ENDYMION.

O it has ruffled every spirit there,Saving love's self, who stands superb to shareThe 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 know540What themselves think of it; from forth his eyesThere darts strange light of varied hues and dyes:A scowl is sometimes on his brow, but whoLook full upon it feel anon the blueOf his fair eyes run liquid through their souls.Endymion feels it, and no more controlsThe 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 wild550With love–he–but alas! too well I seeThou know'st the deepness of his misery.Ah, smile not so, my son: I tell thee true,That when through heavy hours I used to rueThe endless sleep of this new-born Adon',This stranger ay I pitied. For uponA dreary morning once I fled awayInto the breezy clouds, to weep and prayFor this my love: for vexing Mars had teaz'dMe even to tears: thence, when a little eas'd,560Down-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 blindOver his sullen eyes: I saw him throwHimself on wither'd leaves, even as thoughDeath had come sudden; for no jot he mov'd,Yet mutter'd wildly. I could hear he lov'dSome fair immortal, and that his embraceHad zoned her through the night. There is no trace570Of 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 fendsThee safely through these wonders for sweet ends.'Tis a concealment needful in extreme;And if I guess'd not so, the sunny beamThou shouldst mount up to with me. Now adieu!Here must we leave thee."–At these words up flew580The impatient doves, up rose the floating car,Up went the hum celestial. High afarThe Latmian saw them minish into nought;And, when all were clear vanish'd, still he caughtA vivid lightning from that dreadful bow.When all was darkened, with Etnean throeThe 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,590And he in loneliness: he felt assur'dOf happy times, when all he had endur'dWould seem a feather to the mighty prize.So, with unusual gladness, on he hiesThrough 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 thence600Stretching across a void, then guiding o'erEnormous chasms, where, all foam and roar,Streams subterranean tease their granite beds;Then heighten'd just above the silvery headsOf a thousand fountains, so that he could dashThe waters with his spear; but at the splash,Done heedlessly, those spouting columns roseSudden a poplar's height, and 'gan to encloseHis diamond path with fretwork, streaming roundAlive, and dazzling cool, and with a sound,610Haply, like dolphin tumults, when sweet shellsWelcome the float of Thetis. Long he dwellsOn 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 broideries620Of flowers, peacocks, swans, and naiads fair.Swifter than lightning went these wonders rare;And then the water, into stubborn streamsCollecting, mimick'd the wrought oaken beams,Pillars, and frieze, and high fantastic roof,Of those dusk places in times far aloofCathedrals call'd. He bade a loth farewelTo these founts Protean, passing gulph, and dell,And torrent, and ten thousand jutting shapes,Half seen through deepest gloom, and griesly gapes,630Blackening on every side, and overheadA vaulted dome like Heaven's, far bespreadWith starlight gems: aye, all so huge and strange,The solitary felt a hurried changeWorking 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 beholdsNew sudden things, nor casts his mental slough?Forth from a rugged arch, in the dusk below,640Came mother Cybele! alone–alone–In sombre chariot; dark foldings thrownAbout her majesty, and front death-pale,With turrets crown'd. Four maned lions haleThe sluggish wheels; solemn their toothed maws,Their surly eyes brow-hidden, heavy pawsUplifted drowsily, and nervy tailsCowering their tawny brushes. Silent sailsThis shadowy queen athwart, and faints awayIn another gloomy arch.650Wherefore delay,Young traveller, in such a mournful place?Art thou wayworn, or canst not further traceThe diamond path? And does it indeed endAbrupt in middle air? Yet earthward bendThy forehead, and to Jupiter cloud-borneCall ardently! He was indeed wayworn;Abrupt, in middle air, his way was lost;To cloud-borne Jove he bowed, and there crostTowards him a large eagle, 'twixt whose wings,660Without 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 fellThrough unknown things; till exhaled asphodel,And rose, with spicy fannings interbreath'd,Came swelling forth where little caves were wreath'dSo thick with leaves and mosses, that they seem'dLarge honey-combs of green, and freshly teem'dWith airs delicious. In the greenest nook670The eagle landed him, and farewel took.It was a jasmine bower, all bestrownWith golden moss. His every sense had grownEthereal for pleasure; 'bove his headFlew a delight half-graspable; his treadWas Hesperean; to his capable earsSilence was music from the holy spheres;A dewy luxury was in his eyes;The little flowers felt his pleasant sighsAnd stirr'd them faintly. Verdant cave and cell680He wander'd through, oft wondering at such swellOf sudden exaltation: but, "Alas!Said he, "will all this gush of feeling passAway in solitude? And must they wane,Like melodies upon a sandy plain,Without an echo? Then shall I be leftSo 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?690Or keeping watch among those starry seven,Old Atlas' children? Art a maid of the waters,One of shell-winding Triton's bright-hair'd daughters?Or art, impossible! a nymph of Dian's,Weaving a coronal of tender scionsFor very idleness? Where'er thou art,Methinks it now is at my will to startInto thine arms; to scare Aurora's train,And snatch thee from the morning; o'er the mainTo scud like a wild bird, and take thee off700From thy sea-foamy cradle; or to doffThy shepherd vest, and woo thee mid fresh leaves.No, no, too eagerly my soul deceivesIts powerless self: I know this cannot be.O let me then by some sweet dreaming fleeTo her entrancements: hither sleep awhile!Hither most gentle sleep! and soothing foilFor some few hours the coming solitude."Thus spake he, and that moment felt enduedWith power to dream deliciously; so wound710Through a dim passage, searching till he foundThe smoothest mossy bed and deepest, whereHe threw himself, and just into the airStretching 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 cryThey trembled to each other.–Helicon!O fountain'd hill! Old Homer's Helicon!That thou wouldst spout a little streamlet o'er720These sorry pages; then the verse would soarAnd sing above this gentle pair, like larkOver his nested young: but all is darkAround thine aged top, and thy clear fountExhales in mists to heaven. Aye, the countOf mighty Poets is made up; the scrollIs folded by the Muses; the bright rollIs in Apollo's hand: our dazed eyesHave seen a new tinge in the western skies:The world has done its duty. Yet, oh yet,730Although the sun of poesy is set,These lovers did embrace, and we must weepThat there is no old power left to steepA quill immortal in their joyous tears.Long time in silence did their anxious fearsQuestion that thus it was; long time they layFondling and kissing every doubt away;Long time ere soft caressing sobs beganTo mellow into words, and then there ranTwo bubbling springs of talk from their sweet lips.740"O known Unknown! from whom my being sipsSuch darling essence, wherefore may I notBe ever in these arms? in this sweet spotPillow my chin for ever? ever pressThese toying hands and kiss their smooth excess?Why not for ever and for ever feelThat breath about my eyes? Ah, thou wilt stealAway from me again, indeed, indeed–Thou wilt be gone away, and wilt not heedMy lonely madness. Speak, my kindest fair!750Is–is it to be so? No! Who will dareTo pluck thee from me? And, of thine own will,Full well I feel thou wouldst not leave me. StillLet me entwine thee surer, surer–nowHow 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,760And by these tenderest, milky sovereignties–These tenderest, and by the nectar-wine,The passion"—"O lov'd Ida the divine!Endymion! dearest! Ah, unhappy me!His soul will 'scape us–O felicity!How he does love me! His poor temples beatTo 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 byIn tranced dulness; speak, and let that spell770Affright this lethargy! I cannot quellIts heavy pressure, and will press at leastMy lips to thine, that they may richly feastUntil 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 bereaveMy soul of any rest: yet must I hence:Yet, can I not to starry eminenceUplift thee; nor for very shame can own780Myself to thee. Ah, dearest, do not groanOr thou wilt force me from this secrecy,And I must blush in heaven. O that IHad done it already; that the dreadful smilesAt my lost brightness, my impassion'd wiles,Had waned from Olympus' solemn height,And from all serious Gods; that our delightWas quite forgotten, save of us alone!And wherefore so ashamed? 'Tis but to atoneFor endless pleasure, by some coward blushes:790Yet must I be a coward!–Honour rushesToo palpable before me–the sad lookOf Jove–Minerva's start–no bosom shookWith awe of purity–no Cupid pinionIn reverence veiled–mycrystalline dominionHalf lost, and all old hymns made nullity!But what is this to love? O I could flyWith thee into the ken of heavenly powers,So thou wouldst thus, for many sequent hours,Press me so sweetly. Now I swear at once800That I am wise, that Pallas is a dunce–Perhaps her love like mine is but unknown–O I do think that I have been aloneIn chastity: yes, Pallas has been sighing,While every eye saw me my hair uptyingWith 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:810Ere long I will exalt thee to the shineOf heaven ambrosial; and we will shadeOurselves 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 soundsOf our close voices marry at their birth;Let us entwine hoveringly–O dearthOf human words! roughness of mortal speech!820Lispings empyrean will I sometime teachThine honied tongue–lute-breathings, which I gaspTo have thee understand, now while I claspThee thus, and weep for fondness–I am pain'd,Endymion: woe! woe! is grief contain'dIn the very deeps of pleasure, my sole life?"–Hereat, with many sobs, her gentle strifeMelted into a languor. He return'dEntranced vows and tears.Ye who have yearn'd830With too much passion, will here stay and pity,For the mere sake of truth; as 'tis a dittyNot of these days, but long ago 'twas toldBy a cavern wind unto a forest old;And then the forest told it in a dreamTo a sleeping lake, whose cool and level gleamA poet caught as he was journeyingTo Phœbus' shrine; and in it he did flingHis weary limbs, bathing an hour's space,And after, straight in that inspired place840He sang the story up into the air,Giving it universal freedom. ThereHas it been ever sounding for those earsWhose tips are glowing hot. The legend cheersYon centinel stars; and he who listens to itMust surely be self-doomed or he will rue it:For quenchless burnings come upon the heart,Made fiercer by a fear lest any partShould be engulphed in the eddying wind.As much as here is penn'd doth always find850A 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 unwoundHer 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 hersSweet paining on his ear: he sickly guess'dHow lone he was once more, and sadly press'd860His empty arms together, hung his head,And most forlorn upon that widow'd bedSat silently. Love's madness he had known:Often with more than tortured lion's groanMoanings had burst from him; but now that rageHad pass'd away: no longer did he wageA 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'dForgot all violence, and but commun'd870With melancholy thought: O he had swoon'dDrunken from pleasure's nipple; and his loveHenceforth was dove-like.–Loth was he to moveFrom the imprinted couch, and when he did,'Twas with slow, languid paces, and face hidIn muffling hands. So temper'd, out he stray'dHalf seeing visions that might have dismay'dAlecto's serpents; ravishments more keenThan Hermes' pipe, when anxious he did leanOver eclipsing eyes: and at the last880It was a sounding grotto, vaulted, vast,O'er studded with a thousand, thousand pearls,And crimson mouthed shells with stubborn curls,Of every shape and size, even to the bulkIn which whales arbour close, to brood and sulkAgainst an endless storm. Moreover too,Fish-semblances, of green and azure hue,Ready to snort their streams. In this cool wonderEndymion sat down, and 'gan to ponderOn all his life: his youth, up to the day890When 'mid acclaim, and feasts, and garlands gay,He stept upon his shepherd throne: the lookOf 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 spurOf the old bards to mighty deeds: his plansTo nurse the golden age 'mong shepherd clans:That wondrous night: the great Pan-festival:900His 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'dHigh with excessive love. "And now," thought he,"How long must I remain in jeopardyOf blank amazements that amaze no more?Now I have tasted her sweet soul to the coreAll other depths are shallow: essences,Once spiritual, are like muddy lees,Meant but to fertilize my earthly root,910And make my branches lift a golden fruitInto the bloom of heaven: other light,Though it be quick and sharp enough to blightThe 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 swellsOf noises far away?–list!"–HereuponHe kept an anxious ear. The humming toneCame louder, and behold, there as he lay,920On either side outgush'd, with misty spray,A copious spring; and both together dash'dSwift, mad, fantastic round the rocks, and lash'dAmong the conchs and shells of the lofty grot,Leaving a trickling dew. At last they shotDown from the ceiling's height, pouring a noiseAs of some breathless racers whose hopes poizeUpon the last few steps, and with spent forceAlong the ground they took a winding course.Endymion follow'd–for it seem'd that one930Ever pursued, the other strove to shun–Follow'd their languid mazes, till well nighHe had left thinking of the mystery,–And was now rapt in tender hoveringsOver the vanish'd bliss. Ah! what is it singsHis 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 fearSuch tenderness as mine? Great Dian, why,940Why didst thou hear her prayer? O that IWere rippling round her dainty fairness now,Circling about her waist, and striving howTo entice her to a dive! then stealing inBetween her luscious lips and eyelids thin.O that her shining hair was in the sun,And I distilling from it thence to runIn amorous rillets down her shrinking form!To linger on her lily shoulders, warmBetween her kissing breasts, and every charm950Touch raptur'd!–See how painfully I flow:Fair maid, be pitiful to my great woe.Stay, stay thy weary course, and let me lead,A happy wooer, to the flowery meadWhere all that beauty snar'd me."–"Cruel god,Desist! or my offended mistress' nodWill stagnate all thy fountains:–tease me notWith syren words–Ah, have I really gotSuch power to madden thee? And is it true–Away, away, or I shall dearly rue960My very thoughts: in mercy then away,Kindest Alpheus, for should I obeyMy own dear will, 'twould be a deadly bane."–"O, Oread-Queen! would that thou hadst a painLike this of mine, then would I fearless turnAnd be a criminal."–"Alas, I burn,I shudder–gentle river, get thee hence.Alpheus! thou enchanter! every senseOf mine was once made perfect in these woods.Fresh breezes, bowery lawns, and innocent floods,970Ripe fruits, and lonely couch, contentment gave;But ever since I heedlessly did laveIn thy deceitful stream, a panting glowGrew strong within me: wherefore serve me so,And call it love? Alas, 'twas cruelty.Not once more did I close my happy eyesAmid the thrush's song. Away! Avaunt!O 'twas a cruel thing."–"Now thou dost tauntSo softly, Arethusa, that I thinkIf thou wast playing on my shady brink,980Thou wouldst bathe once again. Innocent maid!Stifle thine heart no more:–nor be afraidOf angry powers: there are deitiesWill shade us with their wings. Those fitful sighs'Tis almost death to hear: O let me pourA dewy balm upon them!–fear no more,Sweet Arethusa! Dian's self must feelSometimes these very pangs. Dear maiden, stealBlushing into my soul, and let us flyThese dreary caverns for the open sky.990I will delight thee all my winding course,From the green sea up to my hidden sourceAbout Arcadian forests; and will shewThe channels where my coolest waters flowThrough mossy rocks; where, 'mid exuberant green,I roam in pleasant darkness, more unseenThan Saturn in his exile; where I brimRound flowery islands, and take thence a skimOf mealy sweets, which myriads of beesBuzz from their honied wings: and thou shouldst pleaseThyself to choose the richest, where we might1001Be incense-pillow'd every summer night.Doff all sad fears, thou white deliciousness,And let us be thus comforted; unlessThou couldst rejoice to see my hopeless streamHurry distracted from Sol's temperate beam,And pour to death along some hungry sands."