 'tis this silvery bill
Ever cures the good man's ill.
Shed no tear! O shed no tear!
The flower will bloom another year.
Adieu, adieu — I fly, adieu,
I vanish in the heaven's blue —

142. Otho the Great: A tragedy in Five Acts Act I SCENE I

((Dramatis Personae
OTHO THE GREAT, Emperor of Germany
LUDOLPH, his Son
CONRAD, Duke of Franconia
ALBERT, a Knight, favoured by Otho
SIGIFRED, an Officer, friend of Ludolph
THEODORE, and GONFRID, Officers
ETHELBERT, an Abbot
GERSA, Prince of Hungary
An Hungarian Captain
Physician
Page
Nobles, Knights, Attendants, and Soldiers
ERMINIA, Niece of Otho
AURANTHE, Conrad's Sister
Ladies and Attendants
SCENE. The Castle of Friedburg, its vicinity,
and the Hungarian Camp
TIME, One Day )).
ACT 1.
SCENE 1. An Apartment in the Castle.>
Enter CONRAD.
Conrad So, I am safe emerged from these broils!
Amid the wreck of thousands I am whole;
For every crime I have a laurel-wreath,
For every lie a lordship. Nor yet has
My ship of fortune furl'd her silken sails,—
Let her glide on! This danger'd neck is saved,
By dexterous policy, from the rebel's axe;
And of my ducal palace not one stone
Is bruised by the Hungarian petards.
Toil hard, ye slaves, and from the miser-earth
Bring forth once more my bullion, treasured deep,
With all my jewell'd salvers, silver and gold,
And precious goblets that make rich the wine.
But why do I stand babbling to myself?
Where is Auranthe? I have news for her
Shall—
Enter AURANTHE.
Auranthe. Conrad! what tidings? Good, if I may guess
From your alert eyes and high-lifted brows.
What tidings of the battle? Albert? Ludolph?
Otho?
Conrad. You guess aright. And, sister, slurring o'er
Our by-gone quarrels, I confess my heart
Is beating with a child's anxiety,
Auranthe. So serious?
Conrad.Yes, so serious but before
I utter even the shadow of a hint
Concerning what will make that sin-worn cheek
Blush joyous blood through every lineament,
You must make here a solemn vow to me.
Auranthe.I pr'ythee, Conrad, do not overact
The hypocrite. What vow would you impose?
Conrad. Trust me for once. That you may be assured
'Tis not confiding in a broken reed,
A poor court-bankrupt, outwitted and lost,
Revolve these facts in your acutest mood,
In such a mood as now you listen to me:
A few days since, I was an open rebel,—
Against the Emperor had suborn'd his son,—
Drawn off his nobles to revolt,— and shown
Contented fools causes for discontent,
Fresh hatch'd in my ambition's eagle-nest;
So thrived I as a rebel,— and, behold!
Now I am Otho's favorite, his dear friend,
His right hand, his brave Conrad!
Auranthe.I confess
You have intrigued with these unsteady times
To admiration. But to be a favorite—
Conrad. I saw my moment. The Hungarians,
Collected silently in holes and corners,
Appear'd, a sudden host, in the open day.
I should have perish'd in our empire's wreck;
But, calling interest loyalty, swore faith
To most believing Otho; and so help'd
His blood-stain'd ensigns to the victory
In yesterday's hard fight, that it has turn'd
The edge of his sharp wrath to eager kindness.
Auranthe. So far yourself. But what is this to me
More than that I am glad? I gratulate you.
Conrad. Yes, sister, but it does regard you greatly,
Nearly, momentously,— aye, painfully!
Make me this vow—
Auranthe. Concerning whom or what?
Conrad. Albert!
Auranthe. I would enquire somewhat of him:
You had a letter from me touching him?
No treason 'gainst his head in deed or word!
Give me the letter— it should not exist!
Conrad. At one pernicious charge of the enemy,
I, for a moment-whiles, was prisoner ta'en
And rifled,—stuff! the horses' hoofs have minced it!
Auranthe. He is alive?
Conrad. He is! but here make oath
To alienate him from your scheming brain,
Divorce him from your solitary thoughts,
And cloud him in such utter banishment,
That when his person meets again your eye,
Your vision shall quite lose its memory,
And wander past him as through vacancy.
Auranthe. I'll not be perjured.
Conrad. No, nor great, nor mighty;
You would not wear a crown, or rule a kingdom,
To you it is indifferent.
Auranthe. What means this?
Conrad. You'll not be perjured! Go to Albert then,
That camp-mushroom, dishonour of our house;
Go, page his dusty heels upon a march,
Furbish his jingling baldric while he sleeps,
And share his mouldy ratio in a siege.
Yet stay,—perhaps a charm may call you back,
And make the widening circlets of your eyes
Sparkle with healthy fevers,— the Emperor
Hath given consent that you should marry Ludolph!
Auranthe. Can it be, brother? For a golden crown
With a queen's awful lips I doubly thank you!
This is to wake in Paradise! farewell,
Thou clod of yesterday— 'twas not myself!
Not till this moment did I ever feel
My spirit's faculties! I'll flatter you
For this, and be you ever proud of it;
Thou, Jove-like, struck'dst thy forehead,
And from the teeming marrow of thy brain
I spring complete Minerva! But the Prince—
His Highness Ludolph—where is he?
Conrad. I know not:
When, lackeying my counsel at a beck,
The rebel-lords, on bended knees, received
The Emperor's pardon, Ludolph kept aloof,
Sole,—in a stiff, fool-hardy, sulky pride:
In such a sickly longing for his son.
We shall soon see him,—for the Emperor,
He will be here this morning.
Auranthe. That I heard
Among the midnight rumours from the camp.
Conrad. You give up Albert to me?
Auranthe. Harm him not!
E'en for his Highness Ludolph's sceptry hand,
I would not Albert suffer any wrong.
Conrad. Have I not labour'd, plotted—?
Auranthe. See you spare him:
Nor be pathetic, my kind benefactor,
On all the many bounties of your hand,—
'Twas for yourself you labour'd — not for me!
Do you not count, when I am queen, to take
Advantage of your chance discoveries
Of my poor secrets, and so hold a rod
Over my life?
Conrad. Let not this slave— this villain—
Be cause of feud between us. See! he comes!
Look, woman, look, your Albert is quite safe!
In haste it seems. Now shall I be in the way,
And wish'd with silent curses in my grave,
Or side by side with whelmed mariners.
Enter ALBERT.
Albert. Fair on your Graces fall this early morrow!
So it is like to do, without my prayers,
For your right noble names, like favorite tunes.
Have fallen full frequent from our Emperor's lips,
High commented with smiles.
Auranthe. Noble Albert!
Conrad (aside) Noble!
Auranthe. Such salutation argues a glad heart
In our prosperity. We thank you, sir.
Albert. Lady! O would to heaven your poor servant
Could do you better service than mere words!
But I have other greeting than mine own
From no less man than Otho, who has sent
This ring as pledge of dearest amity;
'Tis chosen I hear from Hymen's jewelry,
And you will prize it, lady. I doubt not,
Beyond all pleasures past, and all to come:
To you, great Duke—
Conrad.To me! What of me, ha?
Conrad. Your message, sir!
Albert. You mean not this to me?
Conrad. Sister, this way;
For there shall be no "gentle Alberts" now, Aside.
No "sweet Auranthes"! (Exeunt CONRAD and AURANTHE.
Albert (solus). The Duke is out of temper; if he knows
More than a brother of a sister ought,
I should not quarrel with his peevishness,
Auranthe— heaven preserve her always fair!—
Is in the heady, proud, ambitious vein;
I bicker not with her,— bid her farewell!
She has taken flight from me, then let her soar,—
He is a fool who stands at pining gaze!
But for poor Ludolph, he is food for sorrow;
No leveling bluster of my licensed thoughts,
No military swagger of my mind,
Can smother from myself the wrong I've done him,—
Without design indeed,— yet it is so,—
And opiate for the conscience have I none!
Exit.
SCENE ii. The Court-yard of the Castle.>
Martial music. Enter, from the outer gate, OTHO, Nobles,Knights,
and Attendants. The Soldiers halt at the gate, with banners in sight.
Otho. Where is my noble herald?
Enter CONRAD, from the Castle, attended by two Knights and
Servants. ALBERT following.
Well! hast told
Auranthe our intent imperial?
Lest our rent banners, too o' the sudden shown,
Should fright her silken casements, and dismay
Her household to our lack of entertainment.
A victory!
Conrad. God save illustrious Otho!
Otho. Aye, Conrad, it will pluck out all grey hairs;
It is the best physician for the spleen;
The courtliest inviter to a feast;
The subtelest excuser of small faults;
And a nice judge in the age and smack of wine.
Enter, from the Castle, AURANTHE, followed by Pages holding
up her robes, and a train of Women. She kneels.
Or my good soldiers, or their ladies' eyes,
That, after such a merry battle fought,
I can, all safe in body and in soul,
Kiss your fair hand and lady fortune's too.
My ring! now, on my life, it doth rejoice
These lips to feel't on this soft ivory!
Keep it, my brightest daughter; it may prove
The little prologue to a line of kings.
I strove against thee and my hot-blood son,
Dull blockhead that I was to be so blind,
But now my sight is clear; forgive me, lady.
Auranthe. My lord, I was a vassal to your frown,
And now your favour makes me but more humble;
In wintry winds the simple snow is safe.
But fadeth at the greeting of the sun:
Unto thine anger I might well have spoken,
Taking on me a woman's privilege,
But this so sudden kindness makes me dumb.
Otho. What need of this? Enough, if you will be
A potent tutoress to my wayward boy,
And teach him, what it seems his nurse could not,
To say for once I thank you. Sigifred!
Albert. He has not yet return'd, my gracious liege.
Otho. What then! No tidings of my friendly Arab?
Conrad. None, mighty Otho.
To one of his Knights, who goes out.
Send forth instantly
An hundred horsemen from my honoured gates,
To scour the plains and search the cottages.
Cry a reward, to him who shall first bring
News of that vanished Arabian,
A full-heaped helmet of the purest gold.
Oth. More thanks, good Conrad; for, except my son's,
Oth. There is no face I rather would behold
Oth. Than that same quick-eyed pagan's. By the saints,
Oth. This coming night of banquets must not light
Oth. Her dazzling torches; nor the music breathe
Oth. Smooth, without clashing cymbal, tones of peace
Oth. And in-door melodies; nor the ruddy wine
Oth. Ebb spouting to the lees; if I pledge not,
Al. I wonder not this stranger's victor-deeds
Al. So hang upon your spirit. Twice in the fight
Al. It was my chance to meet his olive brow,
Al. Triumphant in the enemy's shatter'd rhomb;
Al. And, to say truth, in any Christian arm
Al. I never saw such prowess. Oth. Did you ever?
Oth. O, 'tis a noble boy! — tut! — what do I say?
Oth. I mean a triple Saladin, whose eyes,
Oth. When in the glorious scuffle they met mine,
Oth. Seem'd to say — " Sleep, old man, in safety sleep;
Oth. I am the victory! " con. Pity he's not here.
Oth. And my son too, pity he is not here.
Oth. Lady Auranthe I would not make you blush,
Oth. But can you give a guess where Ludolph is?
Oth. Know you not of him?
Aur. Indeed, my liege, no secret —
Oth. Nay, nay, without more words, dost know of him?
Aur. I would I were so over-fortunate,
Aur. Both for his sake and mine, and to make glad
Aur. A father's ears with tidings of his son.
Oth. I see 'tis like to be a tedious day.
Oth. Were Theodore and Gonfred and the rest
Oth. Sent forth with my commands? al. Aye, my lord.
Oth. And no news! No news! 'Faith! 'tis very strange
Oth. He thus avoids us. Lady, is't not strange?
Oth. Will he be truant to you too? It is a shame.
Con. Will't please your Highness enter, and accept
Con. The unworthy welcome of your servant's house?
Con. Leaving your cares to one whose diligence
Con. May in few hours make pleasures of them all.
Oth. Not so tedious, Conrad. No, no, no, no, —
Oth. I must see Ludolph or the — What's that shout?
Voic. Huzza! Huzza! Long live the Emperor!
Voic. Fall back! Away there! Oth. Say what noise is that?
Al. It is young Gersa, the Hungarian prince,
Al. Pick'd like a red stag from the fallow herd
Al. Of prisoners. Poor prince, forlorn he steps,
Al. If I may judge by his so tragic bearing,
Al. His eye not downcast, and his folded arm,
Al. He doth this moment wish himself asleep
Al. Among his fallen captains on yon plains.
Oth. Well said, Sir Albert. Ger. Not a word of greeting,
Ger. No welcome to a princely visitor,
Ger. Most mighty Otho? Will not my great host
Ger. Vouchsafe a syllable, before he bids
Ger. His gentlemen conduct me with all care
Ger. To some securest lodging — cold perhaps!
Oth. What mood is this? Hath fortune touch'd thy brain?
Ger. O kings and princes of this fev'rous world,
Ger. What abject things, what mockeries must ye be,
Ger. What nerveless minions of safe palaces!
Ger. When here, a monarch, whose proud foot is used
Ger. To fallen princes' necks, as to his stirrup,
Ger. Must needs exclaim that I am mad forsooth,
Ger. Because I cannot flatter with bent knees
Ger. My conqueror! oth. Gersa, I think you wrong me
Oth. I think I have a better fame abroad.
Ger. I pr'ythee mock me not with gentle speech,
Ger. But, as a favour, bid me from thy presence;
Ger. Let me no longer be the wondering food
Ger. Of all these eyes; pr'ythee command me hence!
Oth. Do not mistake me, Gersa. That you may not,
Oth. Come, fair Auranthe, try if your soft hands
Oth. Can manage those hard rivets to set free
Oth. So brave a prince and soldier. Aur. Welcome task!
Ger. I am wound up in deep astonishment!
Ger. Thank you, fair lady. Otho! Emperor!
Ger. You rob me of myself; my dignity
Ger. Is now your infant; I am a weak child.
Oth. Give me your hand, and let this kindly grasp
Oth. Live in our memories. Ger. In mine it will.
Ger. I blush to think of my unchasten'd tongue;
Ger. But I was haunted by the monstrous ghost
Ger. Of all our slain battalions. Sire, reflect,
Ger. The bruised remnants of our stricken camp
Ger. Are huddling undistinguished, my dear friends,
Ger. With common thousands, into shallow graves.
Oth. Enough, most noble Gersa. You are free
Oth. To cheer the brave remainder of your host
Oth. By your own healing presence, and that too,
Oth. Not as their leader merely, but their king;
Oth. For, as I hear, your wily enemy,
Oth. Who eased the crownet from your infant brows,
Oth. Bloody Taraxa, is among the dead.
Ger. Then I retire, so generous caesar please,
Ger. Bearing with me a weight of benefits
Ger. Too heavy to be borne. Oth. It is not so;
Oth. Still understand me, King of Hungary,
Oth. Nor judge my open purposes awry.
Oth. Though I did hold you high in my esteem
Oth. For your self's sake, I do not personate
Oth. The stage-play emperor to entrap applause,
Oth. To set the silly sort o' the world agape,
Oth. And make the politic smile; no, I have heard
Oth. How in the Council you condemn'd this war,
Oth. Urging the perfidy of broken faith, —
Oth. For that I am your friend. Ger. If ever, sire,
Ger. You are my enemy, I dare here swear
Ger. 'Twill not be Gersa's fault. Otho, farewell!
Oth. Will you return, Prince, to our banqueting?
Ger. As to my father's board I will return.
Oth. Conrad, with all due ceremony, give
Oth. The Prince a regal escort to his camp;
Oth. Albert, go thou and bear him company.
Oth. Gersa, farewell! ger. All happiness attend you!
Oth. Return with what good speed you may; for soon
Oth. We must consult upon our terms of peace.
Oth. And thus a marble column do I build
Oth. To prop my empire's dome. Conrad, in thee
Oth. I have another stedfast one, to uphold
Oth. The portals of my state; and, for my own
Oth. Pre-eminence and safety, I will strive
Oth. For, without thee, this day I might have been
Oth. A show-monster about the streets of Prague,
Oth. In chains, as just now stood that noble prince
Oth. And then to me no mercy had been shown,
Oth. For when the conquer'd lion is once dungeon'd,
Oth. Who lets him forth again? or dares to give
Oth. An old lion sugar-cates of mild reprieve?
Oth. Not to thine ear alone I make confession,
Oth. But to all here, as, by experience,
Oth. I know how the great basement of all power
Oth. Is frankness, and a true tongue to the world;
Oth. And how intriguing secrecy is proof
Oth. Of fear and weakness, and a hollow state.
Oth. Conrad, I owe thee much.
Con. To ! kneel and 5 kiss that hand,
Con. My Emperor, is ample recompense,
Con. For a mere act of duty. Oth. Thou art wrong;
Oth. For what can any man on earth do more?
Oth. We will make trial of your house's welcome,
Oth. My bright Auranthe! con. How is Friedburg honoured!
Eth. The benison of heaven on your head,
Eth. Imperial Otho! Oth. Who stays me? Speak! Quick!
Eth. Pause but one moment, mighty conqueror!
Eth. Upon the threshold of this house of joy.
Oth. Pray, do not prose, good Ethelbert, but speak
Oth. What is your purpose.
Eth. The restoration of some captive maids,
Eth. Devoted to heaven's pious ministries,
Eth. Who, being driven ! forth 5 from their religious cells,
Eth. And kept in thraldom by our enemy,
Eth. When late this province was a lawless spoil,
Eth. Still weep amid the wild Hungarian camp,
Eth. Though hemm'd around by thy victorious arms.
Oth. Demand the holy sisterhood in our name
Oth. From Gersa's tents. Farewell, old Ethelbert.
Eth. The saints will bless you for this pious care.
Oth. Daughter, your hand; Ludolph's would fit it best.

