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UPON a time, before the faery broods | |
Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods, | |
Before King Oberons bright diadem, | |
Sceptre, and mantle, claspd with dewy gem, | |
Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns | 5 |
From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslipd 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 Joves clouds, to escape the sight | 10 |
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 | 15 |
Pearls, while on land they witherd 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 Fancys casket were unlockd to choose. | 20 |
Ah, what a world of love was at her feet! | |
So Hermes thought, and a celestial heat | |
Burnt from his winged heels to either ear, | |
That from a whiteness, as the lily clear, | |
Blushd into roses mid his golden hair, | 25 |
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 prepard her secret bed: | 30 |
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, | 35 |
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 | 40 |
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, | 45 |
Bright, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake. | |
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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 barrd; | 50 |
And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed, | |
Dissolvd, or brighter shone, or interwreathed | |
Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries | |
So rainbow-sided, touchd with miseries, | |
She seemd, at once, some penanced lady elf, | 55 |
Some demons mistress, or the demons self. | |
Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire | |
Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadnes tiar: | |
Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet! | |
She had a womans mouth with all its pearls complete: | 60 |
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 Loves sake, | 65 |
And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay, | |
Like a stoopd falcon ere he takes his prey. | |
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Fair Hermes, crownd with feathers, fluttering light, | |
I had a splendid dream of thee last night: | |
I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold, | 70 |
Among the Gods, upon Olympus old, | |
The only sad one; for thou didst not hear | |
The soft, lute-fingerd Muses chaunting clear, | |
Nor even Apollo when he sang alone, | |
Deaf to his throbbing throats long, long melodious moan. | 75 |
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? | 80 |
Whereat the star of Lethe not delayd | |
His rosy eloquence, and thus inquired: | |
Thou smooth-lippd serpent, surely high inspired! | |
Thou beauteous wreath, with melancholy eyes, | |
Possess whatever bliss thou canst devise, | 85 |
Telling me only where my nymph is fled, | |
Where she doth breathe! Bright planet, thou hast said, | |
Returnd 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! | 90 |
Light flew his earnest words, among the blossoms blown. | |
Then thus again the brilliance feminine: | |
Too frail of heart! for this lost nymph of thine, | |
Free as the air, invisibly, she strays | |
About these thornless wilds; her pleasant days | 95 |
She tastes unseen; unseen her nimble feet | |
Leave traces in the grass and flowers sweet; | |
From weary tendrils, and bowd branches green, | |
She plucks the fruit unseen, she bathes unseen: | |
And by my power is her beauty veild | 100 |
To keep it unaffronted, unassaild | |
By the love-glances of unlovely eyes, | |
Of Satyrs, Fauns, and bleard Silenus sighs. | |
Pale grew her immortality, for woe | |
Of all these lovers, and she grieved so | 105 |
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, | 110 |
If thou wilt, as thou swearest, grant my boon! | |
Then, once again, the charmed God began | |
An oath, and through the serpents ears it ran | |
Warm, tremulous, devout, psalterian. | |
Ravishd, she lifted her Circean head, | 115 |
Blushd a live damask, and swift-lisping said, | |
I was a woman, let me have once more | |
A womans shape, and charming as before. | |
I love a youth of CorinthO the bliss! | |
Give me my womans form, and place me where he is. | 120 |
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 breathd upon his eyes, and swift was seen | |
Of both the guarded nymph near-smiling on the green. | 125 |
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, flushd moment, hovering, it might seem | |
Dashd by the wood-nymphs beauty, so he burnd; | 130 |
Then, lighting on the printless verdure, turnd | |
To the swoond 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, | 135 |
And towards her stept: she, like a moon in wane, | |
Faded before him, cowerd, 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, | 140 |
She felt the warmth, her eyelids opend bland, | |
And, like new flowers at morning song of bees, | |
Bloomd, and gave up her honey to the lees. | |
Into the green-recessed woods they flew; | |
Nor grew they pale, as mortal lovers do. | 145 |
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Left to herself, the serpent now began | |
To change; her elfin blood in madness ran, | |
Her mouth foamd, and the grass, therewith besprent, | |
Witherd at dew so sweet and virulent; | |
Her eyes in torture fixd, and anguish drear, | 150 |
Hot, glazd, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear, | |
Flashd phosphor and sharp sparks, without one cooling tear. | |
The colours all inflamd throughout her train, | |
She writhd about, convulsd with scarlet pain: | |
A deep volcanian yellow took the place | 155 |
Of all her milder-mooned bodys 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, | |
Eclipsd her crescents, and lickd up her stars: | 160 |
So that, in moments few, she was undrest | |
Of all her sapphires, greens, and amethyst, | |
And rubious-argent: of all these bereft, | |
Nothing but pain and ugliness were left. | |
Still shone her crown; that vanishd, also she | 165 |
Melted and disappeard 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 dissolvd: Cretes forests heard no more. | 170 |
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Whither fled Lamia, now a lady bright, | |
A full-born beauty new and exquisite? | |
She fled into that valley they pass oer | |
Who go to Corinth from Cenchreas shore; | |
And rested at the foot of those wild hills, | 175 |
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 birds flutter from a wood, | 180 |
Fair, on a sloping green of mossy tread, | |
By a clear pool, wherein she passioned | |
To see herself escapd from so sore ills, | |
While her robes flaunted with the daffodils. | |
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Ah, happy Lycius!for she was a maid | 185 |
More beautiful than ever twisted braid, | |
Or sighd, or blushd, or on spring-flowered lea | |
Spread a green kirtle to the minstrelsy: | |
A virgin purest lippd, yet in the lore | |
Of love deep learned to the red hearts core: | 190 |