–"What can I do, Alpheus? Dian standsSevere before me: persecuting fate!Unhappy Arethusa! thou wast late1010A huntress free in"–At this, sudden fellThose two sad streams adown a fearful dell.The Latmian listen'd, but he heard no more,Save echo, faint repeating o'er and o'erThe name of Arethusa. On the vergeOf that dark gulph he wept, and said: "I urgeThee, 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.1020He turn'd–there was a whelming sound–he stept,There was a cooler light; and so he keptTowards it by a sandy path, and lo!More suddenly than doth a moment go,The visions of the earth were gone and fled–He saw the giant sea above his head.ENDYMION.BOOK III.There are who lord it o'er their fellow-menWith most prevailing tinsel: who unpenTheir baaing vanities, to browse awayThe comfortable green and juicy hayFrom human pastures; or, O torturing fact!Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack'dFire-branded foxes to sear up and singeOur gold and ripe-ear'd hopes. With not one tingeOf sanctuary splendour, not a sightAble to face an owl's, they still are dight10By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests,And crowns, and turbans. With unladen breasts,Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mountTo their spirit's perch, their being's high account,Their tiptop nothings, their dull skies, their thrones–Amid the fierce intoxicating tonesOf trumpets, shoutings, and belabour'd drums,And sudden cannon. All! how all this hums,In wakeful ears, like uproar past and gone–Like thunder clouds that spake to Babylon,20And set those old Chaldeans to their tasks.–Are then regalities all gilded masks?No, there are throned seats unscalableBut 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-tentsTo watch the abysm-birth of elements.Aye, 'bove the withering of old-lipp'd FateA thousand Powers keep religious state,30In 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 enrobeOur piece of heaven–whose benevolenceShakes hand with our own Ceres; every senseFilling with spiritual sweets to plenitude,As bees gorge full their cells. And, by the feud40'Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear,Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fairIs 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 bentTowards her with the Muses in thine heart;As if the ministring stars kept not apart,50Waiting for silver-footed messages.O Moon! the oldest shades 'mong oldest treesFeel palpitations when thou lookest in:O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier dinThe while they feel thine airy fellowship.Thou dost bless every where, with silver lipKissing 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;60And yet thy benediction passeth notOne obscure hiding-place, one little spotWhere pleasure may be sent: the nested wrenHas thy fair face within its tranquil ken,And from beneath a sheltering ivy leafTakes glimpses of thee; thou art a reliefTo the poor patient oyster, where it sleepsWithin its pearly house.–The mighty deeps,The monstrous sea is thine–the myriad sea!O Moon! far-spooming Ocean bows to thee,70And Tellus feelshis forehead's cumbrous load.Cynthia! where art thou now? What far abodeOf green or silvery bower doth enshrineSuch utmost beauty? Alas, thou dost pineFor one as sorrowful: thy cheek is paleFor one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewailHis 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!80She dies at the thinnest cloud; her lovelinessIs wan on Neptune's blue: yet there's a stressOf love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees,Dancing upon the waves, as if to pleaseThe curly foam with amorous influence.O, not so idle: for down-glancing thenceShe fathoms eddies, and runs wild aboutO'erwhelming water-courses; scaring outThe thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and fright'ningTheir savage eyes with unaccustomed lightning.90Where will the splendor be content to reach?O love! how potent hast thou been to teachStrange 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! them hast sent100A moon-beam to the deep, deep water-world,To find Endymion.On gold sand impearl'dWith lily shells, and pebbles milky white,Poor Cynthia greeted him, and sooth'd her lightAgainst his pallid face: he felt the charmTo breathlessness, and suddenly a warmOf his heart's blood: 'twas very sweet; he stay'dHis wandering steps, and half-entranced laidHis head upon a tuft of straggling weeds,110To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads,Lashed from the crystal roof by fishes' tails.And so he kept, until the rosy veilsMantling the east, by Aurora's peering handWere lifted from the water's breast, and faun'dInto sweet air; and sober'd morning cameMeekly through billows:–when like taper-flameLeft sudden by a dallying breath of air,He rose in silence, and once more 'gan fareAlong his fated way.120Far had he roam'd,With nothing save the hollow vast, that foam'dAbove, around, and at his feet; save thingsMore dead than Morpheus' imaginings:Old rusted anchors, helmets, breast-plates largeOf gone sea-warriors; brazen beaks and targe;Rudders that for a hundred years had lostThe sway of human hand; gold vase emboss'dWith long-forgotten story, and whereinNo reveller had ever dipp'd a chin130But those of Saturn's vintage; mouldering scrolls,Writ in the tongue of heaven, by those soulsWho first were on the earth; and sculptures rudeIn ponderous stone, developing the moodOf ancient Nox;–then skeletons of man,Of beast, behemoth, and leviathan,And elephant, and eagle, and huge jawOf nameless monster. A cold leaden aweThese secrets struck into him; and unlessDian had chaced away that heaviness,140He might have died: but now, with cheered feel,He onward kept; wooing these thoughts to stealAbout the labyrinth in his soul of love."What is there in thee, Moon! that thou shouldst moveMy heart so potently? When yet a childI oft have dried my tears when thou hast smil'd.Thou seem'dst my sister: hand in hand we wentFrom eve to morn across the firmament.No apples would I gather from the tree,Till thou hadst cool'd their cheeks deliciously:150No tumbling water ever spake romance,But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance:No woods were green enough, no bower divine,Until thou liftedst up thine eyelids fine:In sowing time ne'er would I dibble take,Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake;And, in the summer tide of blossoming,No one but thee hath heard me blithly singAnd mesh my dewy flowers all the night.No melody was like a passing spright160If it went not to solemnize thy reign.Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and painBy thee were fashion'd to the self-same end;And as I grew in years, still didst thou blendWith 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:–170Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon!O what a wild and harmonized tuneMy spirit struck from all the beautiful!On some bright essence could I lean, and lullMyself to immortality: I prestNature'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 sway180Has been an under-passion to this hour.Now I begin to feel thine orby powerIs coming fresh upon me: O be kind,Keep back thine influence, and do not blindMy sovereign vision.–Dearest love, forgiveThat I can think away from thee and live!–Pardon me, airy planet, that I prizeOne thought beyond thine argent luxuries!How far beyond!" At this a surpris'd startFrosted the springing verdure of his heart;190For as he lifted up his eyes to swearHow his own goddess was past all things fair,He saw far in the concave green of the seaAn old man sitting calm and peacefully.Upon a weeded rock this old man sat,And his white hair was awful, and a matOf 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 groans200Of ambitious magic: every ocean-formWas woven in with black distinctness; storm,And calm, and whispering, and hideous roarWere emblem'd in the woof; with every shapeThat skims, or dives, or sleeps, 'twixt cape and cape.The gulphing whale was like a dot in the spell,Yet look upon it, and 'twould size and swellTo its huge self; and the minutest fishWould pass the very hardest gazer's wish,And shew his little eye's anatomy.210Then there was pictur'd the regalityOf 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'dSo stedfastly, that the new denizenHad time to keep him in amazed ken,To mark these shadowings, and stand in awe.The old man rais'd his hoary head and sawThe wilder'd stranger–seeming not to see,220His features were so lifeless. SuddenlyHe woke as from a trance; his snow-white browsWent arching up, and like two magic ploughsFurrow'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 toilHad watch'd for years in forlorn hermitage,Who had not from mid-life to utmost ageEas'd in one accent his o'er-burden'd soul,230Even 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'dEcho into oblivion, he said:–"Thou art the man! Now shall I lay my headIn peace upon my watery pillow: nowSleep 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 stungWith new-born life! What shall I do? Where go,240When I have cast this serpent-skin of woe?–I'll swim to the syrens, and one moment listenTheir 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 whaleTo some black cloud; thence down I'll madly sweepOn forked lightning, to the deepest deep,Where through some sucking pool I will be hurl'd250With rapture to the other side of the world!O, I am full of gladness! Sisters three,I bow full hearted to your old decree!Yes, every god be thank'd, and power benign,For I no more shall wither, droop, and pine.Thou art the man!" Endymion started backDismay'd; and, like a wretch from whom the rackTortures hot breath, and speech of agony,Mutter'd: "What lonely death am I to dieIn this cold region? Will he let me freeze,260And 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 drawHis 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 agone270Her soft arms were entwining me, and onHer voice I hung like fruit among green leaves:Her lips were all my own, and–ah, ripe sheavesOf happiness! ye on the stubble droop,But never may be garner'd. I must stoopMy head, and kiss death's foot. Love! love, farewel!Is there no hope from thee? This horrid spellWould melt at thy sweet breath.–By Dian's hindFeeding from her white fingers, on the windI see thy streaming hair! and now, by Pan,280I care not for this old mysterious man!"He spake, and walking to that aged form,Look'd high defiance. Lo! his heart 'gan warmWith pity, for the grey-hair'd creature wept.Had he then wrong'd a heart where sorrow kept?Had he, though blindly contumelious, broughtRheum to kind eyes, a sting to human thought,Convulsion to a mouth of many years?He had in truth; and he was ripe for tears.The penitent shower fell, as down he knelt290Before that care-worn sage, who trembling feltAbout his large dark locks, and faultering spake:"Arise, good youth, for sacred Phœbus' sake!I know thine inmost bosom, and I feelA very brother's yearning for thee stealInto mine own: for why? thou openestThe prison gates that have so long opprestMy weary watching. Though thou know'st it not,Thou art commission'd to this fated spotFor great enfranchisement. O weep no more;300I 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 coldGave mighty pulses: in this tottering caseGrew a new heart, which at this moment playsAs dancingly as thine. Be not afraid,For thou shalt hear this secret all display'd,Now as we speed towards our joyous task."310So saying, this young soul in age's maskWent forward with the Carian side by side:Resuming quickly thus; while ocean's tideHung swollen at their backs, and jewel'd sandsTook silently their foot-prints."My soul standsNow past the midway from mortality,And so I can prepare without a sighTo tell thee briefly all my joy and pain.I was a fisher once, upon this main,320And 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 hadNo housing from the storm and tempests mad,But hollow rocks,–and they were palacesOf 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 possibleTo look so plainly through them? to dispel330A thousand years with backward glance sublime?To breathe away as 'twere all scummy slimeFrom 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 allAre but a slime, a thin-pervading scum,The which I breathe away, and thronging comeLike 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.341My sports were lonely, 'mid continuous roars,And craggy isles, and sea-mew's plaintive cryPlaining discrepant between sea and sky.Dolphins were still my playmates; shapes unseenWould let me feel their scales of gold and green,Nor be my desolation; and, full oft,When a dread waterspout had rear'd aloftIts hungry hugeness, seeming ready ripeTo burst with hoarsest thunderings, and wipe350My 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 crownOf 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 steerMy skiff along green shelving coasts, to hear360The shepherd's pipe come clear from aery steep,Mingled with ceaseless bleatings of his sheep:And never was a day of summer shine,But I beheld its birth upon the brine:For I would watch all night to see unfoldHeaven's gates, and Æthon snort his morning goldWide o'er the swelling streams: and constantlyAt 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 blest370With daily boon of fish most delicate:They knew not whence this bounty, and elateWould strew sweet flowers on a sterile beach."Why was I not contented? Wherefore reachAt things which, but for thee, O Latmian!Had been my dreary death? Fool! I beganTo feel distemper'd longings: to desireThe utmost privilege that ocean's sireCould grant in benediction: to be freeOf all his kingdom. Long in misery380I wasted, ere in one extremest fitI plung'd for life or death. To interknitOne's senses with so dense a breathing stuffMight seem a work of pain; so not enoughCan I admire how crystal-smooth it felt,And buoyant round my limbs. At first I dweltWhole 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 shew390His spreaded feathers to the morrow chill,I tried in fear the pinions of my will.'Twas freedom! and at once I visitedThe ceaseless wonders of this ocean-bed.No need to tell thee of them, for I seeThat 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 passTo more immediate matter. Woe, alas!400That love should be my bane! Ah, Scylla fair!Why did poor Glaucus ever–ever dareTo 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 storyFar as Egyptian Nile. My passion grewThe more, the more I saw her dainty hue410Gleam delicately through the azure clear:Until 'twas too fierce agony to bear;And in that agony, across my griefIt flash'd, that Circe might find some relief–Cruel enchantress! So above the waterI rear'd my head, and look'd for Phœbus' daughter.Ææa's isle was wondering at the moon:–It seem'd to whirl around me, and a swoonLeft me dead-drifting to that fatal power."When I awoke, 'twas in a twilight bower;420Just 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 anonThe fairest face that morn e'er look'd uponPush'd through a screen of roses. Starry Jove!With tears, and smiles, and honey-words she woveA net whose thraldom was more bliss than allThe range of flower'd Elysium. Thus did fall430The 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 shedAn urn of tears, as though thou wert cold dead;And now I find thee living, I will pourFrom these devoted eyes their silver store,Until exhausted of the latest drop,So it will pleasure thee, and force thee stopHere, that I too may live: but if beyondSuch cool and sorrowful offerings, thou art fond440Of soothing warmth, of dalliance supreme;If thou art ripe to taste a long love dream;If smiles, if dimples, tongues for ardour mute,Hang in thy vision like a tempting fruit,O let me pluck it for thee." Thus she link'dHer charming syllables, till indistinctTheir music came to my o'er-sweeten'd soul;And then she hover'd over me, and stoleSo near, that if no nearer it had beenThis furrow'd visage thou hadst never seen.450"Young man of Latmos! thus particularAm I, that thou may'st plainly see how farThis fierce temptation went: and thou may'st notExclaim, How then, was Scylla quite forgot?"Who could resist? Who in this universe?She did so breathe ambrosia; so immerseMy 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,460And to this arbitrary queen of senseI bow'd a tranced vassal: nor would thenceHave mov'd, even though Amphion's harp had woo'dMe back to Scylla o'er the billows rude.For as Apollo each eve doth deviseA new appareling for western skies;So every eve, nay every spendthrift hourShed balmy consciousness within that bower.And I was free of haunts umbrageous;Could wander in the mazy forest-house470Of squirrels, foxes shy, and antler'd deer,And birds from coverts innermost and drearWarbling for very joy mellifluous sorrow–To me new born delights!"Now let me borrow,For moments few, a temperament as sternAs Pluto's sceptre, that my words not burnThese uttering lips, while I in calm speech tellHow specious heaven was changed to real hell."One morn she left me sleeping: half awake480I sought for her smooth arms and lips, to slakeMy greedy thirst with nectarous camel-draughts;But she was gone. Whereat the barbed shaftsOf disappointment stuck in me so sore,That out I ran and search'd the forest o'er.Wandering about in pine and cedar gloomDamp awe assail'd me; for there 'gan to boomA sound of moan, an agony of sound,Sepulchral from the distance all around.Then came a conquering earth-thunder, and rumbled490That fierce complain to silence: while I stumbledDown a precipitous path, as if impell'd.I came to a dark valley.