143. Otho the Great:A Tragedy in Five Acts ActI SCENE III

Lud. You have my secret; let it not be breath'd.
Sig. Still give me leave to wonder that my Prince
Sig. Ludolph, and the swift Arab are the same;
Sig. Still to rejoice that 'twas a German arm
Sig. Death doing in a turban'd masquerade.
Lud. The Emperor must not know it, Sigifred.
Sig. I prythee, why? what happier hour of time
Sig. Could thy pleased star point down upon from heaven
Sig. With silver index, bidding thee make peace?
Lud. Still it must not be known, good Sigifred;
Lud. The star may point oblique. Sig. If Otho knew
Sig. His son to be that unknown Mussulman
Sig. After whose spurring heels he sent me forth,
Sig. With one of his well-pleased Olympian oaths,
Sig. The charters of man's greatness, at this hour
Sig. He would be watching round the castle walls,
Sig. And, like an anxious warder, strain his sight
Sig. For the first glimpse of such a son return'd —
Sig. Ludolph, that blast of the Hungarians,
Sig. That Saracenic meteor of the fight,
Sig. That silent fury, whose fell scymitar
Sig. Kept danger all aloof from Otho's head,
Sig. And left him space for wonder. Lud. Say no more.
Lud. Not as a swordsman would I pardon claim,
Lud. But as a son. The bronzed centurion,
Lud. Long toil'd in foreign wars, and whose high deeds
Lud. Are shaded in a forest of tall spears,
Lud. Known only to his troop, hath greater plea
Lud. Of favour with my sire than I can have.
Sig. My lord, forgive me that I cannot see
Sig. How this proud temper with clear reason squares.
Sig. What made you then, with such an anxious love,
Sig. Hover around that life, whose bitter days
Sig. You vext with bad revolt? Was't opium,
Sig. Or the mad-fumed wine? Nay, do not frown,
Lud. I do believe you. No, 'twas not to make
Lud. A father his son's debtor, or to heal
Lud. His deep heart-sickness for a rebel child.
Lud. 'Twas done in memory of my boyish days,
Lud. Poor cancel for his kindness to my youth,
Lud. For all his calming of my childish griefs,
Lud. And all his smiles upon my merriment.
Lud. No, not a thousand foughten fields could sponge
Lud. Those days paternal from my memory,
Lud. Though now upon my head he heaps disgrace.
Sig. My Prince, you think too harshly — Lud. Can I so?
Lud. Hath he not gall'd my spirit to the quick?
Lud. And with a sullen rigour obstinate
Lud. Pour'd out a phial of wrath upon my faults?
Lud. Hunted me as a Tartar does the boar,
Lud. Driven me to the very edge of the world,
Lud. And almost put a price upon my head?
Sig. Remember how he spared the rebel lords.
Lud. Yes, yes, I know he hath a noble nature
Lud. That cannot trample on the fall'n. But his
Lud. Is not the only proud heart in his realm.
Lud. He hath wrong'd me, and I have done him wrong;
Lud. He hath lov'd me, and I have shown him kindness;
Lud. We should be almost equal. Sig. Yet, for all this,
Sig. I would you had appear'd among those lords,
Sig. And ta'en his favour. Lud. Ha! till now I thought
Lud. My friend had held poor Ludolph's honour dear.
Lud. What! would you have me sue before his throne
Lud. And kiss the courtier's missal, its silk steps?
Lud. Or hug the golden housings of his steed,
Lud. Amid a camp, whose steeled swarms I dared
Lud. But yesterday? and, at the trumpet sound,
Lud. Bow like some unknown mercenary's flag,
Lud. And lick the soiled grass? No, no, my friend,
Lud. I would not, I, be pardon'd in the heap,
Lud. And bless indemnity with all that scum, —
Lud. Those men I mean, who on my shoulders propp'd
Lud. And pitying forsooth my many wrongs;
Lud. Poor self-deceived wretches, who must think
Lud. Each one himself a king in embryo,
Lud. Because some dozen vassals cry'd — my lord!
Lud. Cowards, who never knew their little hearts,
Lud. Till flurried danger held the mirror up,
Lud. And then they own'd themselves without a blush,
Lud. Curling, like spaniels, round my father's feet.
Lud. Such things deserted me and are forgiven,
Lud. While I, least guilty, am an outcast still,
Lud. And will be, for I live such fair disgrace.
Sig. I know the clear truth; so would Otho see,
Sig. For he is just and noble. Fain would I
Sig. Be pleader for you — lud. He'll hear none of it;
Lud. You know his temper, hot, proud, obstinate;
Lud. Endanger not yourself so uselessly.
Lud. I will encounter his thwart spleen myself,
Lud. To-day, at the Duke Conrad's, where he keeps
Lud. His crowded state after the victory,
Lud. There will I be, a most unwelcome guest,
Lud. And parley with him, as a son should do,
Lud. Who doubly loathes a father's tyranny;
Lud. Tell him how feeble is that tyranny;
Lud. How the relationship of father and son
Lud. Is no more valid than a silken leash
Lud. Where lions tug adverse, if love grow not
Lud. From interchanged love through many years.
Lud. Ay, and those turreted Franconian walls,
Lud. Like to a jealous casket, hold my pearl —
Lud. My fair Auranthe! Yes, I will be there.
Sig. Be not so rash; wait till his wrath shall pass,
Sig. Until his royal spirit softly ebbs
Sig. Self-influenced; then, in his morning dreams
Sig. He will forgive thee, and awake in grief
Sig. To have not thy good morrow. Lud. Yes, to-day
Lud. I must be there, while her young pulses beat
Lud. Among the new-plum'd minions of the war.
Lud. Franconia's fair Sister, 'tis I mean.
Lud. She should be paler for my troublous days —
Lud. And there it is — my father's iron lips
Lud. Have sworn divorcement 'twixt me and my right.
Sig. Auranthe! I had hoped this whim had pass'd.
Lud. And, Sigifred, with all his love of justice,
Lud. When will he take that grandchild in his arms,
Lud. That, by my love I swear, shall soon be his?
Lud. This reconcilement is impossible,
Lud. For see — But who are these? Sig. They are messengers
Sig. From our great Emperor; to you I doubt not,
Sig. For couriers are abroad to seek you out.
Theo. Seeing so many vigilant eyes explore
Theo. The province to invite your Highness back
Theo. To your high dignities, we are too happy.
Gon. We have no eloquence to colour justly
Gon. The emperor's anxious wishes. Lud. Go. I follow you.
Lud. I play the prude it is but venturing —
Lud. Why should he be so earnest? Come, my friend,
Lud. Let us to Friedburg castle.

144. Otho the Great: A Tragedy in

Five Acts Act II SCENE I
Lud. No more advices, no more cautioning;
Lud. I leave it all to fate — to any thing!
Lud. I cannot square my conduct to time, place,
Lud. Or circumstance; to me 'tis all a mist!
Sig. I say no more. Lud. It seems I am to wait
Lud. Here in the ante-room; — that may be a trifle.
Lud. You see now how I dance attendance here,
Lud. Without that tyrant temper, you so blame,
Lud. Snapping the rein. You have medicin'd me
Lud. With good advices; and I here remain,
Lud. In this most honourable ante-room,
Lud. Your patient scholar. Sig. Do not wrong me, Prince.
Sig. By heavens, I'd rather kiss Duke Conrad's slipper,
Sig. When in the morning he doth yawn with pride,
Sig. Than see you humbled but a half-degree!
Sig. The nobles ere he sees you. Lud. Well, sir! What!
Gon. Great honour to the Prince! The Emperor,
Gon. Hearing that his brave son had re-appeared,
Gon. Instant dismiss'd the Council from his sight,
Gon. As Jove fans off the clouds. Even now they pass.
Lud. Not the discoloured poisons of a fen,
Lud. Which he, who breathes, feels warning of his death,
Lud. Could taste so nauseous in the bodily sense,
Lud. As these prodigious sycophants disgust
Lud. The soul's fine palate. Con. Princely Ludolph, hail!
Con. Welcome, thou younger sceptre to the realm!
Con. Strength to thy virgin crownet's golden buds,
Con. That they, against the winter of thy sire,
Con. May burst, and swell, and flourish round thy brows,
Con. Maturing to a weighty diadem!
Con. Yet be that hour far off; and may he live,
Con. Who waits for thee, as the chapp'd earth for rain.
Con. Set my life's star! I have lived long enough,
Con. Since under my glad roof, propitiously,
Con. Father and son each other re-possess.
Lud. Fine wording, Duke! but words could never yet
Lud. Forestall the fates; have you not learnt that yet?
Lud. Let me look well your features are the same;
Lud. Your gait the same; your hair of the same shade;
Lud. As one I knew some passed weeks ago,
Lud. Who sung far different notes into mine ears.
Lud. I have mine own particular comments on 't;
Lud. You have your own perhaps. Con. My gracious Prince,
Con. All men may err. In truth I was deceived
Con. In your great father's nature, as you were.
Con. Had I known that of him I have since known,
Con. And what you soon will learn, I would have turn'd
Con. My sword to my own throat, rather than held
Con. Its threatening edge against a good king's quiet
Con. Or with one word fever'd you, gentle Prince,
Con. Indeed too much oppress'd. May I be bold
Con. To tell the Emperor you will haste to him?
Lud. Your dukedom's privilege will grant so much.
Lud. He's very close to Otho, Sigifred
Lud. Your Hand — I go. Ha! here the thunder comes
Lud. Sullen against the wind! If in two angry brows
Lud. My safety lies, then Sigifred, I'm safe.
Oth. Will you make Titan play the lackey-page
Oth. To chattering pigmies? I would have you know
Oth. That such neglect of our high Majesty
Oth. Annuls all feel of kindred. What is son, —
Oth. Or friend, — or brother, — or all ties of blood, —
Oth. When the whole kingdom, centred in ourself,
Oth. Is rudely slighted? Who am I to wait?
Oth. By Peter's chair! I have upon my tongue
Oth. A word to fright the proudest spirit here! —
Oth. Death! — and slow tortures to the hardy fool,
Oth. Who dares take such large charter from our smiles!
Oth. Conrad, we would be private. Sigifred!
Oth. Off! And none pass this way on pain of death!
Lud. This was but half expected, my good sire,
Lud. Yet I am griev'd at it, to the full height,
Lud. As though my hopes of favour had been whole.
Oth. How you indulge yourself! what can you hope for?
Lud. Nothing, my liege, I have to hope for nothing.
Lud. I come to greet you as a loving son,
Lud. And then depart, if I may be so free,
Lud. Seeing that blood of yours in my warm veins
Lud. Has not yet mitigated into milk.
Oth. What would you, sir? lud. A lenient banishment;
Lud. So please you let me unmolested pass
Lud. This Conrad's gates, to the wide air again.
Lud. I want no more. A rebel wants no more.
Oth. And shall I let a rebel loose again
Oth. To muster kites and eagles 'gainst my head?
Oth. No, obstinate boy, you shall be kept caged up,
Lud. Indeed! oth. And chains too heavy for your life
Oth. I'll choose a jailor, whose swart monstrous face
Oth. Shall be a hell to look upon, and she —
Lud. Ha!
Oth. Shall be your fair Auranthe. Lud. Amaze! Amaze!
Oth. To-day you marry her. Lud. This is a sharp jest!
Oth. No. None at all. When have I said a lie?
Lud. If I sleep not, I am a waking wretch.
Oth. Not one word more. Let me embrace my child.
Lud. I dare not.'Twould pollute so good a father!
Lud. O heavy crime! that your son's blinded eyes
Lud. Could not see all his parent's love aright,
Lud. As now I see it. Be not kind to me —
Lud. Punish me not with favour. Oth. Are you sure,
Oth. Ludolph, you have no saving plea in store?
Lud. My father, none! oth. Then you astonish me.
Lud. No, I have no plea. Disobedience,
Lud. Rebellion, obstinacy, blasphemy,
Lud. Are all my counsellors. If they can make
Lud. My crooked deed show good and plausible,
Lud. Then grant me loving pardon, but not else,
Lud. Good gods! not else, in any way, my liege!
Oth. You are a most perplexing, noble boy.
Lud. You not less a perplexing noble father.
Oth. Well, you shall have free passport through the gates.
Oth. Farewell! Lud. Farewell! and by these tears believe,
Lud. And still remember, I repent in pain
Lud. All my misdeeds! oth. Ludolph, I will! I will!
Oth. But, ludolph, ere you go, I would enquire
Oth. If you, in all your wandering, ever met
Oth. A certain Arab haunting in these parts.
Lud. No, my good lord, I cannot say I did.
Oth. Make not your father blind before his time;
Oth. Nor let these arms paternal hunger more
Oth. For an embrace, to dull the appetite
Oth. Of my great love for thee, my supreme child!
Oth. Come near, and let me breathe into thine ear.
Oth. You can't deny it. Lud. Happiest of days!
Oth. We'll make it so. Lud. 'Stead of one fatted calf
Lud. Ten hecatombs shall bellow out their last,
Lud. Smote 'twixt the horns by the death-stunning mace
Lud. Of Mars, and all the soldiery shall feast
Lud. Nobly as Nimrod's masons, when the towers
Lud. Of Nineveh new kiss'd the parted clouds!
Oth. Large as a god speak out, where all is thine.
Lud. Aye, father, but the fire in my sad breast
Lud. Is quench'd with inward tears! I must rejoice
Lud. For you, whose wings so shadow over me
Lud. In tender victory, but for myself
Lud. I still must mourn. The fair Auranthe mine!
Lud. Too great a boon! I pr'ythee let me ask
Lud. What more than I know of could so have changed
Lud. Your purpose touching her. Oth. At a word, this
Oth. In no deed did you give me more offence
Oth. Than your rejection of Erminia.
Oth. To my appalling, I saw too good proof
Oth. Of your keen-eyed suspicion, — she is naught!
Lud. You are convinc'd? Oth. Ay, spite of her sweet looks.
Oth. O, that my brother's daughter should so fall!
Oth. Her fame has pass'd into the grosser lips
Oth. Of soldiers in their cups. Lud. 'Tis very sad.
Oth. No more of her. Auranthe — Ludolph, come!

145. Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts Act II SCENE II

Erm. Where! Where! Where shall I find a messenger?
Erm. A trusty soul? A good man in the camp?
Erm. Shall I go myself? Monstrous wickedness!
Erm. O cursed Conrad! devilish Auranthe!
Erm. Here is proof palpable as the bright sun!
Erm. O for a voice to reach the Emperor's ears!
Capt. Fair prisoner, hear you those joyous shouts?
Capt. The King — aye, now our King, — but still your slave,
Capt. Young Gersa, from a short captivity
Capt. Has just return'd. He bids me say, bright dame,
Capt. That even the homage of his ranged chiefs
Capt. Cures not his hot impatience to behold
Capt. Such beauty once again. What ails you, lady?
Erm. Say, is not that a German, yonder? There!
Capt. Methinks by his stout bearing he should be —
Capt. Yes — 'tis one Albert; a brave German knight,
Capt. And much in the Emperor's favour. Erm. I would fain
Erm. Enquire of friends and kinsfolk; how they fared
Erm. In these rough times. Brave soldier, as you pass
Erm. To royal Gersa with my humble thanks,
Erm. Will you send yonder knight to me? capt. I will.
Erm. Yes, he was ever known to be a man
Erm. Frank, open, generous; Albert I may trust.
Erm. O proof! proof! proof! Albert's an honest man;
Erm. Not Ethelbert the monk, if he were here,
Erm. Would I hold more trustworthy. Now! al. Good gods!
Al. Lady Erminia! are you prisoner
Al. In this beleaguer'd camp? Or are you here
Al. Of your own will? You pleas'd to send for me.
Al. By Venus, 'tis a pity I knew not
Al. Your plight before, and, by her son, I swear
Al. To do you every service you can ask.
Al. What would the fairest — ? erm. Albert, will you swear?
Al. I have. Well! erm. Albert, you have fame to lose. ?
Erm. If men, in court and camp, lie not outright,
Erm. You should be, from a thousand, chosen forth
Erm. To do an honest deed. Shall I confide — ?
Al. Aye, anything to me, fair creature. Do,
Al. Dictate my task. Sweet woman, — erm. Truce with that.
Erm. You understand me not; and, in your speech,
Erm. I see how far the slander is abroad.
Erm. Without proof could you think me innocent?
Al. Lady, I should rejoice to know you so.
Erm. If you have any pity for a maid,
Erm. Any compassion for that Emperor's niece,
Erm. Who, for your bright sword and clear honesty,
Erm. Lifted you from the crowd of common men
Erm. Into the lap of honour; — save me, knight!
Al. How? Make it clear; if it be possible,
Al. I by the banner of Saint Maurice swear
Al. To right you. Erm. Possible! — Easy. O my heart!
Erm. This letter's not so soil'd but you may read it; —
Erm. Possible! There — that letter! Read — read it.
Al. " To the Duke Conrad. — Forget the threat you
Al. Made at parting,
And I will forget to send the Emperor letters and
Al. Papers of your's I have become possessed of.
His life is no trifle to
Al. Me; his death you shall find none to yourself."
Al. 'Tis me — my life that's pleaded for! " he, for his own
Al. Sake, will be dumb as the grave. Erminia has my shame fix'd
Al. Upon her, sure as a wen. We are safe.
Al. Auranthe."
Al. A she-devil! A dragon! and I her imp!
Al. Fire of hell! Auranthe — lewd demon!
Al. Where got you this? Where? When?
Erm. Which, being noble, fell to Gersa's lot.
Erm. Come in, and see. Al. Villainy! Villainy!
Al. Conrad's sword, his corslet, and his helm,
Al. And his letter. Caitiff, he shall feel —
Erm. I see you are thunderstruck. Haste, haste Away!
Al. O I am tortured by this villainy.
Erm. You needs must be. Carry it swift to Otho;
Erm. Tell him, moreover, I am prisoner
Erm. Here in this camp, where all the sisterhood,
Erm. Forc'd from their quiet cells, are parcell'd out
Erm. For slaves among these Huns. Away! Away!
Al. I am gone. Erm. Swift be your steed! Within this hour
Erm. The Emperor will see it. Al. Ere I sleep
Al. That I can swear. Ger. Brave captains! thanks. Enough
Ger. Of loyal homage now! erm. Hail, royal Hun!
Ger. What ails you, fair one? Why in such alarm?
Ger. Who was it hurried by me so distract?
Ger. It seem'd you were in deep discourse together;
Ger. Your doctrine has not been so harsh to him
Ger. As to my poor deserts. Come, come, be plain.
Ger. I am no jealous fool to kill you both,
Ger. Or, for such trifles, rob the adorned world
Erm. To hear you condescend to ribald phrase.
Ger. This is too much! Hearken, my lady pure!
Erm. Silence! and hear the magic of a name —
Erm. Erminia! I am she, — the Emperor's niece!
Erm. Prais'd be the heavens, I now dare own myself!
Ger. Erminia! Indeed! I've heard of her.
Ger. Pr'ythee, fair lady, what chance brought you here?
Erm. Ask your own soldiers. Ger. And you dare own your name.
Ger. For loveliness you may — and for the rest
Ger. My vein is not censorious. Erm. Alas! poor me!
Erm. 'Tis false indeed. Ger. Indeed you are too fair
Ger. The swan, soft leaning on her fledgy breast,
Ger. When to the stream she launches, looks not back
Ger. With such a tender grace; nor are her wings
Ger. So white as your soul is, if that but be
Ger. Twin-picture to your face. Erminia!
Ger. To-day, for the first day, I am a king,
Ger. Yet would I give my unworn crown away
Ger. To know you spotless. Erm. Trust me one day more,
Erm. Generously, without more certain guarantee,
Erm. Than this poor face you deign to praise so much;
Erm. After that, say and do whate'er you please.
Erm. I think, nay I am sure you will grieve much
Erm. To hear my story. O be gentle to me,
Erm. For I am sick and faint with many wrongs,
Erm. Tired out, and weary-worn with contumelies.
Ger. Poor lady! erm. Gentle Prince, 'tis false indeed.
Erm. Good morrow, holy father! I have had
Erm. Your prayers, though I look'd for you in vain.
Eth. Blessings upon you, daughter! Sure you look
Eth. Too cheerful for these foul pernicious days.
Eth. Young man, you heard this virgin say 'twas false, —
Eth. 'Tis false I say. What! can you not employ
Eth. Your temper elsewhere, 'mong these burly tents,
Eth. But you must taunt this dove, for she hath lost
Eth. The eagle Otho to beat off assault.
Eth. Fie! Fie! But I will be her guard myself;
Eth. In the Emperor's name, I here demand of you
Eth. Herself, and all her sisterhood. She false!
Ger. Peace! peace, old man! I cannot think she is.
Eth. Whom I have known from her first infancy,
Eth. Baptiz'd her in the bosom of the church,
Eth. Watch'd her, as anxious husbandmen the grain,
Eth. From the first shoot till the unripe mid- May,
Eth. Which, lifting sweet abroad its timid green,
Eth. Is blighted by the touch of calumny;
Eth. You cannot credit such a monstrous tale.
Ger. I cannot. Take her. Fair Erminia,
Ger. I follow you to Friedburg, — is't not so?
Erm. Aye, so we purpose. Eth. Daughter, do you so?
Eth. How's this? I marvel! Yet you look not mad.
Erm. I have good news to tell you, Ethelbert.
Ger. Ho! Ho, there! Guards!
Ger. Your blessing, father! Sweet Erminia,
Ger. Believe me, I am well nigh sure — Erm. Farewell!
Erm. Short time will show. Yes, Father Ethelbert,
Erm. I have news precious as we pass along.
Eth. Dear daughter, you shall guide me. Erm. To no ill.
Ger. Command an escort to the Friedburg lines.
Ger. Pray let me lead. Fair lady, forget not
Ger. Gersa, how he believed you innocent.
Ger. I follow you to Friedburg with all speed.

146. Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts Act III SCENE I

Al. O that the earth were empty, as when Cain
Al. Had no perplexity to hide his head!
Al. Had put a sudden stop to my hot breath,
Al. And hurl'd me down the illimitable gulph
Al. Of times past, unremember'd! Better so
Al. Than thus fast-limed in a cursed snare,
Al. The limbo of a wanton. This the end
Al. Of an aspiring life! My boyhood past
Al. In feud with wolves and bears, when no eye saw
Al. The solitary warfare, fought for love
Al. Of honour 'mid the growling wilderness —
Al. My sturdier youth, maturing to the sword,
Al. Won by the syren-trumpets, and the ring
Al. Of shields upon the pavement, when bright mail'd
Al. Henry the Fowler pass'd the streets of Prague.
Al. Was't to this end I louted and became
Al. The menial of Mars, and held a spear
Al. Sway'd by command, as corn is by the wind?
Al. Is it for this, I now am lifted up
Al. By a well-judging Emperor, to see
Al. My honour be my executioner, —
Al. My love of fame, my prided honesty
Al. Put to the torture for confessional?
Al. Then the damn'd crime of blurting to the world
Al. A woman's secret — though a fiend she be,
Al. But then to wrong the generous Emperor
Al. In such a searching point, were to give up
Al. My soul for foot-ball at hell's holiday!
Al. I must confess, — and cut my throat, — to-day?
Al. To-morrow? Ho! some wine! sig. A fine humour —
Al. Who goes there? Count Sigifred? Ha! ha! ha!
Sig. What, man, do you mistake the hollow sky
Sig. For a throng'd tavern, — and these stubbed trees
Sig. For old serge hangings, — me, your humble friend,
Sig. For a poor waiter? Why, man, how you stare!
Sig. What gipsies have you been carousing with?
Sig. No, no more wine; methinks you've had enough.
Al. You well may laugh and banter. What a fool
Al. An injury may make of a staid man!
Al. You shall know all anon. Sig. Albert! a tavern brawl?
Al. 'Twas with some people of high consequence;
Al. Revenge is difficult. Sig. I am your friend;
Sig. We meet again to-day, and can confer
Sig. Upon it. For the present I'm in haste.
Al. Whither? Sig. To fetch King Gersa to the feast.
Sig. The Emperor on this marriage is so hot,
Sig. Pray heaven it end not in apoplexy!
Sig. Heard his loud laugh, and answer'd in full choir.
Sig. I marvel, Albert, you delay so long
Sig. From those bright revelries; go, show yourself,
Sig. You may be made a duke. Al. Ay, very like
Al. Pray, what day has his Highness fix'd upon?
Sig. For what? al. The marriage. What else can I mean?
Sig. To-day! O, I forgot, you could not know;
Sig. The news is scarce a minute old with me.
Al. Married to-day! to-day! You did not say so?
Sig. Now, while I speak to you, their comely heads
Sig. Are bow'd before the mitre. Al. O! monstrous!
Sig. What is this? al. Nothing, Sigifred. Farewell!
Al. We'll meet upon our subject. Farewell, Count!
Sig. Is this clear-Headed Albert? he brain-turn'd!

147. Otho the %great: A Tragedy in Five Acts Act III SCENE II

Oth. Now, Ludolph! Now, Auranthe! daughter fair!
Oth. What can I find to grace your nuptial day
Oth. More than my love, and these wide realms in fee?
Lud. I have too much. Aur. And I, my liege, by far.
Lud. Auranthe! I have! O, my bride, my love!
Lud. Not all the gaze upon us can restrain
Lud. From adoration, and my foolish tongue
Lud. From uttering soft responses to the love
Lud. I see in thy mute beauty beaming forth!
Lud. Fair creature, bless me with a single word!
Lud. All mine!
Aur. Spare, spare me, my lord; I swoon else.
Lud. Soft beauty! by to-morrow I should die,
Lud. Wert thou not mine.
$1-ldy. How deep she has bewitch'd him!
$1-knt. Ask you for her receipt for her love philtres.
$2-ldy. They hold the Emperor in admiration.
Oth. If ever king was happy, that am I!
Oth. Devoted, made a slave to this day's joy,
Oth. What are the cities 'yond the Alps to me,
Oth. The provinces about the Danube's mouth,
Oth. The promise of fair soil beyond the Rhone;
Oth. Or routing out of Hyperborean hordes,
Oth. To these fair children, stars of a new age?
Oth. Unless perchance I might rejoice to win
Oth. This little ball of earth, and chuck it them
Oth. To play with! aur. Nay, my lord, I do not know.
Lud. Let me not famish. Oth. Good Franconia,
Oth. That unless heaven would send me back my son,
Oth. My Arab, — no soft music should enrich
Oth. The cool wine, kiss'd off with a soldier's smack;
Oth. Now all my empire, barter'd for one feast,
Oth. Seems poverty. Con. Upon the neighbour-plain
Con. The herald's have prepar'd a royal lists;
Con. Your knights, found war-proof in the bloody field,
Con. Speed to the game. Oth. Well, Ludolph, what say you?
Lud. My lord!
Oth. A tourney?
Con. Or, if't please you best —
Lud. I want no more! 1-ldy. He soars!
$2-ldy. Past all reason.
Lud. Though heaven's choir
Lud. Should in a vast circumference descend,
Lud. And sing for my delight, I'd stop my ears!
Lud. Though bright Apollo's car stood burning here,
Lud. And he put out an arm to bid me mount,
Lud. His touch an immortality, not I!
Lud. This earth, this palace, this room, Auranthe!
Oth. This is a little painful; just too much.
Oth. I shall believe in wizard-woven loves
Oth. And old romances; but I'll break the spell.
Oth. Ludolph! con. He will be calm, anon.
Lud. You call'd!
Oth. Come, come, a little sober reason, ludolph.
Lud. Yes, yes, yes, I offend. You must forgive me;
Lud. Not being quite recover'd from the stun
Lud. Of your large bounties. A tourney, is it not?
Con. The trumpets rech us. Eth. On your peril, sirs,
Eth. Detain us!
Voic. Let not the abbot pass. Voic. No,
Voic. On your lives! voic. Holy father, you must not.
Eth. Otho! Oth. Who calls on Otho?
Eth. Ethelbert!
Oth. Let him come in. Thou cursed abbot, why
Oth. Hast brought pollution to our holy rites?
Oth. Hast thou no fear of hangman, or the faggot?
Oth. Mad churchman, would'st thou be impal'd alive?
Lud. What portent — what strange prodigy is this?
Con. Away! eth. You, Duke?
Erm. Albert has surely fail'd me!
Eth. A sad delay! con. Away, thou guilty thing!
Eth. You again, Duke? Justice, most mighty Otho!
Eth. You — go to your sister there and plot again,
Eth. A quick plot, swift as thought to save your heads;
Eth. For lo! the toils are spread around your den,
Eth. The world is all agape to see dragg'd forth
Eth. Two ugly monsters. Lud. What means he, my lord?
Con. I cannot guess. Eth. Best ask your lady sister,
Eth. Whether the riddle puzzles her beyond
Eth. The power of utterance. Con. Foul barbarian, cease;
Con. The Princess faints!
Lud. Stab him! o, sweetest wife!
Erm. Alas! eth. Your wife!
Lud. Aye, Satan! does that yerk ye?
Eth. Wife! so soon! lud. Aye, wife! Oh, impudence!
Lud. Thou bitter mischief! Venomous mad priest!
Lud. How durst thou lift those beetle brows at me?
Lud. Me — the Prince Ludolph, in this presence here,
Lud. Upon my marriage-day, and scandalize
Lud. My joys with such opprobrious surprise?
Lud. Wife! Why dost linger on that syllable,
Lud. As if it were some demon's name pronounc'd
Lud. The sleepy thunder? Hast no sense of fear?
Lud. No ounce of man in thy mortality?
Lud. Tremble! for, at my nod, the sharpen'd axe
Lud. Will make thy bold tongue quiver to the roots,
Lud. Those grey lids wink, and thou not know it, monk!
Eth. O, poor deceived Prince! I pity thee!
Eth. Great Otho! I claim justice —
Lud. Thou shalt have't!
Lud. Thine arms from forth a pulpit of hot fire
Lud. Shall sprawl distracted! O that that dull cowl
Lud. Were some most sensitive portion of thy life,
Lud. That I might give it to my hounds to tear!
Lud. Thy girdle some fine zealous-pained nerve
Lud. To girth my saddle! And those devil's beads
Lud. Each one a life, that I might, every day,
Lud. Crush one with Vulcan's hammer! Oth. Peace, my son;
Oth. You far outstrip my spleen in this affair.
Oth. Let us be calm, and hear the abbot's plea
Oth. For this intrusion. Lud. I am silent, sire.
Oth. Conrad, see all depart not wanted here.
Oth. Ludolph, be calm. Ethelbert, peace awhile.
Oth. This mystery demands an audience
Oth. Of a just judge, and that will Otho be.
Oth. Ludolph, old Ethelbert, be sure, comes not
Oth. To beard us for no cause; he's not the man
Oth. To cry himself up an ambassador
Oth. Without credentials. Lud. I'll chain up myself.
Oth. Old abbot, stand Here forth. Lady Erminia,
Oth. Sit. And now, abbot! what have you to say?
Oth. Our ear is open. First we here denounce
Oth. Hard penalties against thee, if't be found
Oth. The cause for which you have disturb'd us here,
Oth. Making our bright hours muddy, be a thing
Oth. Of little moment. Eth. See this innocent!
Eth. Otho! thou father of the people call'd,
Eth. Is her life nothing? Her fair honour nothing?
Eth. Her tears from matins until even-song
Eth. Nothing? Her burst heart nothing? Emperor!
Eth. Is this your gentle niece — the simplest flower
Eth. Of the world's herbal — this fair lily blanch'd
Eth. Still with the dews of piety, this meek lady
Eth. Here sitting like an angel newly-shent,
Eth. Who veils its snowy wings and grows all pale, —
Eth. Is she nothing? oth. What more to the purpose, abbot?
Lud. Whither is he winding? con. No clue yet!
Eth. Foul, poisonous, malignant whisperings;
Eth. Nay open speech, rude mockery grown common,
Eth. Against the spotless nature and clear fame
Eth. Of the Princess Erminia, your niece.
Eth. I have intruded here thus suddenly,
Eth. Because I hold those base weeds with tight hand
Eth. Which now disfigure her fair growing stem,
Eth. Waiting but for your sign to pull them up
Eth. By the dark roots, and leave her palpable,
Eth. To all men's sight, a lady innocent.
Eth. The ignominy of that whisper'd tale
Eth. About a midnight gallant, seen to climb
Eth. A window to her chamber neighbour'd near,
Eth. I will from her turn off, and put the load
Eth. On the right shoulders; on that wretch's head,
Eth. Who, by close stratagems, did save herself,
Eth. Chiefly by shifting to this lady's room
Eth. A rope-ladder for false witness. Lud. Most atrocious!
Oth. Ethelbert, proceed. Eth. With sad lips I shall
Eth. For, in the healing of one wound, I fear
Eth. To make a greater. His young Highness here
Eth. To-day was married. Lud. Good.
Eth. Yet why do I delay to spread abroad
Eth. The names of those two vipers, from whose jaws
Eth. A deadly breath went forth to taint and blast
Eth. This guileless lady? oth. Abbot, speak their names.
Eth. A minute first. It cannot be — but may
Eth. I ask, great judge, if you to-day have put
Eth. A letter by unread? oth. Does't end in this?
Con. Out with their names! eth. Bold sinner, say you so?
Lud. Out, tedious monk! oth. Confess, or by the wheel —
Eth. My evidence cannot be far away;
Eth. And, though it never come, be on my head
Eth. The crime of passing an attaint upon
Eth. The slanderers of this virgin. Lud. Speak aloud!
Eth. Auranthe, and her brother there. Con. Amaze!
Lud. Throw them from the windows!
Oth. Do what you will! lud. What shall I do with them?
Lud. Something of quick dispatch, for should she hear,
Lud. My soft Auranthe, her sweet mercy would
Lud. Prevail against my fury. Damned priest!
Lud. What swift death wilt thou die? As to the lady
Lud. I touch her not. Eth. Illustrious Otho, stay!
Eth. An ample store of misery thou hast,
Eth. With more bad bitter grain, too difficult
Eth. A cud for the repentance of a man
Eth. Grey-growing. To thee only I appeal,
Eth. Not to thy noble son, whose yeasting youth
Eth. Will clear itself, and crystal turn again.
Eth. A young man's heart, by heaven's blessing, is
Eth. A wide world, where a thousand new-born hopes
Eth. Empurple fresh the melancholy blood
Eth. But an old man's is narrow, tenantless
Eth. Of hopes, and stuff'd with many memories,
Eth. Which, being pleasant, ease the heavy pulse —
Eth. Painful, clog up and stagnate. Weigh this matter
Eth. Even as a miser balances his coin;
Eth. And, in the name of mercy, give command
Eth. That your knight Albert be brought here before you.
Eth. He will expound this riddle; he will show
Eth. A noon-day proof of bad Auranthe's guilt.
Oth. Let Albert straight be summon'd. Lud. Impossible!
Lud. I cannot doubt — I will not — no — to doubt
Lud. Is to be ashes! — wither'd up to death!
Oth. My gentle Ludolph, harbour not a fear;
Oth. You do yourself much wrong. Lud. O, wretched dolt!
Lud. Wilt thou infuriate me? Proof! Thou fool!
Lud. Why wilt thou teaze impossibility
Lud. With such a thick-skull'd persevering suit?
Lud. Fanatic obstinacy! Prodigy!
Lud. Monster of folly! Ghost of a turn'd brain!
Lud. You puzzle me, — you haunt me, — when I dream
Lud. Of you my brain will split! Bald sorcerer!
Lud. Juggler! May I come near you? On my soul
Lud. I know not whether to pity, curse, or laugh.
Lud. Here, Albert, this old phantom wants a proof!
Lud. Give him his proof! A camel's load of proofs!
Oth. Albert, I speak to you as to a man
Oth. Whose words once utter'd pass like current gold;
Oth. And therefore fit to calmly put a close
Oth. To this brief tempest. Do you stand possess'd
Oth. Of any proof against the honourableness
Oth. Of Lady Auranthe, our new-spoused daughter?
Al. You chill me with astonishment. How's this?
Al. My liege, what proof should I have 'gainst a fame
Al. Impossible of slur? erm. O wickedness!
Eth. Deluded monarch, 'tis a cruel lie.
Oth. Peace, rebel-priest! con. Insult beyond credence!
Lud. A foolish dream that from my brow has wrung
Lud. A wrathful dew. O folly! why did I
Lud. So act the lion with this silly gnat?
Lud. Let them depart. Lady Erminia!
Lud. I ever griev'd for you, as who did not?
Lud. But now you have, with such a brazen front,
Lud. So most maliciously, most madly striven
Lud. To dazzle the soft moon, when tenderest clouds
Lud. Should be unloop'd around to curtain her;
Lud. I leave you to the desert of the world
Lud. Almost with pleasure. Let them be set free
Lud. For me! I take no personal revenge
Lud. More than against a nightmare, which a man
Lud. Forgets in the new dawn.
Oth. Still in extremes! No, they must not be loose.
Eth. Albert, I must suspect thee of a crime
Eth. So fiendish — oth. Fear'st thou not my fury, monk?
Oth. Conrad, be they in your sure custody
Oth. Till we determine some fit punishment.
Oth. It is so mad a deed, I must reflect
Oth. And question them in private; for perhaps,
Oth. By patient scrutiny, we may discover
Oth. In care of the physicians.
Con. My guards, ho! erm. Albert, will you follow there?
Erm. Will you creep dastardly behind his back,
Erm. And slink away from a weak woman's eye?
Erm. Turn, thou court-Janus)! thou forget'st thyself;
Erm. Here is the Duke, waiting with open arms,
Erm. To thank thee; here congratulate each other;
Erm. Wring hands; embrace; and swear how lucky 'twas
Erm. That I, by happy chance, hit the right man
Erm. Of All the world to trust in. Al. Trust! to me!
Con. He is the sole one in this mystery.
Erm. Well, I give up, and save my prayers for heaven!
Erm. You, who could do this deed, would ne'er relent,
Erm. Though, at my words, the hollow prison-vaults
Erm. Would groan for pity. Con. Manacle them both!
Eth. I know it — it must be — I see it all!
Eth. Albert, thou art the minion! erm. Ah! too plain —
Con. Silence! Gag up their mouths! I cannot bear
Con. More of this brawling. That the Emperor
Con. Had plac'd you in some other custody!
Con. Bring them away.
Al. Though my name perish from the book of honour,
Al. Almost before the recent ink is dry,
Al. And be no more remember'd after death,
Al. Than any drummer's in the muster-roll;
Al. Yet shall I season high my sudden fall
Al. With triumph o'er that evil-witted Duke!
Al. He shall feel what it is to have the hand
Al. Of a man drowning, on his hateful throat.
Al. Erminia! dream to night of better days
Al. Tomorrow makes them real — once more good morrow.
Sig. What discord is at ferment in this house?
Ger. We are without conjecture; not a soul
Ger. We met could answer any certainty.
Sig. Young Ludolph, like a fiery arrow, shot
Sig. By us.
Ger. The Emperor, with cross'd arms, in thought.
Sig. In one room music, in another sadness,
Sig. Perplexity every where! al. A trifle mere!
Al. Follow; your presences will much avail
Al. To tune our jarred spirits. I'll explain.

148. Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts Act IV SCENE I

Con. Well, well, I know what ugly jeopardy
Con. We are caged in; you need not pester that
Con. Into my ears. Prythee, let me be spared
Con. Of remedies with some deliberation.
Con. You cannot doubt but 'tis in Albert's power
Con. To crush or save us? aur. No, I cannot doubt.
Aur. He has, assure yourself, by some strange means,
Aur. My secret; which I ever hid from him,
Aur. Knowing his mawkish honesty. Con. Cursed slave!
Aur. Ay, I could almost curse him now myself.
Aur. Wretched impediment! evil genius!
Aur. A glue upon my wings, that cannot spread,
Aur. When they should span the provinces! A snake,
Aur. A scorpion, sprawling on the first gold step,
Aur. Conducting to the throne high canopied.
Con. You would not hear my counsel, when his life
Con. Might have been trodden out, all sure and hush'd;
Con. Now the dull animal forsooth must be
Con. Intreated, managed! When can you contrive
Con. The interview he demands? aur. As speedily
Aur. It must be done as my bribed woman can
Aur. Unseen conduct him to me; but I fear
Aur. 'Twill be impossible, while the broad day
Aur. Comes through the panes with persecuting glare.
Aur. Methinks, if 't now were night I could intrigue
Aur. And settle all this trouble. Con. Nonsense! Child!
Con. See him immediately; why not now?
Aur. Do you forget that even the senseless door-posts
Aur. Are on the watch and gape through all the house;
Aur. How many whisperers there are about,
Aur. Hungry for evidence to ruin me
Aur. Men I have spurn'd, and women I have taunted?
Aur. Besides, the foolish Prince sends, minute whiles,
Aur. His pages — so they tell me — to inquire
Aur. After my health, entreating, if I please,
Aur. To see me. Con. Well, suppose this Albert here;
Con. What is your power with him?
Aur. He should be
Aur. My echo, my taught parrot! but I fear
Aur. He will be cur enough to bark at me;
Aur. Have his own say; read me some silly creed
Aur. 'Bout shame and pity. Con. What will you do then?
Aur. What I shall do, I know not; what I would
Aur. Cannot be done; for see, this chamber-floor
Aur. Will not yield to the pick-axe and the spade, —
Aur. Here is no quiet depth of hollow ground.
Con. Seconding, ere I speak it, what is now,
Con. I hope, resolv'd between us. Aur. Say, what is 't?
Con. You need not be his sexton too a man
Con. May carry that with him shall make him die
Con. Elsewhere, — give that to him; pretend the while
Con. You will to-morrow succumb to his wishes,
Con. Be what they may, and send him from the castle
Con. On some fool's errand; let his latest groan
Con. Frighten the wolves! aur. Alas! he must not die!
Con. Would you were both hearsed up in stifling lead!
Con. Detested — aur. Conrad, hold! I would not bear
Aur. The little thunder of your fretful tongue,
Aur. Tho' I alone were taken in these toils,
Aur. And you could free me; but remember, sir,
Aur. You live alone in my security
Aur. So keep your wits at work, for your own sake,
Aur. Not mine, and be more mannerly. Con. Thou wasp!
Con. If my domains were emptied of these folk,
Con. And I had thee to starve — aur. O, marvellous!
Aur. But Conrad, now be gone; the host is look'd for;
Aur. Cringe to the Emperor, entertain the nobles,
Aur. And, do ye mind, above all things, proclaim
Aur. Condoling with Prince Ludolph. In fit time
Aur. Return to me. Con. I leave you to your thoughts.
Aur. Down, down, proud temper! down, Auranthe's pride!
Aur. Why do I anger him when I should kneel?
Aur. Conrad! Albert! help! help! What can I do?
Aur. O wretched woman! lost, wreck'd, swallow'd up,
Aur. Accursed, blasted! O, thou golden crown,
Aur. Orbing along the serene firmament
Aur. Of a wide empire, like a glowing moon;
Aur. And thou, bright sceptre! lustrous in my eyes, —
Aur. There — as the fabled fair Hesperian tree,
Aur. Bearing a fruit more precious! graceful thing,
Aur. Delicate, godlike, magic! must I leave
Aur. Thee to melt in the visionary air,
Aur. Ere, by one grasp, this common hand is made
Aur. Imperial? I do not know the time
Aur. When I have wept for sorrow; but methinks
Aur. I could now sit upon the ground, and shed
Aur. Tears, tears of misery. O, the heavy day!
Aur. How shall I bear my life till Albert comes?
Aur. Ludolph! Erminia! Proofs! O heavy day!
Aur. Bring me some mourning weeds, that I may 'tire
Aur. Myself, as fits one wailing her own death
Aur. And throw these jewels from my loathing sight, —
Aur. Fetch me a missal, and a string of beads, —
Aur. A cup of bitter'd water, and a crust, —
Aur. I will confess, O holy father! — How!
Aur. What is this? Auranthe! thou fool, dolt,
Aur. Whimpering idiot! up! up! act and quell!
Aur. I'm safe! Coward! why am I in fear?
Aur. Albert! he cannot stickle, chew the cud
Aur. In such a fine extreme, — impossible!
Aur. Who knocks?
Aur. Albert, I have been waiting for you here
Aur. With such an aching heart, such swooning throbs
Aur. On my poor brain, such cruel — cruel sorrow,
Aur. That I should claim your pity! Art not well?
Al. Yes, lady, well. Aur. You look not so, alas!
Aur. But pale, as if you brought some heavy news.
Al. You know full well what makes me look so pale.
Aur. No! Do I? Surely I am still to learn
Aur. Some horror; all I know, this present, is
Aur. I am near hustled to a dangerous gulph,
Aur. Which you can save me from, — and therefore safe,
Aur. So trusting in thy love; that should not make
Aur. Why should it, love? al. You should not ask me that,
Al. But make your own heart monitor, and save
Al. Me the great pain of telling. You must know.
Aur. Something has vext you, Albert. There are times
Aur. When simplest things put on a sombre cast;
Aur. A melancholy mood will haunt a man,
Aur. Until most easy matters take the shape
Aur. Of unachievable tasks; small rivulets
Aur. Then seem impassable. Al. Do not cheat yourself
Al. With hope that gloss of words, or suppliant action,
Al. Or tears, or ravings, or self-threaten'd death,
Al. Can alter my resolve. Aur. You make me tremble;
Aur. Not so much at your threats, as at your voice,
Aur. Untun'd, and harsh, and barren of all love.
Al. You suffocate me! Stop this devil's parley,
Al. And listen to me; know me once for all.
Aur. I thought I did. Alas! I am deceived.
Al. No, you are not deceived. You took me for
Al. A man detesting all inhuman crime;
Al. And therefore kept from me your demon's plot
Al. Against Erminia. Silent? Be so still;
Al. For ever! Speak no more; but hear my words,
Al. I have told a lie for you which in the dawn
Al. I'll expiate with truth. Aur. O cruel traitor!
Al. For I would not set eyes upon thy shame;
Al. I would not see thee dragg'd to death by the hair,
Al. Penanced, and taunted on a scaffolding!
Al. To-night, upon the skirts of the blind wood
Al. That blackens northward of these horrid towers,
Al. I wait for you with horses. Choose your fate.
Al. Farewell! aur. Albert, you jest; I'm sure you must.
Aur. You, an ambitious soldier! I, a queen,
Aur. One who could say, — here, rule these provinces!
Aur. Take tribute from those cities for thyself!
Aur. Empty these armouries, these treasuries,
Aur. Muster thy warlike thousands at a nod!
Aur. Go! conquer Italy! al. Auranthe, you have made
Al. The whole world chaff to me. Your doom is fix'd.
Aur. Out, villain! dastard! al. Look there to the door!
Al. Who is it? aur. Conrad, traitor! al. Let him in.
Al. Do not affect amazement, hypocrite,
Al. At seeing me in this chamber. Con. Auranthe?
Al. Talk not with eyes, but speak your curses out
Al. Against me, who would sooner crush and grind
Al. An innocent lady, gull an emperor,
Al. More generous to me than autumn's sun
Al. To ripening harvests. Aur. No more insult, sir!
Al. Ay, clutch your scabbard; but, for prudence' sake,
Al. Draw not the sword; 'twould make an uproar, Duke,
Al. You would not hear the end of. At nightfall
Al. Your lady sister, if I guess aright,
Al. Will leave this busy castle. You had best
Al. Take farewell too of worldly vanities.
Con. Vassal! al. To-morrow, when the Emperor sends
Al. For loving Conrad, see you fawn on him.
Al. Good even! aur. You'll be seen!
Al. See the coast clear then.
Aur. Remorseless Albert! cruel, cruel wretch!
Con. So, we must lick the dust?
Aur. I follow him.
Con. How? Where? The plan of your escape? aur. He waits
Aur. For me with horses by the forest-side,
Aur. Northward. Con. Good, good; he dies. You go, say you?
Aur. Perforce. Con. Be speedy darkness! Till that comes,
Con. Fiends keep you company! aur. And you! And you!

149. Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts Act IV SCENE II

Pag. Still very sick, my lord; but now I went,
Pag. Knowing my duty to so good a prince;
Pag. And there her women, in a mournful throng,
Pag. Stood in the passage whispering; if any
Pag. Moved, 'twas with careful steps, and hush'd as death
Pag. They bade me stop. Lud. Good fellow, once again
Lud. Make soft inquiry; prythee, be not stay'd
Lud. By any hindrance, but with gentlest force
Lud. Break through her weeping servants, till thou com'st
Lud. E'en to her chamber door, and there, fair boy, —
Lud. If with thy mother's milk thou hast suck'd in
Lud. Any diviner eloquence, — woo her ears
Lud. With plaints for me, more tender than the voice
Lud. Of dying Echo, echoed. Pag. Kindest master!
Pag. To know thee sad thus, will unloose my tongue
Pag. In mournful syllables. Let but my words reach
Pag. Her ears, and she shall take them coupled with
Pag. Moans from my heart, and sighs not counterfeit.
Pag. May I speed better! lud. Auranthe! My life!
Lud. Long have I lov'd thee, yet till now not lov'd
Lud. When I had heard e'en of thy death perhaps,
Lud. And thoughtless! — suffered thee to pass alone
Lud. Into Elysium! — now I follow thee,
Lud. A substance or a shadow, wheresoe'er
Lud. Thou leadest me, — whether thy white feet press,
Lud. With pleasant weight, the amorous-aching earth,
Lud. Or thro' the air thou pioneerest me,
Lud. A shade! Yet sadly I predestinate!
Lud. O, unbenignest Love, why wilt thou let
Lud. Darkness steal out upon the sleepy world
Lud. So wearily, as if night's chariot-wheels
Lud. Were clog'd in some thick cloud? O, changeful Love,
Lud. Let not her steeds with drowsy-footed pace
Lud. Pass the high stars, before sweet embassage
Lud. Comes from the pillow'd beauty of that fair
Lud. Completion of all delicate nature's wit!
Lud. Pout her faint lips anew with rubious health;
Lud. And, with thine infant fingers, lift the fringe
Lud. Of her sick eye-lids; that those eyes may glow
Lud. With wooing light upon me, ere the morn
Lud. Peers with disrelish, grey, barren, and cold!
Lud. Otho calls me his lion, — should I blush
Ger. Gentlemen, to pass on. Courtr. We are your servants.
Lud. It seems then, sir, you have found out the man
Lud. You would confer with; — me? ger. If I break not
Ger. Too much upon your thoughtful mood, I will
Ger. Claim a brief while your patience. Lud. For what cause
Lud. Soe'er, I shall be honour'd. Ger. I not less.
Lud. What may it be? No trifle can take place
Lud. Of such deliberate prologue, serious 'haviour.
Lud. But, be it what it may, I cannot fail
Lud. To listen with no common interest;
Lud. For though so new your presence is to me,
Lud. I have a soldier's friendship for your fame.
Lud. Please you explain. Ger. As thus — for, pardon me,
Ger. I cannot, in plain terms, grossly assault
Ger. A noble nature; and would faintly sketch
Ger. What your quick apprehension will fill up;
Ger. So finely I esteem you. Lud. I attend.
Ger. Your generous father, most illustrious Otho,
Ger. Sits in the banquet-room among his chiefs;
Ger. His wine is bitter, for you are not there;
Ger. His eyes are fix'd still on the open doors,
Ger. And every passer in he frowns upon,
Ger. Seeing no Ludolph comes. Lud. I do neglect.
Lud. Stay there! No — guess? More princely you must be
Lud. Than to make guesses at me. 'Tis enough.
Lud. I'm sorry I can hear no more. Ger. And I
Ger. As griev'd to force it on you so abrupt;
Ger. Yet, one day, you must know a grief, whose sting
Ger. Will sharpen more the longer 'tis conceal'd.
Lud. Say it at once, sir! dead — dead — is she dead?
Ger. Mine is a cruel task she is not dead,
Ger. And would, for your sake, she were innocent.
Lud. Hungarian! Thou amazest me beyond
Lud. All scope of thought, convulsest my heart's blood
Lud. To deadly churning! Gersa, you are young,
Lud. As I am; let me observe you, face to face
Lud. Not grey-brow'd like the poisonous Ethelbert,
Lud. No rheumed eyes, no furrowing of age,
Lud. No wrinkles, where all vices nestle in
Lud. Like crannied vermin, — no! but fresh, and young,
Lud. And hopeful featur'd. Ha! by heaven you weep!
Lud. Tears, human tears! Do you repent you then
Lud. Of a curs'd torturer's office? Why shouldst join, —
Lud. Tell me, — the league of devils? Confess — confess —
Lud. The lie!
Ger. Of honour battailous! I could not turn
Ger. My wrath against thee for the orbed world.
Lud. Your wrath, weak boy? Tremble at mine, unless
Lud. Retraction follow close upon the heels
Lud. Of that late 'stounding insult! Why has my sword
Lud. Not done already a sheer judgment on thee?
Lud. Despair, or eat thy words! Why, thou wast nigh
Lud. Whimpering away my reason! Hark ye, sir,
Lud. It is no secret, that Erminia,
Lud. Erminia, sir, was hidden in your tent, —
Lud. O blessed asylum! Comfortable home!
Lud. Begone! I pity thee; thou art a gull,
Lud. Erminia's fresh puppet! ger. Furious fire!
Ger. Thou mak'st me boil as hot as thou canst flame!
Ger. And in thy teeth I give thee back the lie!
Ger. Thou liest! Thou, Auranthe's fool! A wittol!
Lud. Look! look at this bright sword;
Lud. There is no part of it, to the very hilt,
Lud. But shall indulge itself about thine heart!
Lud. Draw! but remember thou must cower thy plumes,
Lud. As yesterday the Arab made thee stoop.
Ger. Patience! Not here; I would not spill thy blood
Ger. Thy father, — almost mine. Lud. O faltering coward!
Lud. Stay, stay; here is one I have half a word with.
Lud. Well? What ails thee, child? pag. My lord!
Lud. What wouldst say?
Pag. They are fled! lud. They! Who?
Pag. When anxiously
Pag. I hasten'd back, your grieving messenger,
Pag. I found the stairs all dark, the lamps extinct,
Pag. And not a foot or whisper to be heard.
Pag. I thought her dead, and on the lowest step
Pag. Sat listening; when presently came by
Pag. Two muffled up, — one sighing heavily,
Pag. The other cursing low, whose voice I knew
Pag. For the Duke Conrad's. Close I follow'd them
Pag. Thro' the dark ways they chose to the open air;
Pag. And, as I follow'd, heard my lady speak.
Lud. Thy life answer the truth! pag. The chamber's empty!
Lud. As I will be of mercy! So, at last,
Lud. This nail is in my temples! ger. Be calm in this.
Lud. I am. Ger. And Albert too has disappear'd;
Ger. Ere I met you, I sought him everywhere;
Ger. You would not hearken. Lud. Which way went they, boy?
Lud. Still whole. I have surviv'd. My arm is strong,
Lud. My appetite sharp — for revenge! I'll no sharer
Lud. In my feast; my injury is all my own,
Lud. And so is my revenge, my lawful chattels!
Lud. Jackall, lead on the lion preys to-night.
Lud. Terrier, ferret them out! Burn — burn the witch!
Lud. Trace me their footsteps! Away!

150. Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts Act V SCENE I

Aur. Go no further; not a step more. Thou art
Aur. A master-plague in the midst of miseries.
Aur. Go, — I fear thee! I tremble every limb,
Aur. Who never shook before. There's moody death
Aur. In thy resolved looks! Yes, I could kneel
Aur. To pray thee far away! Conrad, go! go! —
Aur. There! yonder underneath the boughs I see
Aur. Our horses! con. Ay, and a man.
Aur. Yes, he is there!
Aur. Go, go, — no blood! no blood! — go, gentle Conrad!
Con. Farewell! aur. Farewell! For this heaven pardon you!
Con. If he escape me, may I die a death
Con. Of unimagined tortures, or breathe through
Con. A long life in the foulest sink of the world!
Con. He dies! 'Tis well she do not advertise
Con. The caitiff of the cold steel at his back.
Lud. Miss'd the way, boy? Say not that on your peril!
Pag. Indeed, indeed I cannot trace them further.
Lud. Must I stop here? Here solitary die?
Lud. Stifled beneath the thick oppressive shade
Lud. Of these dull boughs, — this oven of dark thickets, —
Lud. Silent, — without revenge? — pshaw! — bitter end, —
Lud. A bitter death, — a suffocating death, —
Lud. A gnawing — silent — deadly-quiet death!
Lud. Escap'd — fled — vanish'd — melted into air —
Lud. She's gone — I cannot catch her! no revenge!
Lud. A muffled death, ensnared in horrid silence!
Lud. Suck'd to my grave amid a dreary calm!
Lud. O, where is that illustrious noise of war,
Lud. To smother up this sound of labouring breath,
Lud. This rustle of the trees! pag. My lord, a noise!
Pag. This way — hark! lud. Yes, yes! A hope! A music!
Lud. A glorious clamour! now I live again!

151. Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts Act V SCENE II

Al. O! for enough life to support me on
Lud. Tell me where that detested woman is,
Lud. Or this is through you! Al. My good Prince, with me
Al. The sword has done its worst; not without worst
Al. Done to another, — Conrad has it home!
Al. I see you know it All! lud. Where is his sister?
Aur. Albert!
Lud. Ha! There! there! — He is the paramour! —
Lud. There — hug him — dying! O, thou innocence,
Lud. Shrive him and comfort him at his last gasp,
Lud. Kiss down his eyelids! Was he not thy love?
Lud. Wilt thou forsake him at his latest hour?
Lud. Keep fearful and aloof from his last gaze,
Lud. His most uneasy moments, when cold death
Lud. Stands with the door ajar to let him in?
Al. O that that door with hollow slam would close
Al. Upon me sudden! for I cannot meet,
Al. In all the unknown chambers of the dead,
Al. Such horrors! lud. Auranthe! what can he mean?
Lud. What horrors? Is it not a joyous time?
Lud. Am I not married to a paragon
Lud. " Of personal beauty and untainted soul " ?
Lud. A blushing fair-eyed purity! A sylph,
Lud. Beyond a flower pluck'd, mild as itself?
Lud. Albert, you do insult my bride — your mistress —
Lud. To talk of horrors on our wedding-night!
Al. Alas! poor Prince, I would you knew my heart!
Al. 'Tis not so guilty —
Lud. Hear you, he pleads not guilty!
Lud. You are not? or, if so, what matters it?
Lud. You have escap'd me, free as the dusk air,
Lud. Hid in the forest, safe from my revenge;
Lud. I cannot catch you! You should laugh at me,
Lud. Poor cheated Ludolph! Make the forest hiss
Lud. With jeers at me! You tremble — faint at once,
Lud. You will come to again. O cockatrice,
Lud. I have you! Whither wander those fair eyes
Lud. To entice the devil to your help, that he
Lud. May change you to a spider, so to crawl
Lud. Into some cranny to escape my wrath?
Al. Sometimes the counsel of a dying man
Al. Doth operate quietly when his breath is gone
Al. Disjoin those hands — part — part — do not destroy
Al. Each other — forget her! — our miseries
Al. Are ! almost 5 equal shar'd, and mercy is — lud. A boon
Lud. Your oratory; your breath is not so hitch'd.
Lud. Aye, stare for help! there goes a spotted soul
Lud. Howling in vain along the hollow night!
Lud. Hear him! he calls you — sweet Auranthe, come!
Aur. Kill me! lud. No! What? Upon our marriage-night?
Lud. The earth would shudder at so foul a deed!
Lud. A fair bride! A sweet bride! An innocent bride!
Lud. No! we must revel it, as 'tis in use
Lud. In times of delicate brilliant ceremony
Lud. Come, let me lead you to our halls again!
Lud. Nay, linger not; make no resistance, sweet —
Lud. Will you? Ah, wretch, thou canst not, for I have
Lud. The strength of twenty lions 'gainst a lamb!
Lud. Now — one adieu for Albert! — come away!

152. Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts Act V SCENE III

Theo. Was ever such a night? sig. What horrors more?
Sig. Things unbelieved one hour, so strange they are,
Sig. The next hour stamps with credit. Theo. Your last news?
Gon. After the page's story of the death
Gon. Of Albert and Duke Conrad? Sig. And the return
Sig. Of Ludolph with the Princess. Gon. No more, save
Gon. And the sweet lady, fair Erminia,
Gon. From prison.
Theo. Where are they now? Hast yet heard?
Gon. With the sad Emperor they are closeted;
Gon. I saw the three pass slowly up the stairs,
Gon. The lady weeping, the old abbot cowl'd.
Sig. What next? theo. I ache to think on 't.
Gon. 'Tis with fate.
Theo. One while these proud towers are hush'd as death.
Gon. The next our poor prince fills the arched rooms
Gon. With ghastly ravings. Sig. I do fear his brain.
Gon. I will see more. Bear you so stout a heart?

153. Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts Act V SCENE IV

Oth. O, my poor boy! My son! My son! My ludolph!
Oth. Have ye no comfort for me, ye physicians
Oth. Of the weak body and soul? eth. 'Tis not the medicine,
Eth. Either of heaven or earth, can cure, unless
Eth. Fit time be chosen to administer.
Oth. A kind forbearance, holy abbot. Come,
Oth. Erminia; here, sit by me, gentle girl;
Oth. Give me thy hand; hast thou forgiven me?
Erm. Would I were with the saints to pray for you!
Phys. Forgive me, but he must not see thy face.
Oth. Is then a father's countenance a Gorgon?
Oth. Hath it not comfort in it? Would it not
Oth. Console my poor boy, cheer him, heal his spirits?
Oth. Let me embrace him; let me speak to him;
Oth. I will! Who hinders me? Who's Emperor?
Phys. You may not, sire; 'twould overwhelm him quite,
Phys. He is so full of grief and passionate wrath;
Phys. Too heavy a sigh would kill him, or do worse.
Phys. He must be sav'd by fine contrivances;
Phys. And, most especially, we must keep clear
Phys. Out of his sight a father whom he loves;
Phys. His heart is full, it can contain no more,
Phys. And do its ruddy office. Eth. Sage advice;
Eth. We must endeavour how to ease and slacken
Eth. The tight-wound energies of his despair,
Eth. Not make them tenser. Oth. Enough! I hear, I hear.
Oth. Yet you were about to advise more, — I listen.
Eth. This learned doctor will agree with me,
Eth. That not in the smallest point should he be thwarted,
Eth. Or gainsaid by one word; his very motions,
Eth. Nods, becks, and hints, should be obey'd with care,
Eth. May cure itself. Phys. There is no other means.
Oth. Open the door; let's hear if all is quiet.
Phys. Beseech you, sire, forbear. Erm. Do, do.
Oth. I command!
Oth. Open it straight; — sh! — quiet! — my lost boy!
Oth. My miserable child! lud. Fill full
Lud. My goblet — here, a health! erm. O, close the door!
Oth. Let, let me hear his voice; this cannot last;
Oth. And fain would I catch up his dying words,
Oth. Though my own knell they be! This cannot last!
Oth. O let me catch his voice — for lo! I hear
Oth. This silence whisper me that he is dead!
Oth. It is so! Gersa? Phys. Say, how fares the Prince?
Ger. More calm; his features are less wild and flush'd;
Ger. Once he complain'd of weariness. Phys. Indeed!
Phys. 'Tis good, — 'tis good; let him but fall asleep,
Phys. That saves him. Oth. Gersa, watch him like a child;
Oth. Ward him from harm, — and bring me better news!
Phys. Humour him to the height. I fear to go;
Phys. For should he catch a glimpse of my dull garb,
Phys. It might affright him, fill him with suspicion
Phys. That we believe him sick, which must not be.
Phys. This should cheer up your Highness; weariness
Phys. Is a good symptom, and most favourable;
Phys. It gives me pleasant hopes. Please you, walk forth
Phys. Onto the terrace; the refreshing air
Phys. Will blow one half of your sad doubts away.

154. Otho the Great: A Tragedy in Five Acts Act V SCENE V

$1-knt. Grievously are we tantaliz'd, one and all;
$1-knt. Sway'd here and there, commanded to and fro,
$1-knt. As though we were the shadows of a dream,
$1-knt. And link'd to a sleeping fancy. What do we here?
Gon. I am no seer; you know we must obey
Gon. The Prince from A to Z, though it should be
Gon. To set the place in flames. I pray, hast heard
Gon. Where the most wicked princess is? 1-knt. There, sir,
$1-knt. In the next room; have you remark'd those two
$1-knt. Stout soldiers posted at the door? gon. For what?
$1-ldy. How ghast a train!
$2-ldy. Sure this should be some splendid burial.
$1-ldy. What fearful whispering! See, see, — Gersa there!
Ger. Put on your brightest looks; smile if you can;
Ger. Behave as all were happy; keep your eyes
Ger. From the least watch upon him; if he speaks
Ger. Without surprise, his questions, howe'er strange.
Ger. Do this to the utmost, — though, alas! with me
Ger. The remedy grows Hopeless! Here he comes, —
Ger. Observe what I have said, — show no surprise.
Lud. A splendid company! rare beauties here!
Lud. I should have Orphean lips, and Plato's fancy,
Lud. Amphion's utterance, toned with his lyre,
Lud. Or the deep key of Jove's sonorous mouth,
Lud. To give fit salutation. Methought I heard,
Lud. As I came in, some whispers, — what of that?
Lud. 'Tis natural men should whisper; at the kiss
Lud. Of Psyche given by Love, there was a buzz
Lud. Among the gods! — and silence is as natural.
Lud. These draperies are fine, and, being a mortal,
Lud. I should desire no better; yet, in truth,
Lud. There must be some superior costliness,
Lud. Some wider-domed high magnificence!
Lud. I would have, as a mortal I may not,
Lud. Hanging of heaven's clouds, purple and gold,
Lud. Slung from the spheres; gauzes of silver mist,
Lud. Loop'd up with cords of twisted wreathed light,
Lud. And tassell'd round with weeping meteors!
Lud. As earthly fires from dull dross can be cleansed;
Lud. Yet could my eyes drink up intenser beams
Lud. Undazzled, — this is darkness, — when I close
Lud. These lids, I see far fiercer brilliances, —
Lud. Skies full of splendid moons, and shooting stars,
Lud. And spouting exhalations, diamond fires,
Lud. And panting fountains quivering with deep glows!
Lud. Yes — this is dark — is it not dark? sig. My lord,
Sig. 'Tis late; the lights of festival are ever
Sig. Quench'd in the morn. Lud. 'Tis not to-morrow then?
Sig. 'Tis early dawn. Ger. Indeed full time we slept;
Ger. Say you so, Prince? lud. I say I quarrell'd with you;
Lud. We did not tilt each other, — that's a blessing, —
Lud. Good gods! no innocent blood upon my head!
Sig. Retire, Gersa! lud. There should be three more here
Lud. For two of them, they stay away perhaps,
Lud. Being gloomy-minded, haters of fair revels, —
Lud. They know their own thoughts best. As for the third,
Lud. We'll have her presently; ay, you shall see her,
Lud. And wonder at her, friends, she is so fair;
Lud. Deep blue eyes, semi-shaded in white lids
Lud. Finish'd with lashes fine for more soft shade,
Lud. White temples, of exactest elegance,
Lud. Of even mould, felicitous and smooth;
Lud. Cheeks fashion'd tenderly on either side,
Lud. So perfect, so divine, that our poor eyes
Lud. Are dazzled with the sweet proportioning,
Lud. And wonder that 'tis so, — the magic chance!
Lud. Her nostrils, small, fragrant, faery-delicate;
Lud. Her lips — I swear no human bones e'er wore
Lud. So taking a disguise; — you shall behold her!
Lud. She is the world's chief jewel, and, by heaven
Lud. She's mine by right of marriage! — she is mine!
Lud. Patience, good people. In fit time I send
Lud. A summoner, — she will obey my call,
Lud. Being a wife most mild and dutiful.
Lud. First I would hear what music is prepared
Lud. To herald and receive her; let me hear!
Sig. Bid the musicians soothe him tenderly.
Lud. Ye have none better? no, I am content;
Lud. 'Tis a rich sobbing melody, with reliefs
Lud. Full and majestic; it is well enough,
Lud. And will be sweeter, when ye see her pace
Lud. Sweeping into this presence, glisten'd o'er
Lud. With emptied caskets, and her train upheld
Lud. Sprinkled with golden crescents, others bright
Lud. In silks, with spangles shower'd, and bow'd to
Lud. By duchesses and pearled margravines!
Lud. Sad, that the fairest creature of the earth —
Lud. I pray you mind me not — 'tis sad, I say,
Lud. That the extremest beauty of the world
Lud. Should so entrench herself away from me,
Lud. Behind a barrier of engender'd guilt!
$2-ldy. Ah! what a moan! 1-knt. Most piteous indeed!
Lud. She shall be brought before this company,
Lud. And then — then — 1-ldy. He muses.
Ger. O, Fortune, where will this end?
Sig. I guess his purpose! indeed he must not have
Sig. That pestilence brought in, — that cannot be,
Sig. There we must stop him. Ger. I am lost! Hush, hush!
Ger. He is about to rave again.
Lud. A barrier of guilt! I was the fool,
Lud. She was the cheater! Who's the cheater now,
Lud. And who the fool? The entrapp'd, the caged fool,
Lud. The bird-limed raven? She shall croak to death
Lud. Secure! Methinks I have her in my fist,
Lud. To crush her with my heel! Wait, wait! I marvel
Lud. Do bring him to me, — and Erminia
Lud. I fain would see before I sleep — and Ethelbert
Lud. That he may bless me, as I know he will,
Lud. Though I have curs'd him. Sig. Rather suffer me
Sig. To lead you to them. Lud. No, excuse me, — no!
Lud. The day is not quite done. Go, bring them hither.
Lud. Certes, a father's smile should, like sun light,
Lud. Slant on my sheafed harvest of ripe bliss.
Lud. Besides, I thirst to pledge my lovely bride
Lud. In a deep goblet let me see — what wine?
Lud. The strong Iberian juice, or mellow Greek?
Lud. Or pale Calabrian? or the Tuscan grape?
Lud. Or of old Aetna's pulpy wine-presses,
Lud. Black stain'd with the fat vintage, as it were
Lud. The purple slaughter-house, where Bacchus' self
Lud. Prick'd his own swollen veins! Where is my page?
Pag. Here, here!
Lud. Be ready to obey me; anon thou shalt
Lud. Bear a soft message for me; for the hour
Lud. Draws near when I must make a winding up
Lud. Of bridal mysteries. A fine-spun vengeance!
Lud. Carve it on my tomb, that, when I rest beneath,
Lud. But from the ashes of disgrace he rose
Lud. More than a fiery dragon, and did burn
Lud. His ignominy up in purging fires!
Lud. Did I not send, sir, but a moment past,
Lud. For my father? ger. You did.
Lud. Perhaps 'twould be
Lud. Much better he came not. Ger. He enters now!
Lud. O! thou good man, against whose sacred head
Lud. I was a mad conspirator, chiefly too
Lud. For the sake of my fair newly wedded wife,
Lud. Now to be punish'd! — do not look so sad!
Lud. Those charitable eyes will thaw my heart,
Lud. Those tears will wash away a just resolve,
Lud. A verdict ten times sworn! Awake — awake —
Lud. Put on a judge's brow, and use a tongue
Lud. Made iron-stern by habit! Thou shalt see
Lud. A deed to be applauded, 'scribed in gold!
Lud. Join a loud voice to mine, and so denounce
Lud. What I alone will execute! oth. Dear son,
Oth. What is it? By your father's love, I sue
Oth. That it be nothing merciless! lud. To that demon?
Lud. Not so! No! She is in temple-stall
Lud. The priest of justice, will immolate her
Lud. Upon the altar of wrath! she stings me through! —
Lud. Even as the worm doth feed upon the nut,
Lud. So she, a scorpion, preys upon my brain!
Lud. I feel her gnawing here! Let her but vanish,
Lud. Then, father, I will lead your legions forth,
Lud. Compact in steeled squares, and speared files,
Lud. And bid our trumpets speak a fell rebuke
Lud. To nations drowsed in peace! oth. To-morrow, son,
Oth. Be your word law; forget to-day — lud. I will
Lud. When I have finish'd it! Now, — now, I'm pight,
Lud. Tight-footed for the deed! Erm. Alas! Alas!
Lud. What angel's voice is that? erminia!
Lud. Ah! gentlest creature, whose sweet innocence
Lud. Was almost murder'd; I am penitent,
Lud. Wilt thou forgive me? And thou, holy man,
Lud. Good Ethelbert, shall I die in peace with you?
Erm. Die, my lord!
lud. I feel it possible.
Oth. Physician?
Phys. I fear me he is past my skill. Oth. Not so!
Lud. Half-mad — not right here — I forget my purpose.
Lud. Bestir — bestir — Auranthe! Ha! ha! ha!
Lud. Youngster! Page! go bid them drag her to me!
Lud. Obey! This shall finish it! oth. O, my son! my son!
Sig. This must not be — stop there! lud. Am I obey'd?
Lud. A little talk with her — no harm — haste! haste!
Lud. Set her before me — never fear I can strike.
Voic. My lord! my lord! ger. Good Prince!
Lud. Why do ye trouble me? out — out — out away!
Lud. There she is! take that! and that! no no,
Lud. That's not well done. — Where is she?
Pag. Alas! My lord, my lord! they cannot move her!
Pag. Her arms are stiff, — her fingers clench'd and cold!
Lud. She's dead! eth. Take away the dagger.
Ger. Softly; so!
Oth. Thank God for that! sig. I fear it could not harm him.
Ger. No! — brief be his anguish!
Lud. She's gone! I am content — nobles, good night!
Lud. We are all weary — faint — set ope the doors —
Lud. I will to bed! — to-morrow —
Lud. Where is your hand — father, what sultry air!
Lud. We are all weary — faint — set ope the doors —

