| |
| 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, | 5 |
| 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. | 10 |
| 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. | 15 |
| |
| 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 | 20 |
| Unveil’d the summer heaven, blue and clear, | |
| 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; | 25 |
| 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 | 30 |
| 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 | 35 |
| 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: | 40 |
| “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: | |
| “No, no, you have dismiss’d me; and I go | |
| “From your breast houseless: ay, it must be so.” | 45 |
| 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 | 50 |
| “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. | 55 |
| “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 | 60 |
| “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, | 65 |
| 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 | 70 |
| 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 | 75 |
| 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 | 80 |
| 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, | 85 |
| “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? | |
| “Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth, | 90 |
| “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, | 95 |
| “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 | 100 |
| “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. | 105 |
| |
| 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 | 110 |
| Had not a friend. So being left alone, | |
| (Lycius was gone to summon all his kin) | |
| And knowing surely she could never win | |
| His foolish heart from its mad pompousness, | |
| She set herself, high-thoughted, how to dress | 115 |
| 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 | 120 |
| 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 | 125 |
| 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 | 130 |
| 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, | 135 |
| Mission’d her viewless servants to enrich | |
| 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, | 140 |
| 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. | 145 |
| |
| 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, | 150 |
| 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; | 155 |
| 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; | |
| ’Twas Apollonius: something too he laugh’d, | |
| As though some knotty problem, that had daft | 160 |
| 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 | 165 |
| “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; | 170 |
| 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 | 175 |
| 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 | 180 |
| To the high roof, still mimick’d as they rose | |
| Along the mirror’d walls by twin-clouds odorous. | |
| 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 | 185 |
| Of cups and goblets, and the store thrice told | |
| Of Ceres’ horn, and, in huge vessels, wine | |
| Came 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. | 190 |
| |
| 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 | 195 |
| 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 | 200 |
| 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 | |
| Of powerful instruments:—the gorgeous dyes, | 205 |
| 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, | 210 |
| 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 | 215 |
| 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. | 220 |
| |
| 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 | 225 |
| The thyrsus, that his watching eyes may swim | |
| Into forgetfulness; and, for the sage, | |
| Let spear-grass and the spiteful thistle wage | |
| War on his temples. Do not all charms fly | |
| At the mere touch of cold philosophy? | 230 |
| 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, | 235 |
| 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, | 240 |
| 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 | 245 |
| 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: | 250 |
| ’Twas icy, and the cold ran through his veins; | |
| Then sudden it grew hot, and all the pains | |
| 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. | 255 |
| 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. | 260 |
| “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; | 265 |
| 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. | 270 |
| “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 | |
| The deep-recessed vision:—all was blight; | 275 |
| 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, | 280 |
| “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, | 285 |
| “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.” | 290 |
| “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 | 295 |
| 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? | |
| Then Lamia breath’d death breath; the sophist’s eye, | |
| Like a sharp spear, went through her utterly, | 300 |
| 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, | 305 |
| 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, | 310 |
| And, in its marriage robe, the heavy body wound. | |
| |
| See Notes. |
| |