–Groanings swell'dPoisonous 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 nearA sight too fearful for the feel of fear:In thicket hid I curs'd the haggard scene–500The 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,510As over them a gnarled staff she shook.Oft-times upon the sudden she laugh'd out,And from a basket emptied to the routClusters of grapes, the which they raven'd quickAnd roar'd for more; with many a hungry lickAbout 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 trialWas sharpening for their pitiable bones.520She lifted up the charm: appealing groansFrom their poor breasts went sueing to her earIn vain; remorseless as an infant's bierShe 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 bloatAnd puff from the tail's end to stifled throat:Then was appalling silence: then a sight530More wildering than all that hoarse affright;For the whole herd, as by a whirlwind writhen,Went through the dismal air like one huge PythonAntagonizing Boreas,–and so vanish'd.Yet there was not a breath of wind: she banish'dThese phantoms with a nod. Lo! from the darkCame waggish fauns, and nymphs, and satyrs stark,With dancing and loud revelry,–and wentSwifter than centaurs after rapine bent.–Sighing an elephant appear'd and bow'd540Before the fierce witch, speaking thus aloudIn human accent: "Potent goddess! chiefOf 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!550I 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 numbUpon my wild conjecturing: truth had comeNaked and sabre-like against my heart.560I 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 desolateMy waking must have been! disgust, and hate,And terrors manifold divided meA spoil amongst them. I prepar'd to fleeInto the dungeon core of that wild wood:I fled three days–when lo! before me stoodGlaring the angry witch. O Dis, even now,570A clammy dew is beading on my brow,At mere remembering her pale laugh, and curse."Ha! ha! Sir Dainty! there must be a nurseMade 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 lullabiesUnheard of yet; and it shall still its criesUpon some breast more lily-feminine.580Oh, no–it shall not pine, and pine, and pineMore than one pretty, trifling thousand years;And then 'twere pity, but fate's gentle shearsCut short its immortality. Sea-flirt!Young dove of the waters! truly I'll not hurtOne 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,590And speak a blessing: Mark me! Thou hast thewsImmortal, for thou art of heavenly race:But such a love is mine, that here I chaseEternally away from thee all bloomOf 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 thenThou shalt not go the way of aged men;But live and wither, cripple and still breathe600Ten hundred years: which gone, I then bequeathThy fragile bones to unknown burial.Adieu, sweet love, adieu!"–As shot stars fall,She fled ere I could groan for mercy. StungAnd poisoned was my spirit: despair sungA war-song of defiance 'gainst all hell.A hand was at my shoulder to compelMy sullen steps; another 'fore my eyesMoved on with pointed finger. In this guiseEnforced, at the last by ocean's foam610I 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 gaveBattle to the swollen billow-ridge, and draveLarge froth before me, while there yet remain'dHale strength, nor from my bones all marrow drain'd."Young lover, I must weep–such hellish spiteWith dry cheek who can tell? While thus my mightProving upon this element, dismay'd,620Upon 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 innocentBecause I lov'd her?–Cold, O cold indeedWere her fair limbs, and like a common weedThe sea-swell took her hair. Dead as she wasI clung about her waist, nor ceas'd to passFleet as an arrow through unfathom'd brine,630Until there shone a fabric crystalline,Ribb'd and inlaid with coral, pebble, and pearl.Headlong I darted; at one eager swirlGain'd its bright portal, enter'd, and behold!'Twas vast, and desolate, and icy-cold;And all around–But wherefore this to theeWho in few minutes more thyself shalt see?–I left poor Scylla in a niche and fled.My fever'd parchings up, my scathing dreadMet palsy half way: soon these limbs became640Gaunt, wither'd, sapless, feeble, cramp'd, and lame."Now let me pass a cruel, cruel space,Without one hope, without one faintest traceOf mitigation, or redeeming bubbleOf colour'd phantasy; for I fear 'twould troubleThy brain to loss of reason: and next tellHow a restoring chance came down to quellOne half of the witch in me."On a day,Sitting upon a rock above the spray,650I saw grow up from the horizon's brinkA gallant vessel: soon she seem'd to sinkAway from me again, as though her courseHad been resum'd in spite of hindering force–So vanish'd: and not long, before aroseDark clouds, and muttering of winds morose.Old Eolus would stifle his mad spleen,But could not: therefore all the billows greenToss'd up the silver spume against the clouds.The tempest came: I saw that vessel's shrouds660In perilous bustle; while upon the deckStood 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 eldAnnull'd my vigorous cravings: and thus quell'dAnd curb'd, think on't, O Latmian! did I sitWrithing with pity, and a cursing fitAgainst that hell-born Circe. The crew had gone,By one and one, to pale oblivion;670And 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'dThese treasures–touch'd the knuckles–they unclasp'd–I caught a finger: but the downward weightO'erpowered me–it sank. Then 'gan abateThe storm, and through chill aguish gloom outburstThe comfortable sun. I was athirst680To search the book, and in the warming airParted its dripping leaves with eager care.Strange matters did it treat of, and drew onMy soul page after page, till well-nigh wonInto forgetfulness; when, stupefied,I read these words, and read again, and triedMy eyes against the heavens, and read again.O what a load of misery and painEach Atlas-line bore off!–a shine of hopeCame gold around me, cheering me to cope690Strenuous 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 outstretchHis loath'd existence through ten centuries,And then to die alone. Who can deviseA total opposition? No one. SoOne million times ocean must ebb and flow,And he oppressed. Yet he shall not die,These things accomplish'd:–If he utterly700Scans all the depths of magic, and expoundsThe meanings of all motions, shapes, and sounds;If he explores all forms and substancesStraight homeward to their symbol-essences;He shall not die. Moreover, and in chief,He must pursue this task of joy and griefMost piously;–all lovers tempest-tost,And in the savage overwhelming lost,He shall deposit side by side, untilTime's creeping shall the dreary space fulfil:710Which done, and all these labours ripened,A youth, by heavenly power lov'd and led,Shall stand before him; whom he shall directHow to consummate all. The youth electMust 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 highIs, in this restless world, for me reserv'd.What! if from thee my wandering feet had swerv'd,720Had we both perish'd?"–"Look!" the sage replied,"Dost thou not mark a gleaming through the tide,Of divers brilliances? 'tis the edificeI told thee of, where lovely Scylla lies;And where I have enshrined piouslyAll lovers, whom fell storms have doom'd to dieThroughout my bondage." Thus discoursing, onThey went till unobscur'd the porches shone;Which hurryingly they gain'd, and enter'd straight.Sure never since king Neptune held his state730Was seen such wonder underneath the stars.Turn to some level plain where haughty MarsHas legion'd all his battle; and beholdHow every soldier, with firm foot, doth holdHis even breast: see, many steeled squares,And rigid ranks of iron–whence who daresOne 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.–740The stranger from the mountains, breathless, trac'dSuch thousands of shut eyes in order plac'd;Such ranges of white feet, and patient lipsAll ruddy,–for here death no blossom nips.He mark'd their brows and foreheads; saw their hairPut sleekly on one side with nicest care;And each one's gentle wrists, with reverence,Put cross-wise to its heart."Let us commence,Whisper'd the guide, stuttering with joy, even now."750He 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 snowThat drifts unfeather'd when bleak northerns blow;And having done it, took his dark blue cloakAnd bound it round Endymion: then struckHis wand against the empty air times nine.–"What more there is to do, young man, is thine:But first a little patience; first undo760This 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, breakThis wand against yon lyre on the pedestal."770'Twas done: and straight with sudden swell and fallSweet music breath'd her soul away, and sigh'dA lullaby to silence.–"Youth! now strewThese minced leaves on me, and passing throughThose files of dead, scatter the same around,And thou wilt see the issue."–'Mid the soundOf 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 wight780Smiling 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 forcePress'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,790As doth a flower at Apollo's touch.Death felt it to his inwards: 'twas too much:Death fell a weeping in his charnel-house.The Latmian persever'd along, and thusAll were re-animated. There aroseA noise of harmony, pulses and throesOf gladness in the air–while many, whoHad died in mutual arms devout and true,Sprang to each other madly; and the restFelt a high certainty of being blest.800They gaz'd upon Endymion. EnchantmentGrew drunken, and would have its head and bent.Delicious symphonies, like airy flowers,Budded, and swell'd, and, full-blown, shed full showersOf light, soft, unseen leaves of sounds divine.The two deliverers tasted a pure wineOf happiness, from fairy-press ooz'd out.Speechless they eyed each other, and aboutThe fair assembly wander'd to and fro,Distracted with the richest overflow810Of joy that ever pour'd from heaven.—"Away!"Shouted the new born god; "Follow, and payOur piety to Neptunus supreme!"–Then Scylla, blushing sweetly from her dream,They led on first, bent to her meek surprise,Though portal columns of a giant size,Into the vaulted, boundless emerald.Joyous all follow'd, as the leader call'd,Down marble steps; pouring as easily820As hour-glass sand,–and fast, as you might seeSwallows 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 thickAnother multitude. Whereat more quickMoved 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,830Like what was never heard in all the throesOf wind and waters: 'tis past human witTo tell; 'tis dizziness to think of it.This mighty consummation made, the hostMov'd on for many a league; and gain'd, and lostHuge 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,840They shoulder'd on towards that brightening cast.At every onward step proud domes aroseIn prospect,–diamond gleams, and golden glowsOf 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 upheldBy jasper pillars, letting through their shaftsA blush of coral. Copious wonder-draughtsEach gazer drank; and deeper drank more near:850For what poor mortals fragment up, as mereAs marble was there lavish, to the vastOf 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 bowOf Iris, when unfading it doth shewBeyond a silvery shower, was the archThrough which this Paphian army took its march,Into the outer courts of Neptune's state:860Whence could be seen, direct, a golden gate,To which the leaders sped; but not half raughtEre it burst open swift as fairy thought,And made those dazzled thousands veil their eyesLike callow eagles at the first sunrise.Soon with an eagle nativeness their gazeRipe from hue-golden swoons took all the blaze,And then, behold! large Neptune on his throneOf emerald deep: yet not exalt alone;At his right hand stood winged Love, and on870His left sat smiling Beauty's paragon.Far as the mariner on highest mastCan see all round upon the calmed vast,So wide was Neptune's hall: and as the blueDoth vault the waters, so the waters drewTheir doming curtains, high, magnificent,Aw'd from the throne aloof;–and when storm-rentDisclos'd the thunder-gloomings in Jove's air;But sooth'd as now, flash'd sudden everywhere,Noiseless, sub-marine cloudlets, glittering880Death to a human eye: for there did springFrom natural west, and east, and south, and north,A light as of four sunsets, blazing forthA gold-green zenith 'bove the Sea-God's head.Of lucid depth the floor, and far outspreadAs breezeless lake, on which the slim canoeOf feather'd Indian darts about, as throughThe delicatest air: air verily,But for the portraiture of clouds and sky:This palace floor breath-air,–but for the amaze890Of deep-seen wonders motionless,–and blazeOf the dome pomp, reflected in extremes,Globing a golden sphere.They stood in dreamsTill 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 shedOn all the multitude a nectarous dew.The ooze-born Goddess beckoned and drew900Fair Scylla and her guides to conference;And when they reach'd the throned eminenceShe kist the sea-nymph's cheek,–who sat her downA toying with the doves. Then,–"Mighty crownAnd sceptre of this kingdom!" Venus said,"Thy vows were on a time to Nais paid:Behold!"–Two copious tear-drops instant fellFrom the God's large eyes; he smil'd delectable,And over Glaucus held his blessing hands.–"Endymion! Ah! still wandering in the bands910Of love? Now this is cruel. Since the hourI met thee in earth's bosom, all my powerHave I put forth to serve thee. What, not yetEscap'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 given920To utter secrets, haply I might saySome pleasant words:–but Love will have his day.So wait awhile expectant. Pr'ythee soon,Even in the passing of thine honey-moon,Visit my Cytherea: thou wilt findCupid 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 EndymionKnelt to receive those accents halcyon.930Meantime a glorious revelry beganBefore the Water-Monarch. Nectar ranIn courteous fountains to all cups outreach'd;And plunder'd vines, teeming exhaustless, pleach'dNew growth about each shell and pendent lyre;The which, in disentangling for their fire,Pull'd down fresh foliage and covertureFor dainty toying. Cupid, empire-sure,Flutter'd and laugh'd, and oft-times through the throngMade a delighted way. Then dance, and song,940And garlanding grew wild; and pleasure reign'd.In harmless tendril they each other chain'd,And strove who should be smother'd deepest inFresh crush of leaves.O 'tis a very sinFor one so weak to venture his poor verseIn such a place as this. O do not curse,High Muses! let him hurry to the ending.All suddenly were silent. A soft blendingOf dulcet instruments came charmingly;950And then a hymn."Kingof the stormy sea!Brother of Jove, and co-inheritorOf elements! Eternally beforeThee the waves awful bow. Fast, stubborn rock,At thy fear'd trident shrinking, doth unlockIts deep foundations, hissing into foam.All mountain-rivers lost, in the wide homeOf thy capacious bosom ever flow.Thou frownest, and old Eolus thy foe960Skulks to his cavern, 'mid the gruff complaintOf all his rebel tempests. Dark clouds faintWhen, from thy diadem, a silver gleamSlants over blue dominion. Thy bright teamGulphs in the morning light, and scuds alongTo bring thee nearer to that golden songApollo singeth, while his chariotWaits at the doors of heaven. Thou art notFor scenes like this: an empire stern hast thou;And it hath furrow'd that large front: yet now,970As newly come of heaven, dost thou sitTo blend and interknitSubdued 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,980Nor 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 earOf goddess Cytherea!Yet deign, white Queen of Beauty, thy fair eyesOn our souls' sacrifice."Bright-winged Child!Who has another care when thou hast smil'd?Unfortunates on earth, we see at lastAll death-shadows, and glooms that overcast990Our 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! eclipserOf light in light! delicious poisoner!Thy venom'd goblet will we quaff untilWe fill–we fill!And by thy Mother's lips—"1000Was heard no moreFor clamour, when the golden palace doorOpened again, and from without, in shoneA new magnificence. On oozy throneSmooth-moving came Oceanus the old,To take a latest glimpse at his sheep-fold,Before he went into his quiet caveTo muse for ever–Then a lucid wave,Scoop'd from its trembling sisters of mid-sea,Afloat, and pillowing up the majestyOf Doris, and the Egean seer, her spouse–1010Next, on a dolphin, clad in laurel boughs,Theban Amphion leaning on his lute:His fingers went across it–All were muteTo gaze on Amphitrite, queen of pearls,And Thetis pearly too.–The palace whirlsAround giddy Endymion; seeing heWas there far strayed from mortality.He could not bear it–shut his eyes in vain;Imagination gave a dizzier pain.1020"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 ringOf Nereids were about him, in kind strifeTo usher back his spirit into life:But still he slept. At last they interwoveTheir cradling arms, and purpos'd to conveyTowards a crystal bower far away.