155. Lamia PART I

Upon a time, before the faery broods
Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods,
Before King Oberon's bright diadem,
Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem,
Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns
From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip'd lawns,
The ever-smitten Hermes empty left
His golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft
From high Olympus had he stolen light,
On this side of Jove's clouds, to escape the sight
Of his great summoner, and made retreat
Into a forest on the shores of Crete.
For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt
A nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt;
At whose white feet the languid Tritons poured
Pearls, while on land they wither'd and adored.
Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont,
And in those meads where sometime she might haunt,
Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse,
Though Fancy's casket were unlock'd to choose.
Ah, what a world of love was at her feet!
So Hermes thought, and a celestial heat
That from a whiteness, as the lily clear,
Blush'd into roses 'mid his golden hair,
Fallen in jealous curls about his shoulders bare.
From vale to vale, from wood to wood, he flew,
Breathing upon the flowers his passion new,
And wound with many a river to its head,
To find where this sweet nymph prepar'd her secret bed
In vain; the sweet nymph might nowhere be found,
And so he rested, on the lonely ground,
Pensive, and full of painful jealousies
Of the Wood-Gods, and even the very trees.
There as he stood, he heard a mournful voice,
Such as once heard, in gentle heart, destroys
All pain but pity thus the lone voice spake
"When from this wreathed tomb shall I awake!
When move in a sweet body fit for life,
And love, and pleasure, and the ruddy strife
Of hearts and lips! Ah, miserable me!"
The God, dove-footed, glided silently
Round bush and tree, soft-brushing, in his speed,
The taller grasses and full-flowering weed,
Until he found a palpitating snake,
She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,
Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue;
Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard,
Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd;
And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed,
Dissolv'd, or brighter shone, or interwreathed
Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries —
So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries,
She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf,
Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.
Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire
Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar
Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet!
She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete
And for her eyes what could such eyes do there
But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?
As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air.
Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake
Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love's sake,
And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay,
Like a stoop'd falcon ere he takes his prey.
"Fair Hermes, crown'd with feathers, fluttering light,
I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold,
Among the Gods, upon Olympus old,
The only sad one; for thou didst not hear
The soft, lute-finger'd Muses chaunting clear,
Nor even Apollo when he sang alone,
Deaf to his throbbing throat's long, long melodious moan.
I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes,
Break amorous through the clouds, as morning breaks,
And, swiftly as a bright Phoebean dart,
Strike for the Cretan isle; and here thou art!
Too gentle Hermes, hast thou found the maid?"
Whereat the star of Lethe not delay'd
His rosy eloquence, and thus inquired
"Thou smooth-lipp'd serpent, surely high inspired!
Thou beauteous wreath, with melancholy eyes,
Possess whatever bliss thou canst devise,
Telling me only where my nymph is fled, —
Where she doth breathe! " " Bright planet, thou hast said,"
Return'd the snake, " but seal with oaths, fair God!"
"I swear, " said Hermes, " by my serpent rod,
And by thine eyes, and by thy starry crown!"
Light flew his earnest words, among the blossoms blown.
Then thus again the brilliance feminine
"Free as the air, invisibly, she strays
About these thornless wilds; her pleasant days
She tastes unseen; unseen her nimble feet
Leave traces in the grass and flowers sweet;
From weary tendrils, and bow'd branches green,
She plucks the fruit unseen, she bathes unseen
And by my power is her beauty veil'd
To keep it unaffronted, unassail'd
By the love-glances of unlovely eyes,
OF Satyrs, fauns, and blear'd Silenus' sighs.
Pale grew her immortality, for woe
Of all these lovers, and she grieved so
I took compassion on her, bade her steep
Her hair in weird syrops, that would keep
Her loveliness invisible, yet free
To wander as she loves, in liberty.
Thou shalt behold her, Hermes, thou alone,
If thou wilt, as thou swearest, grant my boon!"
Then, once again, the charmed God began
An oath, and through the serpent's ears it ran
Warm, tremulous, devout, psalterian.
Ravish'd, she lifted her Circean head,
"I was a woman, let me have once more
A woman's shape, and charming as before.
I love a youth of Corinth — O the bliss!
Give me my woman's form, and place me where he is.
Stoop, Hermes, let me breathe upon thy brow,
And thou shalt see thy sweet nymph even now."
The God on half-shut feathers sank serene,
She breath'd upon his eyes, and swift was seen
Of both the guarded nymph near-smiling on the green.
It was no dream; or say a dream it was,
Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass
Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
One warm, flush'd moment, hovering, it might seem
Dash'd by the wood-nymph's beauty, so he burn'd;
Then, lighting on the printless verdure, turn'd
To the swoon'd serpent, and with languid arm,
Delicate, put to proof the lythe Caducean charm.
So done, upon the nymph his eyes he bent
Full of adoring tears and blandishment,
And towards her stept she, like a moon in wane,
Faded before him, cower'd, nor could restrain
Her fearful sobs, self-folding like a flower
That faints into itself at evening hour
But the god fostering her chilled hand,
She felt the warmth, her eyelids open'd bland,
And, like new flowers at morning song of bees,
Bloom'd, and gave up her honey to the lees.
Into the green-recessed woods they flew;
Nor grew they pale, as mortal lovers do.
Left to herself, the serpent now began
To change; her elfin blood in madness ran,
Her mouth foam'd, and the grass, therewith besprent,
Wither'd at dew so sweet and virulent;
Her eyes in torture fix'd, and anguish drear,
Hot, glaz'd, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear,
Flash'd phosphor and sharp sparks, without one cooling tear.
The colours all inflam'd throughout her train,
She writh'd about, convuls'd with scarlet pain
A deep volcanian yellow took the place
Of all her milder-mooned body's grace;
And, as the lava ravishes the mead,
Spoilt all her silver mail, and golden brede,
Made gloom of all her frecklings, streaks and bars,
Eclips'd her crescents, and lick'd up her stars
So that, in moments few, she was undrest
Of all her sapphires, greens, and amethyst,
Nothing but pain and ugliness were left.
Still shone her crown; that vanish'd, also she
Melted and disappear'd as suddenly;
And in the air, her new voice luting soft,
Cried, " Lycius! gentle Lycius! " — Borne aloft
With the bright mists about the mountains hoar
These words dissolv'd Crete's forests heard no more.
Whither fled Lamia, now a lady bright,
A full-born beauty new and exquisite?
She fled into that valley they pass o'er
Who go to Corinth from Cenchreas' shore;
And rested at the foot of those wild hills,
The rugged founts of the Peraean rills,
And of that other ridge whose barren back
Stretches, with all its mist and cloudy rack,
South-westward to Cleone. There she stood
About a young bird's flutter from a wood,
Fair, on a sloping green of mossy tread,
By a clear pool, wherein she passioned
To see herself escap'd from so sore ills,
While her robes flaunted with the daffodils.
Ah, happy Lycius! — for she was a maid
Or sigh'd, or blush'd, or on spring-flowered lea
Spread a green kirtle to the minstrelsy
A virgin purest lipp'd, yet in the lore
Of love deep learned to the red heart's core
Not one hour old, yet of sciential brain
To unperplex bliss from its neighbour pain;
Define their pettish limits, and estrange
Their points of contact, and swift counterchange;
Intrigue with the specious chaos, and dispart
Its most ambiguous atoms with sure art;
As though in Cupid's college she had spent
Sweet days a lovely graduate, still unshent,
And kept his rosy terms in idle languishment.
Why this fair creature chose so fairily
By the wayside to linger, we shall see;
But first 'tis fit to tell how she could muse
And dream, when in the serpent prison-house,
Of all she list, strange or magnificent
How, ever, where she will'd, her spirit went;
Whether to faint Elysium, or where
Down through tress-lifting waves the Nereids fair
Wind into Thetis' bower by many a pearly stair;
Stretch'd out, at ease, beneath a glutinous pine;
Or where in Pluto's gardens palatine
Mulciber's columns gleam in far piazzian line.
And sometimes into cities she would send
Her dream, with feast and rioting to blend;
And once, while among mortals dreaming thus,
She saw the young Corinthian Lycius
Charioting foremost in the envious race,
Like a young Jove with calm uneager face,
And fell into a swooning love of him.
Now on the moth-time of that evening dim
He would return that way, as well she knew,
To Corinth from the shore; for freshly blew
The eastern soft wind, and his galley now
Grated the quaystones with her brazen prow
In port Cenchreas, from Egina isle
Fresh anchor'd; whither he had been awhile
To sacrifice to Jove, whose temple there
Waits with high marble doors for blood and incense rare.
Jove heard his vows, and better'd his desire;
For by some freakful chance he made retire
From his companions, and set forth to walk,
Perhaps grown wearied of their Corinth talk
Thoughtless at first, but ere eve's star appeared
His phantasy was lost, where reason fades,
In the calm'd twilight of Platonic shades.
Lamia beheld him coming, near, more near —
Close to her passing, in indifference drear,
His silent sandals swept the mossy green;
So neighbour'd to him, and yet so unseen
She stood he pass'd, shut up in mysteries,
His mind wrapp'd like his mantle, while her eyes
Follow'd his steps, and her neck regal white
Turn'd — syllabling thus, " Ah, Lycius bright,
"And will you leave me on the hills alone?
Lycius, look back! and be some pity shown."
He did; not with cold wonder fearingly,
But Orpheus-like at an Eurydice;
For so delicious were the words she sung,
It seem'd he had lov'd them a whole summer long
And soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up,
Leaving no drop in the bewildering cup,
And still the cup was full, — while he, afraid
Lest she should vanish ere his lip had paid
Due adoration, thus began to adore;
"Leave thee alone! Look back! Ah, Goddess, see
Whether my eyes can ever turn from thee!
For pity do not this sad heart belie —
Even as thou vanishest so I shall die.
Stay! though a Naiad of the rivers, stay!
To thy far wishes will thy streams obey
Stay! though the greenest woods be thy domain,
Alone they can drink up the morning rain
Though a descended Pleiad, will not one
Of thine harmonious sisters keep in tune
Thy spheres, and as thy silver proxy shine?
So sweetly to these ravish'd ears of mine
Came thy sweet greeting, that if thou shouldst fade
Thy memory will waste me to a shade —
For pity do not melt! " — " If I should stay,"
Said Lamia, " here, upon this floor of clay,
And pain my steps upon these flowers too rough,
What canst thou say or do of charm enough
To dull the nice remembrance of my home?
Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam
Over these hills and vales, where no joy is, —
Empty of immortality and bliss!
Thou art a scholar, Lycius, and must know
In human climes, and live Alas! poor youth,
What taste of purer air hast thou to soothe
My essence? What serener palaces,
Where I may all my many senses please,
And by mysterious sleights a hundred thirsts appease?
It cannot be — Adieu! " So said, she rose
Tiptoe with white arms spread. He, sick to lose
The amorous promise of her lone complain,
Swoon'd, murmuring of love, and pale with pain.
The cruel lady, without any show
Of sorrow for her tender favourite's woe,
But rather, if her eyes could brighter be,
With brighter eyes and slow amenity,
Put her new lips to his, and gave afresh
The life she had so tangled in her mesh
And as he from one trance was wakening
Into another, she began to sing,
Happy in beauty, life, and love, and every thing,
A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres,
While, like held breath, the stars drew in their panting fires.
And then she whisper'd in such trembling tone,
As those who, safe together met alone
Use other speech than looks; bidding him raise
His drooping head, and clear his soul of doubt,
For that she was a woman, and without
Any more subtle fluid in her veins
Than throbbing blood, and that the self-same pains
Inhabited her frail-strung heart as his.
And next she wonder'd how his eyes could miss
Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said,
She dwelt but half retir'd, and there had led
Days happy as the gold coin could invent
Without the aid of love; yet in content
Till she saw him, as once she pass'd him by,
Where 'gainst a column he leant thoughtfully
At Venus' temple porch, 'mid baskets heap'd
Of amorous herbs and flowers, newly reap'd
Late on that eve, as 'twas the night before
The Adonian feast; whereof she saw no more,
But wept alone those days, for why should she adore?
Lycius from death awoke into amaze,
To see her still, and singing so sweet lays;
Then from amaze into delight he fell
To hear her whisper woman's lore so well;
To unperplex'd delight and pleasure known.
Let the mad poets say whate'er they please
Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses,
There is not such a treat among them all,
Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall,
As a real woman, lineal indeed
From Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed.
Thus gentle Lamia judg'd, and judg'd aright,
That Lycius could not love in half a fright,
So threw the goddess off, and won his heart
More pleasantly by playing woman's part,
With no more awe than what her beauty gave,
That, while it smote, still guaranteed to save.
Lycius to all made eloquent reply,
Marrying to every word a twinborn sigh;
And last, pointing to Corinth, ask'd her sweet,
If 'twas too far that night for her soft feet.
The way was short, for Lamia's eagerness
Made, by a spell, the triple league decrease
To a few paces; not at all surmised
By blinded Lycius, so in her comprized.
They pass'd the city gates, he knew not how,
So noiseless, and he never thought to know.
Throughout her palaces imperial,
And all her populous streets and temples lewd,
Mutter'd, like tempest in the distance brew'd,
To the wide-spreaded night above her towers.
Men, women, rich and poor, in the cool hours,
Shuffled their sandals o'er the pavement white,
Companion'd or alone; while many a light
Flared, here and there, from wealthy festivals,
And threw their moving shadows on the walls,
Or found them cluster'd in the corniced shade
Of some arch'd temple door, or dusky colonnade.
Muffling his face, of greeting friends in fear,
Her fingers he press'd hard, as one came near
With curl'd gray beard, sharp eyes, and smooth bald crown,
Slow-stepp'd, and robed in philosophic gown
Lycius shrank closer, as they met and past,
Into his mantle, adding wings to haste,
While hurried Lamia trembled " Ah, " said he,
"Why do you shudder, love, so ruefully?
Why does your tender palm dissolve in dew? " —
"I'm wearied, " said fair Lamia " tell me who
Is that old man? I cannot bring to mind
"Yourself from his quick eyes? " Lycius replied,
"'Tis Apollonius sage, my trusty guide
And good instructor; but to-night he seems
The ghost of folly haunting my sweet dreams."
While yet he spake they had arrived before
A pillar'd porch, with lofty portal door,
Where hung a silver lamp, whose phosphor glow
Reflected in the slabbed steps below,
Mild as a star in water; for so new,
And so unsullied was the marble hue,
So through the crystal polish, liquid fine,
Ran the dark veins, that none but feet divine
Could e'er have touch'd there. Sounds Aeolian
Breath'd from the hinges, as the ample span
Of the wide doors disclos'd a place unknown
Some time to any, but those two alone,
And a few Persian mutes, who that same year
Were seen about the markets none knew where
They could inhabit; the most curious
Were foil'd, who watch'd to trace them to their house
And but the flitter-winged verse must tell
For truth's sake, what woe afterwards befel,
Shut from the busy world of more incredulous.