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 | 195 |
Its most ambiguous atoms with sure art; | |
As though in Cupids college she had spent | |
Sweet days a lovely graduate, still unshent, | |
And kept his rosy terms in idle languishment. | |
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Why this fair creature chose so fairily | 200 |
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 willd, her spirit went; | 205 |
Whether to faint Elysium, or where | |
Down through tress-lifting waves the Nereids fair | |
Wind into Thetis bower by many a pearly stair; | |
Or where God Bacchus drains his cups divine, | |
Stretchd out, at ease, beneath a glutinous pine; | 210 |
Or where in Plutos gardens palatine | |
Mulcibers 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, | 215 |
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 | 220 |
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 | 225 |
Fresh anchord; 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 betterd his desire; | |
For by some freakful chance he made retire | 230 |
From his companions, and set forth to walk, | |
Perhaps grown wearied of their Corinth talk: | |
Over the solitary hills he fared, | |
Thoughtless at first, but ere eves star appeared | |
His phantasy was lost, where reason fades, | 235 |
In the calmd 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 neighbourd to him, and yet so unseen | 240 |
She stood: he passd, shut up in mysteries, | |
His mind wrappd like his mantle, while her eyes | |
Followd his steps, and her neck regal white | |
Turndsyllabling thus, Ah, Lycius bright, | |
And will you leave me on the hills alone? | 245 |
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 seemd he had lovd them a whole summer long: | 250 |
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; | 255 |
Her soft look growing coy, she saw his chain so sure: | |
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. | 260 |
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 | 265 |
Of thine harmonious sisters keep in tune | |
Thy spheres, and as thy silver proxy shine? | |
So sweetly to these ravishd ears of mine | |
Came thy sweet greeting, that if thou shouldst fade | |
Thy memory will waste me to a shade: | 270 |
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? | 275 |
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 | |
That finer spirits cannot breathe below | 280 |
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? | 285 |
It cannot beAdieu! So said, she rose | |
Tiptoe with white arms spread. He, sick to lose | |
The amorous promise of her lone complain, | |
Swoond, murmuring of love, and pale with pain. | |
The cruel lady, without any show | 290 |
Of sorrow for her tender favourites 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: | 295 |
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 | 300 |
And then she whisperd in such trembling tone, | |
As those who, safe together met alone | |
For the first time through many anguishd days, | |
Use other speech than looks; bidding him raise | |
His drooping head, and clear his soul of doubt, | 305 |
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 wonderd how his eyes could miss | 310 |
Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said, | |
She dwelt but half retird, 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 passd him by, | 315 |
Where gainst a column he leant thoughtfully | |
At Venus temple porch, mid baskets heapd | |
Of amorous herbs and flowers, newly reapd | |
Late on that eve, as twas the night before | |
The Adonian feast; whereof she saw no more, | 320 |
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 womans lore so well; | 325 |
And every word she spake enticd him on | |
To unperplexd delight and pleasure known. | |
Let the mad poets say whateer they please | |
Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses, | |
There is not such a treat among them all, | 330 |
Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall, | |
As a real woman, lineal indeed | |
From Pyrrhas pebbles or old Adams seed. | |
Thus gentle Lamia judgd, and judgd aright, | |
That Lycius could not love in half a fright, | 335 |
So threw the goddess off, and won his heart | |
More pleasantly by playing womans part, | |
With no more awe than what her beauty gave, | |
That, while it smote, still guaranteed to save. | |
Lycius to all made eloquent reply, | 340 |
Marrying to every word a twinborn sigh; | |
And last, pointing to Corinth, askd her sweet, | |
If twas too far that night for her soft feet. | |
The way was short, for Lamias eagerness | |
Made, by a spell, the triple league decrease | 345 |
To a few paces; not at all surmised | |
By blinded Lycius, so in her comprized. | |
They passd the city gates, he knew not how | |
So noiseless, and he never thought to know. | |
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As men talk in a dream, so Corinth all, | 350 |
Throughout her palaces imperial, | |
And all her populous streets and temples lewd, | |
Mutterd, like tempest in the distance brewd, | |
To the wide-spreaded night above her towers. | |
Men, women, rich and poor, in the cool hours, | 355 |
Shuffled their sandals oer the pavement white, | |
Companiond or alone; while many a light | |
Flared, here and there, from wealthy festivals, | |
And threw their moving shadows on the walls, | |
Or found them clusterd in the corniced shade | 360 |
Of some archd temple door, or dusky colonnade. | |
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Muffling his face, of greeting friends in fear, | |
Her fingers he pressd hard, as one came near | |
With curld gray beard, sharp eyes, and smooth bald crown, | |
Slow-steppd, and robed in philosophic gown: | 365 |
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? | 370 |
Im wearied, said fair Lamia: tell me who | |
Is that old man? I cannot bring to mind | |
His features:Lycius! wherefore did you blind | |
Yourself from his quick eyes? Lycius replied, | |
Tis Apollonius sage, my trusty guide | 375 |
And good instructor; but to-night he seems | |
The ghost of folly haunting my sweet dreams. | |
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While yet he spake they had arrived before | |
A pillard porch, with lofty portal door, | |
Where hung a silver lamp, whose phosphor glow | 380 |
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 | 385 |
Could eer have touchd there. Sounds Aeolian | |
Breathd from the hinges, as the ample span | |
Of the wide doors disclosd a place unknown | |
Some time to any, but those two alone, | |
And a few Persian mutes, who that same year | 390 |
Were seen about the markets: none knew where | |
They could inhabit; the most curious | |
Were foild, who watchd to trace them to their house: | |
And but the flitter-winged verse must tell, | |
For truths sake, what woe afterwards befel, | 395 |
Twould humour many a heart to leave them thus, | |
Shut from the busy world of more incredulous. | |
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See Notes. |
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