O it has ruffled every spirit there,Saving love's self, who stands superb to shareThe 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 know540What themselves think of it; from forth his eyesThere darts strange light of varied hues and dyes:A scowl is sometimes on his brow, but whoLook full upon it feel anon the blueOf his fair eyes run liquid through their souls.Endymion feels it, and no more controlsThe 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 wild550With love–he–but alas! too well I seeThou know'st the deepness of his misery.Ah, smile not so, my son: I tell thee true,That when through heavy hours I used to rueThe endless sleep of this new-born Adon',This stranger ay I pitied. For uponA dreary morning once I fled awayInto the breezy clouds, to weep and prayFor this my love: for vexing Mars had teaz'dMe even to tears: thence, when a little eas'd,560Down-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 blindOver his sullen eyes: I saw him throwHimself on wither'd leaves, even as thoughDeath had come sudden; for no jot he mov'd,Yet mutter'd wildly. I could hear he lov'dSome fair immortal, and that his embraceHad zoned her through the night. There is no trace570Of 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 fendsThee safely through these wonders for sweet ends.'Tis a concealment needful in extreme;And if I guess'd not so, the sunny beamThou shouldst mount up to with me. Now adieu!Here must we leave thee."–At these words up flew580The impatient doves, up rose the floating car,Up went the hum celestial. High afarThe Latmian saw them minish into nought;And, when all were clear vanish'd, still he caughtA vivid lightning from that dreadful bow.When all was darkened, with Etnean throeThe 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,590And he in loneliness: he felt assur'dOf happy times, when all he had endur'dWould seem a feather to the mighty prize.So, with unusual gladness, on he hiesThrough 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 thence600Stretching across a void, then guiding o'erEnormous chasms, where, all foam and roar,Streams subterranean tease their granite beds;Then heighten'd just above the silvery headsOf a thousand fountains, so that he could dashThe waters with his spear; but at the splash,Done heedlessly, those spouting columns roseSudden a poplar's height, and 'gan to encloseHis diamond path with fretwork, streaming roundAlive, and dazzling cool, and with a sound,610Haply, like dolphin tumults, when sweet shellsWelcome the float of Thetis. Long he dwellsOn 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 broideries620Of flowers, peacocks, swans, and naiads fair.Swifter than lightning went these wonders rare;And then the water, into stubborn streamsCollecting, mimick'd the wrought oaken beams,Pillars, and frieze, and high fantastic roof,Of those dusk places in times far aloofCathedrals call'd. He bade a loth farewelTo these founts Protean, passing gulph, and dell,And torrent, and ten thousand jutting shapes,Half seen through deepest gloom, and griesly gapes,630Blackening on every side, and overheadA vaulted dome like Heaven's, far bespreadWith starlight gems: aye, all so huge and strange,The solitary felt a hurried changeWorking 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 beholdsNew sudden things, nor casts his mental slough?Forth from a rugged arch, in the dusk below,640Came mother Cybele! alone–alone–In sombre chariot; dark foldings thrownAbout her majesty, and front death-pale,With turrets crown'd. Four maned lions haleThe sluggish wheels; solemn their toothed maws,Their surly eyes brow-hidden, heavy pawsUplifted drowsily, and nervy tailsCowering their tawny brushes. Silent sailsThis shadowy queen athwart, and faints awayIn another gloomy arch.650Wherefore delay,Young traveller, in such a mournful place?Art thou wayworn, or canst not further traceThe diamond path? And does it indeed endAbrupt in middle air? Yet earthward bendThy forehead, and to Jupiter cloud-borneCall ardently! He was indeed wayworn;Abrupt, in middle air, his way was lost;To cloud-borne Jove he bowed, and there crostTowards him a large eagle, 'twixt whose wings,660Without 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 fellThrough unknown things; till exhaled asphodel,And rose, with spicy fannings interbreath'd,Came swelling forth where little caves were wreath'dSo thick with leaves and mosses, that they seem'dLarge honey-combs of green, and freshly teem'dWith airs delicious. In the greenest nook670The eagle landed him, and farewel took.