156. Lamia PART II

Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is — Love, forgive us! — cinders, ashes, dust;
Love in a palace is perhaps at last
More grievous torment than a hermit's fast —
That is a doubtful tale from faery land,
Hard for the non-elect to understand.
Had Lycius liv'd to hand his story down,
He might have given the moral a fresh frown,
Or clench'd it quite but too short was their bliss
To breed distrust and hate, that make the soft voice hiss.
Besides, there, nightly, with terrific glare,
Love, jealous grown of so complete a pair,
Hover'd and buzz'd his wings, with fearful roar,
Above the lintel of their chamber door,
And down the passage cast a glow upon the floor.
For all this came a ruin side by side
They were enthroned, in the even tide,
Upon a couch, near to a curtaining
Whose airy texture, from a golden string,
Floated into the room, and let appear
Betwixt two marble shafts — there they reposed,
Where use had made it sweet, with eyelids closed,
Saving a tythe which love still open kept,
That they might see each other while they almost slept;
When from the slope side of a suburb hill,
Deafening the swallow's twitter, came a thrill
Of trumpets — Lycius started — the sounds fled,
But left a thought a-buzzing in his head.
For the first time, since first he harbour'd in
That purple-lined palace of sweet sin,
His spirit pass'd beyond its golden bourn
Into the noisy world almost forsworn.
The lady, ever watchful, penetrant,
Saw this with pain, so arguing a want
Of something more, more than her empery
Of joys; and she began to moan and sigh
Because he mused beyond her, knowing well
That but a moment's thought is passion's passing bell.
"Why do you sigh, fair creature? " whisper'd he
"Why do you think? " return'd she tenderly
"You have deserted me; — where am I now?
Not in your heart while care weighs on your brow
From your breast houseless ay, it must be so."
He answer'd, bending to her open eyes,
Where he was mirror'd small in paradise,
"My silver planet, both of eve and morn!
Why will you plead yourself so sad forlorn,
While I am striving how to fill my heart
With deeper crimson, and a double smart?
How to entangle, trammel up and snare
Your soul in mine, and labyrinth you there
Like the hid scent in an unbudded rose?
Ay, a sweet kiss — you see your mighty woes.
My thoughts! shall I unveil them? Listen then!
What mortal hath a prize, that other men
May be confounded and abash'd withal,
But lets it sometimes pace abroad majestical,
And triumph, as in thee I should rejoice
Amid the hoarse alarm of Corinth's voice.
Let my foes choke, and my friends shout afar,
While through the thronged streets your bridal car
Wheels round its dazzling spokes. " — The lady's cheek
Trembled; she nothing said, but, pale and meek,
Arose and knelt before him, wept a rain
Of sorrows at his words; at last with pain
Beseeching him, the while his hand she wrung,
To change his purpose. He thereat was stung,
Perverse, with stronger fancy to reclaim
Her wild and timid nature to his aim
Besides, for all his love, in self despite
Against his better self, he took delight
Luxurious in her sorrows, soft and new.
His passion, cruel grown, took on a hue
Fierce and sanguineous as 'twas possible
In one whose brow had no dark veins to swell.
Fine was the mitigated fury, like
Apollo's presence when in act to strike
The serpent — Ha, the serpent! certes, she
Was none. She burnt, she lov'd the tyranny,
And, all subdued, consented to the hour
When to the bridal he should lead his paramour.
Whispering in midnight silence, said the youth,
"Sure some sweet name thou hast, though, by my truth,
I have not ask'd it, ever thinking thee
Not mortal, but of heavenly progeny,
As still I do. Hast any mortal name,
Fit appellation for this dazzling frame?
To share our marriage feast and nuptial mirth?"
"I have no friends, " said Lamia, " no, not one;
My presence in wide Corinth hardly known
My parents' bones are in their dusty urns
Sepulchred, where no kindled incense burns,
Seeing all their luckless race are dead, save me,
And I neglect the holy rite for thee.
Even as you list invite your many guests;
But if, as now it seems, your vision rests
With any pleasure on me, do not bid
Old Apollonius — from him keep me hid."
Lycius, perplex'd at words so blind and blank,
Made close inquiry; from whose touch she shrank,
Feigning a sleep; and he to the dull shade
Of deep sleep in a moment was betray'd.
It was the custom then to bring away
The bride from home at blushing shut of day,
Veil'd, in a chariot, heralded along
By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage song,
With other pageants but this fair unknown
Had not a friend. So being left alone,
( Lycius was gone to summon all his kin )
His foolish heart from its mad pompousness,
She set herself, high-thoughted, how to dress
The misery in fit magnificence.
She did so, but 'tis doubtful how and whence
Came, and who were her subtle servitors.
About the halls, and to and from the doors,
There was a noise of wings, till in short space
The glowing banquet-room shone with wide-arched grace.
A haunting music, sole perhaps and lone
Supportress of the faery-roof, made moan
Throughout, as fearful the whole charm might fade.
Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a glade
Of palm and plantain, met from either side,
High in the midst, in honour of the bride
Two palms and then two plantains, and so on,
From either side their stems branch'd one to one
All down the aisled place; and beneath all
There ran a stream of lamps straight on from wall to wall.
So canopied, lay an untasted feast
Teeming with odours. Lamia, regal drest,
Silently paced about, and as she went,
In pale contented sort of discontent,
The fretted splendour of each nook and niche.
Between the tree-stems, marbled plain at first,
Came jasper pannels; then, anon, there burst
Forth creeping imagery of slighter trees,
And with the larger wove in small intricacies.
Approving all, she faded at self-will,
And shut the chamber up, close, hush'd and still.
Complete and ready for the revels rude,
When dreadful guests would come to spoil her solitude.
The day appear'd, and all the gossip rout.
O senseless Lycius! Madman! wherefore flout
The silent-blessing fate, warm cloister'd hours,
And show to common eyes these secret bowers?
The herd approach'd; each guest, with busy brain,
Arriving at the portal, gaz'd amain,
And enter'd marveling for they knew the street,
Remember'd it from childhood all complete
Without a gap, yet ne'er before had seen
That royal porch, that high-built fair demesne;
So in they hurried all, maz'd, curious and keen
Save one, who look'd thereon with eye severe,
And with calm-planted steps walk'd in austere;
As though some knotty problem, that had daft
His patient thought, had now begun to thaw,
And solve and melt — 'twas just as he foresaw.
He met within the murmurous vestibule
His young disciple. " 'Tis no common rule,
Lycius, " said he, " for uninvited guest
To force himself upon you, and infest
With an unbidden presence the bright throng
Of younger friends; yet must I do this wrong,
And you forgive me. " Lycius blush'd, and led
The old man through the inner doors broad-spread;
With reconciling words and courteous mien
Turning into sweet milk the sophist's spleen.
Of wealthy lustre was the banquet-room,
Fill'd with pervading brilliance and perfume
Before each lucid pannel fuming stood
A censer fed with myrrh and spiced wood,
Each by a sacred tripod held aloft,
Whose slender feet wide-swerv'd upon the soft
Wool-woofed carpets fifty wreaths of smoke
From fifty censers their light voyage took
To the high roof, still mimick'd as they rose
Twelve sphered tables, by silk seats insphered,
High as the level of a man's breast rear'd
On libbard's paws, upheld the heavy gold
Of cups and goblets, and the store thrice told
Of Ceres' horn, and, in huge vessels, wine
Come from the gloomy tun with merry shine.
Thus loaded with a feast the tables stood,
Each shrining in the midst the image of a God.
When in an antichamber every guest
Had felt the cold full sponge to pleasure press'd,
By minist'ring slaves, upon his hands and feet,
And fragrant oils with ceremony meet
Pour'd on his hair, they all mov'd to the feast
In white robes, and themselves in order placed
Around the silken couches, wondering
Whence all this mighty cost and blaze of wealth could spring.
Soft went the music the soft air along,
While fluent Greek a vowel'd undersong
Kept up among the guests, discoursing low
At first, for scarcely was the wine at flow;
But when the happy vintage touch'd their brains,
Louder they talk, and louder come the strains
The space, the splendour of the draperies,
The roof of awful richness, nectarous cheer,
Beautiful slaves, and Lamia's self, appear,
Now, when the wine has done its rosy deed,
And every soul from human trammels freed,
No more so strange; for merry wine, sweet wine,
Will make Elysian shades not too fair, too divine.
Soon was God Bacchus at meridian height;
Flush'd were their cheeks, and bright eyes double bright
Garlands of every green, and every scent
From vales deflower'd, or forest-trees branch-rent,
In baskets of bright osier'd gold were brought
High as the handles heap'd, to suit the thought
Of every guest; that each, as he did please,
Might fancy-fit his brows, silk-pillow'd at his ease.
What wreath for Lamia? What for Lycius?
What for the sage, old Apollonius?
Upon her aching forehead be there hung
The leaves of willow and of adder's tongue;
And for the youth, quick, let us strip for him
The thyrsus, that his watching eyes may swim
Into forgetfulness; and, for the sage,
Let spear-grass and the spiteful thistle wage
At the mere touch of cold philosophy?
There was an awful rainbow once in heaven
We know her woof, her texture; she is given
In the dull catalogue of common things.
Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings,
Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine —
Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made
The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.
By her glad Lycius sitting, in chief place,
Scarce saw in all the room another face,
Till, checking his love trance, a cup he took
Full brimm'd, and opposite sent forth a look
'Cross the broad table, to beseech a glance
From his old teacher's wrinkled countenance,
And pledge him. The bald-head philosopher
Had fix'd his eye, without a twinkle or stir
Full on the alarmed beauty of the bride,
Brow-beating her fair form, and troubling her sweet pride.
Lycius then press'd her hand, with devout touch,
As pale it lay upon the rosy couch
'Twas icy, and the cold ran through his veins;
Of an unnatural heat shot to his heart.
"Lamia, what means this? Wherefore dost thou start?
Know'st thou that man? " Poor Lamia answer'd not.
He gaz'd into her eyes, and not a jot
Own'd they the lovelorn piteous appeal
More, more he gaz'd his human senses reel
Some hungry spell that loveliness absorbs;
There was no recognition in those orbs.
"Lamia! " he cried — and no soft-toned reply.
The many heard, and the loud revelry
Grew hush; the stately music no more breathes;
The myrtle sicken'd in a thousand wreaths.
By faint degrees, voice, lute, and pleasure ceased;
A deadly silence step by step increased,
Until it seem'd a horrid presence there,
And not a man but felt the terror in his hair.
"Lamia! " he shriek'd; and nothing but the shriek
With its sad echo did the silence break.
"Begone, foul dream! " he cried, gazing again
In the bride's face, where now no azure vein
Wander'd on fair-spaced temples; no soft bloom
Misted the cheek; no passion to illume
Lamia, no longer fair, there sat a deadly white.
"Shut, shut those juggling eyes, thou ruthless man!
Turn them aside, wretch! or the righteous ban
Of all the Gods, whose dreadful images
Here represent their shadowy presences,
May pierce them on the sudden with the thorn
Of painful blindness; leaving thee forlorn,
In trembling dotage to the feeblest fright
Of conscience, for their long offended might,
For all thine impious proud-heart sophistries,
Unlawful magic, and enticing lies.
Corinthians! look upon that gray-beard wretch!
Mark how, possess'd, his lashless eyelids stretch
Around his demon eyes! Corinthians, see!
My sweet bride withers at their potency."
"Fool! " said the sophist, in an under-tone
Gruff with contempt; which a death-nighing moan
From Lycius answer'd, as heart-struck and lost,
He sank supine beside the aching ghost.
"Fool! fool! " repeated he, while his eyes still
Relented not, nor mov'd; " from every ill
Of life have I preserv'd thee to this day,
And shall I see thee made a serpent's prey?"
Like a sharp spear, went through her utterly,
Keen, cruel, perceant, stinging she, as well
As her weak hand could any meaning tell,
Motion'd him to be silent; vainly so,
He look'd and look'd again a level — No!
"A Serpent! " echoed he; no sooner said,
Than with a frightful scream she vanished
And Lycius' arms were empty of delight,
As were his limbs of life, from that same night.
On the high couch he lay! — his friends came round —
Supported him — no pulse, or breath they found,

157. Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes

Pensive they sit, and roll their languid eyes,
Nibble their toasts and cool their tea with sighs;
Or else forget the purpose of the night,
Forget their tea, forget their appetite.
See, with cross'd arms they sit — ah! hapless crew,
The fire is going out and no one rings
For coals, and therefore no coals Betty brings.
A fly is in the milk-pot. Must he die
Circled by a humane society?
No, no; there, Mr. Werter takes his spoon,
Inverts it, dips the handle, and lo! soon
The little struggler, sav'd from perils dark,
Across the teaboard draws a long wet mark.
Romeo! Arise! take snuffers by the handle,
There's a large cauliflower in each candle.
A winding sheet — Ah, me! I must away
To No. 7, just beyond the Circus gay.
"Alas, my friend, your coat sits very well;
Where may your tailor live? " " I may not tell —
O pardon me — I'm absent now and then.
I cannot tell, let me no more be teas'd;
He lives in Wapping, might) live where he pleas'd " .

158. To Autumn

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.
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
Or by a cyder-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 shallows, 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.