It was a jasmine bower, all bestrownWith golden moss. His every sense had grownEthereal for pleasure; 'bove his headFlew a delight half-graspable; his treadWas Hesperean; to his capable earsSilence was music from the holy spheres;A dewy luxury was in his eyes;The little flowers felt his pleasant sighsAnd stirr'd them faintly. Verdant cave and cell680He wander'd through, oft wondering at such swellOf sudden exaltation: but, "Alas!Said he, "will all this gush of feeling passAway in solitude? And must they wane,Like melodies upon a sandy plain,Without an echo? Then shall I be leftSo 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?690Or keeping watch among those starry seven,Old Atlas' children? Art a maid of the waters,One of shell-winding Triton's bright-hair'd daughters?Or art, impossible! a nymph of Dian's,Weaving a coronal of tender scionsFor very idleness? Where'er thou art,Methinks it now is at my will to startInto thine arms; to scare Aurora's train,And snatch thee from the morning; o'er the mainTo scud like a wild bird, and take thee off700From thy sea-foamy cradle; or to doffThy shepherd vest, and woo thee mid fresh leaves.No, no, too eagerly my soul deceivesIts powerless self: I know this cannot be.O let me then by some sweet dreaming fleeTo her entrancements: hither sleep awhile!Hither most gentle sleep! and soothing foilFor some few hours the coming solitude."

Thus spake he, and that moment felt enduedWith power to dream deliciously; so wound710Through a dim passage, searching till he foundThe smoothest mossy bed and deepest, whereHe threw himself, and just into the airStretching 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 cryThey trembled to each other.–Helicon!O fountain'd hill! Old Homer's Helicon!That thou wouldst spout a little streamlet o'er720These sorry pages; then the verse would soarAnd sing above this gentle pair, like larkOver his nested young: but all is darkAround thine aged top, and thy clear fountExhales in mists to heaven. Aye, the countOf mighty Poets is made up; the scrollIs folded by the Muses; the bright rollIs in Apollo's hand: our dazed eyesHave seen a new tinge in the western skies:The world has done its duty. Yet, oh yet,730Although the sun of poesy is set,These lovers did embrace, and we must weepThat there is no old power left to steepA quill immortal in their joyous tears.Long time in silence did their anxious fearsQuestion that thus it was; long time they layFondling and kissing every doubt away;Long time ere soft caressing sobs beganTo mellow into words, and then there ranTwo bubbling springs of talk from their sweet lips.740"O known Unknown! from whom my being sipsSuch darling essence, wherefore may I notBe ever in these arms? in this sweet spotPillow my chin for ever? ever pressThese toying hands and kiss their smooth excess?Why not for ever and for ever feelThat breath about my eyes? Ah, thou wilt stealAway from me again, indeed, indeed–Thou wilt be gone away, and wilt not heedMy lonely madness. Speak, my kindest fair!750Is–is it to be so? No! Who will dareTo pluck thee from me? And, of thine own will,Full well I feel thou wouldst not leave me. StillLet me entwine thee surer, surer–nowHow 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,760And by these tenderest, milky sovereignties–These tenderest, and by the nectar-wine,The passion"—"O lov'd Ida the divine!Endymion! dearest! Ah, unhappy me!His soul will 'scape us–O felicity!How he does love me! His poor temples beatTo 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 byIn tranced dulness; speak, and let that spell770Affright this lethargy! I cannot quellIts heavy pressure, and will press at leastMy lips to thine, that they may richly feastUntil 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 bereaveMy soul of any rest: yet must I hence:Yet, can I not to starry eminenceUplift thee; nor for very shame can own780Myself to thee. Ah, dearest, do not groanOr thou wilt force me from this secrecy,And I must blush in heaven. O that IHad done it already; that the dreadful smilesAt my lost brightness, my impassion'd wiles,Had waned from Olympus' solemn height,And from all serious Gods; that our delightWas quite forgotten, save of us alone!And wherefore so ashamed? 'Tis but to atoneFor endless pleasure, by some coward blushes:790Yet must I be a coward!–Honour rushesToo palpable before me–the sad lookOf Jove–Minerva's start–no bosom shookWith awe of purity–no Cupid pinionIn reverence veiled–mycrystalline dominionHalf lost, and all old hymns made nullity!But what is this to love? O I could flyWith thee into the ken of heavenly powers,So thou wouldst thus, for many sequent hours,Press me so sweetly. Now I swear at once800That I am wise, that Pallas is a dunce–Perhaps her love like mine is but unknown–O I do think that I have been aloneIn chastity: yes, Pallas has been sighing,While every eye saw me my hair uptyingWith 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:810Ere long I will exalt thee to the shineOf heaven ambrosial; and we will shadeOurselves 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 soundsOf our close voices marry at their birth;Let us entwine hoveringly–O dearthOf human words! roughness of mortal speech!820Lispings empyrean will I sometime teachThine honied tongue–lute-breathings, which I gaspTo have thee understand, now while I claspThee thus, and weep for fondness–I am pain'd,Endymion: woe! woe! is grief contain'dIn the very deeps of pleasure, my sole life?"–Hereat, with many sobs, her gentle strifeMelted into a languor. He return'dEntranced vows and tears.Ye who have yearn'd830With too much passion, will here stay and pity,For the mere sake of truth; as 'tis a dittyNot of these days, but long ago 'twas toldBy a cavern wind unto a forest old;And then the forest told it in a dreamTo a sleeping lake, whose cool and level gleamA poet caught as he was journeyingTo Phœbus' shrine; and in it he did flingHis weary limbs, bathing an hour's space,And after, straight in that inspired place840He sang the story up into the air,Giving it universal freedom. ThereHas it been ever sounding for those earsWhose tips are glowing hot. The legend cheersYon centinel stars; and he who listens to itMust surely be self-doomed or he will rue it:For quenchless burnings come upon the heart,Made fiercer by a fear lest any partShould be engulphed in the eddying wind.As much as here is penn'd doth always find850A 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 unwoundHer 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 hersSweet paining on his ear: he sickly guess'dHow lone he was once more, and sadly press'd860His empty arms together, hung his head,And most forlorn upon that widow'd bedSat silently. Love's madness he had known:Often with more than tortured lion's groanMoanings had burst from him; but now that rageHad pass'd away: no longer did he wageA 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'dForgot all violence, and but commun'd870With melancholy thought: O he had swoon'dDrunken from pleasure's nipple; and his loveHenceforth was dove-like.–Loth was he to moveFrom the imprinted couch, and when he did,'Twas with slow, languid paces, and face hidIn muffling hands. So temper'd, out he stray'dHalf seeing visions that might have dismay'dAlecto's serpents; ravishments more keenThan Hermes' pipe, when anxious he did leanOver eclipsing eyes: and at the last880It was a sounding grotto, vaulted, vast,O'er studded with a thousand, thousand pearls,And crimson mouthed shells with stubborn curls,Of every shape and size, even to the bulkIn which whales arbour close, to brood and sulkAgainst an endless storm. Moreover too,Fish-semblances, of green and azure hue,Ready to snort their streams. In this cool wonderEndymion sat down, and 'gan to ponderOn all his life: his youth, up to the day890When 'mid acclaim, and feasts, and garlands gay,He stept upon his shepherd throne: the lookOf 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 spurOf the old bards to mighty deeds: his plansTo nurse the golden age 'mong shepherd clans:That wondrous night: the great Pan-festival:900His 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'dHigh with excessive love. "And now," thought he,"How long must I remain in jeopardyOf blank amazements that amaze no more?Now I have tasted her sweet soul to the coreAll other depths are shallow: essences,Once spiritual, are like muddy lees,Meant but to fertilize my earthly root,910And make my branches lift a golden fruitInto the bloom of heaven: other light,Though it be quick and sharp enough to blightThe 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 swellsOf noises far away?–list!"–HereuponHe kept an anxious ear. The humming toneCame louder, and behold, there as he lay,920On either side outgush'd, with misty spray,A copious spring; and both together dash'dSwift, mad, fantastic round the rocks, and lash'dAmong the conchs and shells of the lofty grot,Leaving a trickling dew. At last they shotDown from the ceiling's height, pouring a noiseAs of some breathless racers whose hopes poizeUpon the last few steps, and with spent forceAlong the ground they took a winding course.Endymion follow'd–for it seem'd that one930Ever pursued, the other strove to shun–Follow'd their languid mazes, till well nighHe had left thinking of the mystery,–And was now rapt in tender hoveringsOver the vanish'd bliss. Ah! what is it singsHis 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 fearSuch tenderness as mine? Great Dian, why,940Why didst thou hear her prayer? O that IWere rippling round her dainty fairness now,Circling about her waist, and striving howTo entice her to a dive! then stealing inBetween her luscious lips and eyelids thin.O that her shining hair was in the sun,And I distilling from it thence to runIn amorous rillets down her shrinking form!To linger on her lily shoulders, warmBetween her kissing breasts, and every charm950Touch raptur'd!–See how painfully I flow:Fair maid, be pitiful to my great woe.Stay, stay thy weary course, and let me lead,A happy wooer, to the flowery meadWhere all that beauty snar'd me."–"Cruel god,Desist! or my offended mistress' nodWill stagnate all thy fountains:–tease me notWith syren words–Ah, have I really gotSuch power to madden thee? And is it true–Away, away, or I shall dearly rue960My very thoughts: in mercy then away,Kindest Alpheus, for should I obeyMy own dear will, 'twould be a deadly bane."–"O, Oread-Queen! would that thou hadst a painLike this of mine, then would I fearless turnAnd be a criminal."–"Alas, I burn,I shudder–gentle river, get thee hence.Alpheus! thou enchanter! every senseOf mine was once made perfect in these woods.Fresh breezes, bowery lawns, and innocent floods,970Ripe fruits, and lonely couch, contentment gave;But ever since I heedlessly did laveIn thy deceitful stream, a panting glowGrew strong within me: wherefore serve me so,And call it love? Alas, 'twas cruelty.Not once more did I close my happy eyesAmid the thrush's song. Away! Avaunt!O 'twas a cruel thing."–"Now thou dost tauntSo softly, Arethusa, that I thinkIf thou wast playing on my shady brink,980Thou wouldst bathe once again. Innocent maid!Stifle thine heart no more:–nor be afraidOf angry powers: there are deitiesWill shade us with their wings. Those fitful sighs'Tis almost death to hear: O let me pourA dewy balm upon them!–fear no more,Sweet Arethusa! Dian's self must feelSometimes these very pangs. Dear maiden, stealBlushing into my soul, and let us flyThese dreary caverns for the open sky.990I will delight thee all my winding course,From the green sea up to my hidden sourceAbout Arcadian forests; and will shewThe channels where my coolest waters flowThrough mossy rocks; where, 'mid exuberant green,I roam in pleasant darkness, more unseenThan Saturn in his exile; where I brimRound flowery islands, and take thence a skimOf mealy sweets, which myriads of beesBuzz from their honied wings: and thou shouldst pleaseThyself to choose the richest, where we might1001Be incense-pillow'd every summer night.Doff all sad fears, thou white deliciousness,And let us be thus comforted; unlessThou couldst rejoice to see my hopeless streamHurry distracted from Sol's temperate beam,And pour to death along some hungry sands."–"What can I do, Alpheus? Dian standsSevere before me: persecuting fate!Unhappy Arethusa! thou wast late1010A huntress free in"–At this, sudden fellThose two sad streams adown a fearful dell.The Latmian listen'd, but he heard no more,Save echo, faint repeating o'er and o'erThe name of Arethusa. On the vergeOf that dark gulph he wept, and said: "I urgeThee, 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.1020