159. The Fall of Hyperion: A Dream CANTO I

Fanatics have their dreams, wherewith they weave
A paradise for a sect; the savage too
From forth the loftiest fashion of his sleep
Guesses at heaven pity these have not
Trac'd upon vellum or wild Indian leaf
The shadows of melodious utterance.
But bare of laurel they live, dream and die;
For Poesy alone can tell her dreams,
Imagination from the sable charm
And dumb enchantment. Who alive can say
"Thou art no poet; mayst not tell thy dreams " ?
Since every man whose soul is not a clod
Hath visions, and would speak, if he had lov'd
And been well nurtured in his mother tongue
Whether the dream now purposed to rehearse
Be poet's or fanatic's will be known
When this warm scribe my hand is in the grave.
Methought I stood where trees of every clime,
Palm, myrtle, oak, and sycamore, and beech,
With plantane, and spice blossoms, made a screen;
In neighbourhood of fountains, by the noise
Soft-showering in mine ears; and, by the touch
Of scent, not far from roses. Turning round,
I saw an arbour with a drooping roof
Of trellis vines, and bells, and larger blooms,
Like floral censers swinging light in air;
Before its wreathed doorway, on a mound
Of moss, was spread a feast of summer fruits,
Which nearer seen, seem'd refuse of a meal
By angel tasted, or our mother Eve;
And grape stalks but half bare, and remnants more,
Sweet smelling, whose pure kinds I could not know.
Still was more plenty than the fabled horn
Thrice emptied could pour forth, at banqueting
For Proserpine return'd to her own fields,
Where the white heifers low. And appetite
More yearning than on earth I ever felt
Growing within, I ate deliciously;
And, after not long, thirsted, for thereby
Stood a cool vessel of transparent juice,
Sipp'd by the wander'd bee, the which I took,
And, pledging all the mortals of the world,
And all the dead whose names are in our lips,
Drank. That full draught is parent of my theme.
No Asian poppy, nor elixir fine
Of the soon fading jealous caliphat;
No poison gender'd in close monkish cell
To thin the scarlet conclave of old men,
Could so have rapt unwilling life away.
Amongst the fragrant husks and berries crush'd,
Upon the grass I struggled hard against
The domineering potion; but in vain
The cloudy swoon came on, and down I sunk
How long I slumber'd 'tis a chance to guess.
When sense of life return'd, I started up
As if with wings; but the fair trees were gone,
The mossy mound and arbour were no more;
I look'd around upon the carved sides
Of an old sanctuary with roof august,
Builded so high, it seem'd that filmed clouds
Might spread beneath, as o'er the stars of heaven;
So old the place was, I remembered none
The like upon the earth what I had seen
Of grey cathedrals, buttress'd walls, rent towers,
The superannuations of sunk realms,
Or nature's rocks toil'd hard in waves and winds,
Seem'd but the faulture of decrepit things
To that eternal domed monument.
Upon the marble at my feet there lay
Store of strange vessels, and large draperies,
Which needs had been of dyed asbestos wove,
Or in that place the moth could not corrupt,
So white the linen; so, in some, distinct
Ran imageries from a sombre loom.
All in a mingled heap confus'd there lay
Girdles, and chains, and holy jewelries —
Turning from these with awe, once more I rais'd
My eyes to fathom the space every way;
The embossed roof, the silent massy range
Of columns north and south, ending in mist
Of nothing; then to eastward, where black gates
Were shut against the sunrise evermore.
Then to the west I look'd, and saw far off
An image, huge of feature as a cloud,
At level of whose feet an altar slept,
To be approach'd on either side by steps,
And marble balustrade, and patient travail
To count with toil the innumerable degrees.
Towards the altar sober-pac'd I went,
Repressing haste, as too unholy there;
And, coming nearer, saw beside the shrine
One minist'ring; and there arose a flame.
When in mid-May) the sickening east wind
Shifts sudden to the south, the small warm rain
Melts out the frozen incense from all flowers,
And fills the air with so much pleasant health
That even the dying man forgets his shroud;
Even so that lofty sacrificial fire,
Forgetfulness of everything but bliss,
And clouded all the altar with soft smoke,
From whose white fragrant curtains thus I heard
Language pronounc'd. " If thou canst not ascend
These steps, die on that marble where thou art.
Thy flesh, near cousin to the common dust,
Will parch for lack of nutriment — thy bones
Will wither in few years, and vanish so
That not the quickest eye could find a grain
Of what thou now art on that pavement cold.
The sands of thy short life are spent this hour,
And no hand in the universe can turn
Thy hour glass, if these gummed leaves be burnt
Ere thou canst mount up these immortal steps."
I heard, I look'd two senses both at once
So fine, so subtle, felt the tyranny
Of that fierce threat, and the hard task proposed.
Prodigious seem'd the toil, the leaves were yet
Burning, — when suddenly a palsied chill
Struck from the paved level up my limbs,
And was ascending quick to put cold grasp
Upon those streams that pulse beside the throat
Stung my own ears — I strove hard to escape
The numbness; strove to gain the lowest step.
Slow, heavy, deadly was my pace the cold
Grew stifling, suffocating, at the heart;
And when I clasp'd my hands I felt them not.
One minute before death, my iced foot touch'd
The lowest stair; and as it touch'd, life seem'd
To pour in at the toes I mounted up,
As once fair angels on a ladder flew
From the green turf to heaven. — " Holy Power,"
Cried I, approaching near the horned shrine,
"What am I that should so be sav'd from death?
What am I that another death come not
To choak my utterance sacrilegious here?"
Then said the veiled shadow — " Thou hast felt
What 'tis to die and live again before
Thy fated hour. That thou hadst power to do so
Is thy own safety; thou hast dated on
Thy doom. " " High Prophetess, " said I, " purge off
Benign, if so it please thee, my mind's film —"
"None can usurp this height, " returned that shade,
"But those to whom the miseries of the world
Are misery, and will not let them rest.
All else who find a haven in the world,
Where they may thoughtless sleep away their days,
If by a chance into this fane they come,
Rot on the pavement where thou rotted'st half. —"
"Are there not thousands in the world, " said I,
Encourag'd by the sooth voice of the shade,
"Who love their fellows even to the death;
Who feel the giant agony of the world;
And more, like slaves to poor humanity,
Labour for mortal good? I sure should see
Other men here but I am here alone."
"They whom thou spak'st of are no vision'ries,"
Rejoin'd that voice — " They are no dreamers weak,
They seek no wonder but the human face;
No music but a happy-noted voice —
They come not here, they have no thought to come —
And thou art here, for thou art less than they —
What benefit canst thou do, or all thy tribe,
To the great world? Thou art a dreaming thing;
A fever of thyself — think of the earth;
What bliss even in hope is there for thee?
What haven? Every creature hath its home;
Every sole man hath days of joy and pain,
The pain alone; the joy alone; distinct
Only the dreamer venoms all his days,
Bearing more woe than all his sins deserve.
Therefore, that happiness be somewhat shar'd,
Such things as thou art are admitted oft
Into like gardens thou didst pass erewhile,
And suffer'd in these temples; for that cause
Thou standest safe beneath this statue's knees."
"That I am favored for unworthiness,
By such propitious parley medicin'd
In sickness not ignoble, I rejoice,
Aye, and could weep for love of such award."
So answer'd I, continuing, " if it please,
Majestic shadow, tell me sure not all
Those melodies sung into the world's ear
Are useless sure a poet is a sage;
A humanist, physician to all men.
That I am none I feel, as vultures feel
They are no birds when eagles are abroad.
What am I then? Thou spakest of my tribe
What tribe? " — The tall shade veil'd in drooping white
Then spake, so much more earnest, that the breath
About a golden censer from the hand
Pendent. — " Art thou not of the dreamer tribe?
The poet and the dreamer are distinct,
Diverse, sheer opposite, antipodes.
The one pours out a balm upon the world,
The other vexes it. " Then shouted I
Spite of myself, and with a Pythia's spleen,
"Apollo! faded, farflown Apollo!
Where is thy misty pestilence to creep
Into the dwellings, thro' the door crannies,
Of all mock lyrists, large self-worshipers,
And careless hectorers in proud bad verse.
Tho' I breathe death with them it will be life
To see them sprawl before me into graves.
Majestic shadow, tell me where I am,
Whose altar this; for whom this incense curls
What image this, whose face I cannot see,
For the broad marble knees; and who thou art,
Of accent feminine, so courteous."
Then the tall shade, in drooping linens veil'd,
Spake out, so much more earnest, that her breath
Stirr'd the thin folds of gauze that drooping hung
About a golden censer from her hand
Long-treasured tears. " This temple sad and lone
Is all spar'd from the thunder of a war
Foughten long since by giant hierarchy
Against rebellion this old image here,
Whose carved features wrinkled as he fell,
Is Saturn's; I, Moneta, left supreme
Sole priestess of his desolation. " —
I had no words to answer; for my tongue,
Useless, could find about its roofed home
No syllable of a fit majesty
To make rejoinder to Moneta's mourn.
There was a silence while the altar's blaze
Was fainting for sweet food I look'd thereon,
And on the paved floor, where nigh were pil'd
Faggots of cinnamon, and many heaps
Of other crisped spicewood — then again
I look'd upon the altar and its horns
Whiten'd with ashes, and its lang'rous flame,
And then upon the offerings again;
And so by turns — till sad Moneta cried,
"The sacrifice is done, but not the less,
Will I be kind to thee for thy goodwill.
Shall be to thee a wonder; for the scenes
Still swooning vivid through my globed brain
With an electral changing misery
Thou shalt with those dull mortal eyes behold,
Free from all pain, if wonder pain thee not."
As near as an immortal's sphered words
Could to a mother's soften, were these last
But yet I had a terror of her robes,
And chiefly of the veils, that from her brow
Hung pale, and curtain'd her in mysteries
That made my heart too small to hold its blood.
This saw that Goddess, and with sacred hand
Parted the veils. Then saw I a wan face,
Not pin'd by human sorrows, but bright blanch'd
By an immortal sickness which kills not;
It works a constant change, which happy death
Can put no end to; deathwards progressing
To no death was that visage; it had pass'd
The lily and the snow; and beyond these
I must not think now, though I saw that face —
But for her eyes I should have fled away.
They held me back, with a benignant light,
Half closed, and visionless entire they seem'd
Of all external things — they saw me not,
But in blank splendor beam'd like the mild moon,
Who comforts those she sees not, who knows not
What eyes are upward cast. As I had found
A grain of gold upon a mountain's side,
And twing'd with avarice strain'd out my eyes
To search its sullen entrails rich with ore,
So at the view of sad moneta's brow,
I ached to see what things the hollow brain
Behind enwombed what high tragedy
In the dark secret chambers of her skull
Was acting, that could give so dread a stress
To her cold lips, and fill with such a light
Her planetary eyes; and touch her voice
With such a sorrow — " Shade of Memory!"
Cried I, with act adorant at her feet,
"By all the gloom hung round thy fallen house,
By this last temple, by the golden age,
By great Apollo, thy dear foster child,
And by thyself, forlorn divinity,
The pale Omega of a wither'd race,
Let me behold, according as thou said'st,
No sooner had this conjuration pass'd
My devout lips; than side by side we stood,
( Like a stunt bramble by a solemn pine )
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.
Onward I look'd beneath the gloomy boughs,
And saw, what first I thought an image huge,
Like to the image pedestal'd so high
In Saturn's temple. Then Moneta's voice
Came brief upon mine ear, — " So Saturn sat
When he had lost his realms " — Whereon there grew
A power within me of enormous ken,
To see as a God sees, and take the depth
Of things as nimbly as the outward eye
Can size and shape pervade. The lofty theme
At those few words hung vast before my mind,
With half unravel'd web. I set myself
Upon an eagle's watch, that I might see,
And seeing ne'er forget. No stir of life
Was in this shrouded vale, not so much air
As in the zoning of a summer's day
But where the dead leaf fell there did it rest.
A stream went voiceless by, still deaden'd more
By reason of the fallen divinity
Spreading more shade the Naiad 'mid her reeds
Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips.
Along the margin sand large footmarks went
No farther than to where old Saturn's feet
Had rested, and there slept, how long a sleep!
Degraded, cold, upon the sodden ground
His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead,
Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were clos'd,
While his bow'd head seem'd listening to the Earth,
His antient 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.
Then came the griev'd voice of Mnemosyne,
And griev'd I hearken'd. " That divinity
Whom thou saw'st step from yon forlornest wood,
And with slow pace approach our fallen King,
Is Thea, softest-natur'd of our brood."
I mark'd the goddess in fair statuary
And in her sorrow nearer woman's tears.
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 hollow ear
Leaning, with parted lips, some words she spoke
In solemn tenor and deep organ tune;
Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue
Would come in this-like accenting; how frail
To that large utterance of the early Gods! —
"Saturn! look up — and for what, poor lost King?
I have no comfort for thee, no — not one;
I cannot cry, Wherefore) thus) sleepest) thou)
For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth
Knows thee not, so afflicted, for a God;
The ocean too, with all its solemn noise,
Is emptied of thine hoary majesty.
Thy thunder, captious at the new command,
Rumbles reluctant o'er our fallen house;
And thy sharp lightning in unpracticed hands
Scorches and burns our once serene domain.
With such remorseless speed still come new woes
That unbelief has not a space to breathe.
Saturn, sleep on Me thoughtless, why should 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,
Forests, branch-charmed by the earnest stars,
Dream, and so dream all night, without a noise,
Save from one gradual solitary gust,
Swelling upon the silence; dying off;
As if the ebbing air had but one wave;
So came these words, and went; the while in tears
She press'd her fair large forehead to the earth,
Just where her fallen hair might spread in curls,
A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet.
Long, long, those two were postured motionless,
Like sculpture builded up upon the grave
I look'd upon them; still they were the same;
The frozen God still bending to the earth,
And the sad Goddess weeping at his feet.
Moneta silent. Without stay or prop
But my own weak mortality, I bore
The load of this eternal quietude,
The unchanging gloom, and the three fixed shapes
Ponderous upon my senses a whole moon.
For by my burning brain I measured sure
Her silver seasons shedded on the night
And ever day by day methought I grew
More gaunt and ghostly — oftentimes I pray'd
Intense, that death would take me from the vale
And all its burthens — gasping with despair
Of change, hour after hour I curs'd myself
Until old Saturn rais'd his faded eyes,
And look'd around and saw his kingdom gone,
And all the gloom and sorrow of the place,
And that fair kneeling Goddess at his feet.
As the moist scent of flowers, and grass, and leaves
Fills forest dells with a pervading air,
Known to the woodland nostril, so the words
Even to the hollows of time-eaten oaks,
And to the winding in the foxes' holes,
With sad low tones, while thus he spake, and sent
Strange musings to the solitary Pan.
"Moan, brethren, moan; for we are swallow'd up
And buried from all godlike exercise
Of influence benign on planets pale,
And peaceful sway above man's harvesting,
And all those acts which deity supreme
Doth ease its heart of love in. Moan and wail.
Moan, brethren, moan; for lo! the rebel spheres
Spin round, the stars their antient courses keep,
Clouds still with shadowy moisture haunt the earth,
Still suck their fill of light from sun and moon,
Still buds the tree, and still the sea-shores murmur.
There is no death in all the universe
No smell of death — there shall be death — Moan, moan,
Moan, Cybele, moan, for thy pernicious babes
Have chang'd a God into a shaking palsy.
Moan, brethren, moan, for I have no strength left,
Weak as the reed — weak — feeble as my voice —
O, O, the pain, the pain of feebleness.
Throw down those imps, and give me victory.
Let me hear other groans; and trumpets blown
Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival
From the gold peaks of heaven's high piled clouds;
Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir
Of strings in hollow shells; and let there be
Beautiful things made new, for the surprize
Of the sky-children' — So he feebly ceas'd,
With such a poor and sickly sounding pause,
Methought I heard some old man of the earth
Bewailing earthly loss; nor could my eyes
And ears act with that pleasant unison of sense
Which marries sweet sound with the grace of form,
And dolourous accent from a tragic harp
With large-limb'd visions. More I scrutinized
Still fix'd he sat beneath the sable trees,
Whose arms spread straggling in wild serpent forms,
With leaves all hush'd his awful presence there
( Now all was silent ) gave a deadly lie
To what I erewhile heard only his lips
Trembled amid the white curls of his beard.
They told the truth, though, round, the snowy locks
Hung nobly, as upon the face of heaven
And stretch'd her white arm through the hollow dark,
Pointing some whither whereat he too rose
Like a vast giant seen by men at sea
To grow pale from the waves at dull midnight.
They melted from my sight into the woods
Ere I could turn, Moneta cried — " These twain
Are speeding to the families of grief,
Where roof'd in by black rocks they waste in pain
And darkness for no hope. " — And she spake on,
As ye may read who can unwearied pass
Onward from the antichamber of this dream,
Where even at the open doors awhile
I must delay, and glean my memory
Of her high phrase — perhaps no further dare.

160. The Fall of Hyperion: A Dream CANTO II

"Mortal, that thou mayst understand aright,
I humanize my sayings to thine ear,
Making comparisons of earthly things;
Or thou might'st better listen to the wind,
Whose language is to thee a barren noise,
Though it blows legend-laden through the trees —
In melancholy realms big tears are shed,
Too huge for mortal tongue, or pen of scribe.
The Titans fierce, self-hid, or prison-bound,
Groan for the old allegiance once more,
Listening in their doom for Saturn's voice.
But one of our whole eagle-brood still keeps
His sov'reignty, and rule, and majesty;
Blazing Hyperion on his orbed fire
Still sits, still snuffs the incense teeming up
From man to the Sun's God yet unsecure,
For as upon the earth dire prodigies
Fright and perplex, so also shudders he
Nor at dog's howl, or gloom-bird's even screech,
Or the familiar visitings of one
Upon the first toll of his passing bell
But horrors, portion'd to a giant nerve,
Make great Hyperion ache. His palace bright,
Bastion'd with pyramids of glowing gold,
And touch'd with shade of bronzed obelisks,
Glares a blood red through all the thousand courts,
Arches, and domes, and fiery galeries;
And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds
Flush angerly when he would taste the wreaths
Of incense breath'd aloft from sacred hills,
Savour of poisonous brass and metals sick.
Wherefore when harbour'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 paces through the pleasant hours of ease,
With strides colossal, on from hall to hall;
While, far within each aisle and deep recess,
His winged minions in close clusters stand
Amaz'd, and full of fear; like anxious men
Who on a wide plain gather in sad troops,
When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers.
Even now, while Saturn, rous'd from icy trance
Goes, step for step, with Thea from yon woods,
Hyperion, leaving twilight in the rear,
Is sloping to the threshold of the west. —
Thither we tend. " — Now in clear light I stood,
Reliev'd from the dusk vale. Mnemosyne
Was sitting on a square edg'd polish'd stone,
That in its lucid depth reflected pure
Her priestess-garments. My quick eyes ran on
From stately nave to nave, from vault to vault,
And diamond paved lustrous long arcades.
Anon rush'd by the bright Hyperion;
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.

161. The day id gone, and all its sweets are gone

The day is gone, and all its sweets are gone!
Sweet voice, sweet lips, soft hand, and softer breast,
Warm breath, light whisper, tender semi-tone,
Bright eyes, accomplish'd 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 —
Vanish'd unseasonably at shut of eve,
When the dusk holiday — or holinight
Of fragrant-curtain'd Love begins to weave
The woof of darkness thick, for hid delight;
But, as I've read Love's missal through to-day,
He'll let me sleep, seeing I fast and pray.

162. I cry your mercy — pity — love! — aye, love

Merciful love that tantalises not,
One-thoughted, never-wandering, guileless love,
Unmask'd, 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,
Without 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!

163. What can I do to drive away

What can I do to drive away
Remembrance from my eyes? for they have seen,
Aye, an hour ago, my brilliant queen!
Touch has a memory. O say, Love, say,
What can I do to kill it and be free
In my old liberty?
When every fair one that I saw was fair,
Enough to catch me in but half a snare,
Not keep me there
My muse had wings,
And ever ready was to take her course
Whither I bent her force,
Unintellectual, yet divine to me; —
Divine, I say! — What sea-bird o'er the sea
Is a philosopher the while he goes
Winging along where the great water throes?
How shall I do
To get anew
Those moulted feathers, and so mount once more
Above, above
The reach of fluttering Love,
And make him cower lowly while I soar?
Shall I gulp wine? No, that is vulgarism,
A heresy and schism,
Foisted into the canon law of love; —
No, — wine is only sweet to happy men;
More dismal cares
Seize on me unawares, —
Where shall I learn to get my peace again?
To banish thoughts of that most hateful land,
Dungeoner of my friends, that wicked strand
That monstrous region, whose dull rivers pour,
Ever from their sordid urns unto the shore,
Unown'd of any weedy-haired gods;
Whose winds, all zephyrless, hold scourging rods,
Iced in the great lakes, to afflict mankind;
Whose rank-grown forests, frosted, black, and blind,
Would fright a Dryad; whose harsh herbag'd meads
Make lean and lank the starv'd ox while he feeds;
There bad flowers have no scent, birds no sweet song,
And great unerring nature once seems wrong.
O, for some sunny spell
To dissipate the shadows of this hell!
Say they are gone, — with the new dawning light
Steps forth my lady bright!
O, let me once more rest
My soul upon that dazzling breast!
Let once again these aching arms be plac'd,
The tender gaolers of thy waist!
And let me feel that warm breath here and there
To spread a rapture in my very hair, —
O, the sweetness of the pain!
Give me those lips again!
To dream of thee!

164. To Fanny

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
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 lily, 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,
Love, love alone, has 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 last repose.

165. King Stephen: A Fragment of a Tragedy ACT I SCENE I

Steph. If shame can on a soldier's vein-swoll'n front
Steph. Spread deeper crimson than the battle's toil,
Steph. Blush in your casing helmets! for see, see!
Steph. Yonder my chivalry, my pride of war,
Steph. Wrench'd with an iron hand from firm array,
Steph. Are routed loose about the plashy meads,
Steph. Of honour forfeit. O that my known voice
Steph. Could reach your dastard ears, and fright you more!
Steph. Fly, cowards, fly! gloucester is at your backs!
Steph. Throw your slack bridles o'er the flurried manes,
Steph. Scampering to death at last! 1-knt. The enemy
$1-knt. Bears his flaunt standard close upon their rear.
$2-knt. Sure of a bloody prey, seeing the fens
$2-knt. Will swamp them girth-deep.
Steph. Over head and ears,
Steph. No matter! 'tis a gallant enemy;
Steph. How like a comet he goes streaming on.
Steph. But we must plague him in the flank, — hey, friends?
Steph. We are well breath'd, — follow! deredvers!
Steph. What is the monstrous bugbear that can fright
Steph. Baldwin? bal.