He turn'd–there was a whelming sound–he stept,There was a cooler light; and so he keptTowards it by a sandy path, and lo!More suddenly than doth a moment go,The visions of the earth were gone and fled–He saw the giant sea above his head.

BOOK III.

There are who lord it o'er their fellow-menWith most prevailing tinsel: who unpenTheir baaing vanities, to browse awayThe comfortable green and juicy hayFrom human pastures; or, O torturing fact!Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack'dFire-branded foxes to sear up and singeOur gold and ripe-ear'd hopes. With not one tingeOf sanctuary splendour, not a sightAble to face an owl's, they still are dight10By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests,And crowns, and turbans. With unladen breasts,Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mountTo their spirit's perch, their being's high account,Their tiptop nothings, their dull skies, their thrones–Amid the fierce intoxicating tonesOf trumpets, shoutings, and belabour'd drums,And sudden cannon. All! how all this hums,In wakeful ears, like uproar past and gone–Like thunder clouds that spake to Babylon,20And set those old Chaldeans to their tasks.–Are then regalities all gilded masks?No, there are throned seats unscalableBut 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-tentsTo watch the abysm-birth of elements.Aye, 'bove the withering of old-lipp'd FateA thousand Powers keep religious state,30In 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 enrobeOur piece of heaven–whose benevolenceShakes hand with our own Ceres; every senseFilling with spiritual sweets to plenitude,As bees gorge full their cells. And, by the feud40'Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear,Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fairIs 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 bentTowards her with the Muses in thine heart;As if the ministring stars kept not apart,50Waiting for silver-footed messages.O Moon! the oldest shades 'mong oldest treesFeel palpitations when thou lookest in:O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier dinThe while they feel thine airy fellowship.Thou dost bless every where, with silver lipKissing 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;60And yet thy benediction passeth notOne obscure hiding-place, one little spotWhere pleasure may be sent: the nested wrenHas thy fair face within its tranquil ken,And from beneath a sheltering ivy leafTakes glimpses of thee; thou art a reliefTo the poor patient oyster, where it sleepsWithin its pearly house.–The mighty deeps,The monstrous sea is thine–the myriad sea!O Moon! far-spooming Ocean bows to thee,70And Tellus feelshis forehead's cumbrous load.

Cynthia! where art thou now? What far abodeOf green or silvery bower doth enshrineSuch utmost beauty? Alas, thou dost pineFor one as sorrowful: thy cheek is paleFor one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewailHis 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!80She dies at the thinnest cloud; her lovelinessIs wan on Neptune's blue: yet there's a stressOf love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees,Dancing upon the waves, as if to pleaseThe curly foam with amorous influence.O, not so idle: for down-glancing thenceShe fathoms eddies, and runs wild aboutO'erwhelming water-courses; scaring outThe thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and fright'ningTheir savage eyes with unaccustomed lightning.90Where will the splendor be content to reach?O love! how potent hast thou been to teachStrange 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! them hast sent100A moon-beam to the deep, deep water-world,To find Endymion.On gold sand impearl'dWith lily shells, and pebbles milky white,Poor Cynthia greeted him, and sooth'd her lightAgainst his pallid face: he felt the charmTo breathlessness, and suddenly a warmOf his heart's blood: 'twas very sweet; he stay'dHis wandering steps, and half-entranced laidHis head upon a tuft of straggling weeds,110To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads,Lashed from the crystal roof by fishes' tails.And so he kept, until the rosy veilsMantling the east, by Aurora's peering handWere lifted from the water's breast, and faun'dInto sweet air; and sober'd morning cameMeekly through billows:–when like taper-flameLeft sudden by a dallying breath of air,He rose in silence, and once more 'gan fareAlong his fated way.120Far had he roam'd,With nothing save the hollow vast, that foam'dAbove, around, and at his feet; save thingsMore dead than Morpheus' imaginings:Old rusted anchors, helmets, breast-plates largeOf gone sea-warriors; brazen beaks and targe;Rudders that for a hundred years had lostThe sway of human hand; gold vase emboss'dWith long-forgotten story, and whereinNo reveller had ever dipp'd a chin130But those of Saturn's vintage; mouldering scrolls,Writ in the tongue of heaven, by those soulsWho first were on the earth; and sculptures rudeIn ponderous stone, developing the moodOf ancient Nox;–then skeletons of man,Of beast, behemoth, and leviathan,And elephant, and eagle, and huge jawOf nameless monster. A cold leaden aweThese secrets struck into him; and unlessDian had chaced away that heaviness,140He might have died: but now, with cheered feel,He onward kept; wooing these thoughts to stealAbout the labyrinth in his soul of love.

"What is there in thee, Moon! that thou shouldst moveMy heart so potently? When yet a childI oft have dried my tears when thou hast smil'd.Thou seem'dst my sister: hand in hand we wentFrom eve to morn across the firmament.No apples would I gather from the tree,Till thou hadst cool'd their cheeks deliciously:150No tumbling water ever spake romance,But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance:No woods were green enough, no bower divine,Until thou liftedst up thine eyelids fine:In sowing time ne'er would I dibble take,Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake;And, in the summer tide of blossoming,No one but thee hath heard me blithly singAnd mesh my dewy flowers all the night.No melody was like a passing spright160If it went not to solemnize thy reign.Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and painBy thee were fashion'd to the self-same end;And as I grew in years, still didst thou blendWith 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:–170Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon!O what a wild and harmonized tuneMy spirit struck from all the beautiful!On some bright essence could I lean, and lullMyself to immortality: I prestNature'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 sway180Has been an under-passion to this hour.Now I begin to feel thine orby powerIs coming fresh upon me: O be kind,Keep back thine influence, and do not blindMy sovereign vision.–Dearest love, forgiveThat I can think away from thee and live!–Pardon me, airy planet, that I prizeOne thought beyond thine argent luxuries!How far beyond!" At this a surpris'd startFrosted the springing verdure of his heart;190For as he lifted up his eyes to swearHow his own goddess was past all things fair,He saw far in the concave green of the seaAn old man sitting calm and peacefully.Upon a weeded rock this old man sat,And his white hair was awful, and a matOf 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 groans200Of ambitious magic: every ocean-formWas woven in with black distinctness; storm,And calm, and whispering, and hideous roarWere emblem'd in the woof; with every shapeThat skims, or dives, or sleeps, 'twixt cape and cape.The gulphing whale was like a dot in the spell,Yet look upon it, and 'twould size and swellTo its huge self; and the minutest fishWould pass the very hardest gazer's wish,And shew his little eye's anatomy.210Then there was pictur'd the regalityOf 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'dSo stedfastly, that the new denizenHad time to keep him in amazed ken,To mark these shadowings, and stand in awe.

The old man rais'd his hoary head and sawThe wilder'd stranger–seeming not to see,220His features were so lifeless. SuddenlyHe woke as from a trance; his snow-white browsWent arching up, and like two magic ploughsFurrow'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 toilHad watch'd for years in forlorn hermitage,Who had not from mid-life to utmost ageEas'd in one accent his o'er-burden'd soul,230Even 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'dEcho into oblivion, he said:–

"Thou art the man! Now shall I lay my headIn peace upon my watery pillow: nowSleep 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 stungWith new-born life! What shall I do? Where go,240When I have cast this serpent-skin of woe?–I'll swim to the syrens, and one moment listenTheir 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 whaleTo some black cloud; thence down I'll madly sweepOn forked lightning, to the deepest deep,Where through some sucking pool I will be hurl'd250With rapture to the other side of the world!O, I am full of gladness! Sisters three,I bow full hearted to your old decree!Yes, every god be thank'd, and power benign,For I no more shall wither, droop, and pine.Thou art the man!" Endymion started backDismay'd; and, like a wretch from whom the rackTortures hot breath, and speech of agony,Mutter'd: "What lonely death am I to dieIn this cold region? Will he let me freeze,260And 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 drawHis 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 agone270Her soft arms were entwining me, and onHer voice I hung like fruit among green leaves:Her lips were all my own, and–ah, ripe sheavesOf happiness! ye on the stubble droop,But never may be garner'd. I must stoopMy head, and kiss death's foot. Love! love, farewel!Is there no hope from thee? This horrid spellWould melt at thy sweet breath.–By Dian's hindFeeding from her white fingers, on the windI see thy streaming hair! and now, by Pan,280I care not for this old mysterious man!"

He spake, and walking to that aged form,Look'd high defiance. Lo! his heart 'gan warmWith pity, for the grey-hair'd creature wept.Had he then wrong'd a heart where sorrow kept?Had he, though blindly contumelious, broughtRheum to kind eyes, a sting to human thought,Convulsion to a mouth of many years?He had in truth; and he was ripe for tears.The penitent shower fell, as down he knelt290Before that care-worn sage, who trembling feltAbout his large dark locks, and faultering spake:

"Arise, good youth, for sacred Phœbus' sake!I know thine inmost bosom, and I feelA very brother's yearning for thee stealInto mine own: for why? thou openestThe prison gates that have so long opprestMy weary watching. Though thou know'st it not,Thou art commission'd to this fated spotFor great enfranchisement. O weep no more;300I 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 coldGave mighty pulses: in this tottering caseGrew a new heart, which at this moment playsAs dancingly as thine. Be not afraid,For thou shalt hear this secret all display'd,Now as we speed towards our joyous task."310

So saying, this young soul in age's maskWent forward with the Carian side by side:Resuming quickly thus; while ocean's tideHung swollen at their backs, and jewel'd sandsTook silently their foot-prints."My soul standsNow past the midway from mortality,And so I can prepare without a sighTo tell thee briefly all my joy and pain.I was a fisher once, upon this main,320And 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 hadNo housing from the storm and tempests mad,But hollow rocks,–and they were palacesOf 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 possibleTo look so plainly through them? to dispel330A thousand years with backward glance sublime?To breathe away as 'twere all scummy slimeFrom 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 allAre but a slime, a thin-pervading scum,The which I breathe away, and thronging comeLike 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.341My sports were lonely, 'mid continuous roars,And craggy isles, and sea-mew's plaintive cryPlaining discrepant between sea and sky.Dolphins were still my playmates; shapes unseenWould let me feel their scales of gold and green,Nor be my desolation; and, full oft,When a dread waterspout had rear'd aloftIts hungry hugeness, seeming ready ripeTo burst with hoarsest thunderings, and wipe350My 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 crownOf 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 steerMy skiff along green shelving coasts, to hear360The shepherd's pipe come clear from aery steep,Mingled with ceaseless bleatings of his sheep:And never was a day of summer shine,But I beheld its birth upon the brine:For I would watch all night to see unfoldHeaven's gates, and Æthon snort his morning goldWide o'er the swelling streams: and constantlyAt 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 blest370With daily boon of fish most delicate:They knew not whence this bounty, and elateWould strew sweet flowers on a sterile beach.

"Why was I not contented? Wherefore reachAt things which, but for thee, O Latmian!Had been my dreary death? Fool! I beganTo feel distemper'd longings: to desireThe utmost privilege that ocean's sireCould grant in benediction: to be freeOf all his kingdom. Long in misery380I wasted, ere in one extremest fitI plung'd for life or death. To interknitOne's senses with so dense a breathing stuffMight seem a work of pain; so not enoughCan I admire how crystal-smooth it felt,And buoyant round my limbs. At first I dweltWhole 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 shew390His spreaded feathers to the morrow chill,I tried in fear the pinions of my will.'Twas freedom! and at once I visitedThe ceaseless wonders of this ocean-bed.No need to tell thee of them, for I seeThat 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 passTo more immediate matter. Woe, alas!400That love should be my bane! Ah, Scylla fair!Why did poor Glaucus ever–ever dareTo 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 storyFar as Egyptian Nile. My passion grewThe more, the more I saw her dainty hue410Gleam delicately through the azure clear:Until 'twas too fierce agony to bear;And in that agony, across my griefIt flash'd, that Circe might find some relief–Cruel enchantress! So above the waterI rear'd my head, and look'd for Phœbus' daughter.Ææa's isle was wondering at the moon:–It seem'd to whirl around me, and a swoonLeft me dead-drifting to that fatal power.

"When I awoke, 'twas in a twilight bower;420Just 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 anonThe fairest face that morn e'er look'd uponPush'd through a screen of roses. Starry Jove!With tears, and smiles, and honey-words she woveA net whose thraldom was more bliss than allThe range of flower'd Elysium. Thus did fall430The 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 shedAn urn of tears, as though thou wert cold dead;And now I find thee living, I will pourFrom these devoted eyes their silver store,Until exhausted of the latest drop,So it will pleasure thee, and force thee stopHere, that I too may live: but if beyondSuch cool and sorrowful offerings, thou art fond440Of soothing warmth, of dalliance supreme;If thou art ripe to taste a long love dream;If smiles, if dimples, tongues for ardour mute,Hang in thy vision like a tempting fruit,O let me pluck it for thee." Thus she link'dHer charming syllables, till indistinctTheir music came to my o'er-sweeten'd soul;And then she hover'd over me, and stoleSo near, that if no nearer it had beenThis furrow'd visage thou hadst never seen.450

"Young man of Latmos! thus particularAm I, that thou may'st plainly see how farThis fierce temptation went: and thou may'st notExclaim, How then, was Scylla quite forgot?

"Who could resist? Who in this universe?She did so breathe ambrosia; so immerseMy 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,460And to this arbitrary queen of senseI bow'd a tranced vassal: nor would thenceHave mov'd, even though Amphion's harp had woo'dMe back to Scylla o'er the billows rude.For as Apollo each eve doth deviseA new appareling for western skies;So every eve, nay every spendthrift hourShed balmy consciousness within that bower.And I was free of haunts umbrageous;Could wander in the mazy forest-house470Of squirrels, foxes shy, and antler'd deer,And birds from coverts innermost and drearWarbling for very joy mellifluous sorrow–To me new born delights!"Now let me borrow,For moments few, a temperament as sternAs Pluto's sceptre, that my words not burnThese uttering lips, while I in calm speech tellHow specious heaven was changed to real hell.

"One morn she left me sleeping: half awake480I sought for her smooth arms and lips, to slakeMy greedy thirst with nectarous camel-draughts;But she was gone. Whereat the barbed shaftsOf disappointment stuck in me so sore,That out I ran and search'd the forest o'er.Wandering about in pine and cedar gloomDamp awe assail'd me; for there 'gan to boomA sound of moan, an agony of sound,Sepulchral from the distance all around.Then came a conquering earth-thunder, and rumbled490That fierce complain to silence: while I stumbledDown a precipitous path, as if impell'd.I came to a dark valley.–Groanings swell'dPoisonous 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 nearA sight too fearful for the feel of fear:In thicket hid I curs'd the haggard scene–500The 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,510As over them a gnarled staff she shook.Oft-times upon the sudden she laugh'd out,And from a basket emptied to the routClusters of grapes, the which they raven'd quickAnd roar'd for more; with many a hungry lickAbout 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 trialWas sharpening for their pitiable bones.520She lifted up the charm: appealing groansFrom their poor breasts went sueing to her earIn vain; remorseless as an infant's bierShe 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 bloatAnd puff from the tail's end to stifled throat:Then was appalling silence: then a sight530More wildering than all that hoarse affright;For the whole herd, as by a whirlwind writhen,Went through the dismal air like one huge PythonAntagonizing Boreas,–and so vanish'd.Yet there was not a breath of wind: she banish'dThese phantoms with a nod. Lo! from the darkCame waggish fauns, and nymphs, and satyrs stark,With dancing and loud revelry,–and wentSwifter than centaurs after rapine bent.–Sighing an elephant appear'd and bow'd540Before the fierce witch, speaking thus aloudIn human accent: "Potent goddess! chiefOf 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!550I 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 numbUpon my wild conjecturing: truth had comeNaked and sabre-like against my heart.560I 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 desolateMy waking must have been! disgust, and hate,And terrors manifold divided meA spoil amongst them. I prepar'd to fleeInto the dungeon core of that wild wood:I fled three days–when lo! before me stoodGlaring the angry witch. O Dis, even now,570A clammy dew is beading on my brow,At mere remembering her pale laugh, and curse."Ha! ha! Sir Dainty! there must be a nurseMade 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 lullabiesUnheard of yet; and it shall still its criesUpon some breast more lily-feminine.580Oh, no–it shall not pine, and pine, and pineMore than one pretty, trifling thousand years;And then 'twere pity, but fate's gentle shearsCut short its immortality. Sea-flirt!Young dove of the waters! truly I'll not hurtOne 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,590And speak a blessing: Mark me! Thou hast thewsImmortal, for thou art of heavenly race:But such a love is mine, that here I chaseEternally away from thee all bloomOf 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 thenThou shalt not go the way of aged men;But live and wither, cripple and still breathe600Ten hundred years: which gone, I then bequeathThy fragile bones to unknown burial.Adieu, sweet love, adieu!"–As shot stars fall,She fled ere I could groan for mercy. StungAnd poisoned was my spirit: despair sungA war-song of defiance 'gainst all hell.A hand was at my shoulder to compelMy sullen steps; another 'fore my eyesMoved on with pointed finger. In this guiseEnforced, at the last by ocean's foam610I 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 gaveBattle to the swollen billow-ridge, and draveLarge froth before me, while there yet remain'dHale strength, nor from my bones all marrow drain'd.

"Young lover, I must weep–such hellish spiteWith dry cheek who can tell? While thus my mightProving upon this element, dismay'd,620Upon 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 innocentBecause I lov'd her?–Cold, O cold indeedWere her fair limbs, and like a common weedThe sea-swell took her hair. Dead as she wasI clung about her waist, nor ceas'd to passFleet as an arrow through unfathom'd brine,630Until there shone a fabric crystalline,Ribb'd and inlaid with coral, pebble, and pearl.Headlong I darted; at one eager swirlGain'd its bright portal, enter'd, and behold!'Twas vast, and desolate, and icy-cold;And all around–But wherefore this to theeWho in few minutes more thyself shalt see?–I left poor Scylla in a niche and fled.My fever'd parchings up, my scathing dreadMet palsy half way: soon these limbs became640Gaunt, wither'd, sapless, feeble, cramp'd, and lame.

"Now let me pass a cruel, cruel space,Without one hope, without one faintest traceOf mitigation, or redeeming bubbleOf colour'd phantasy; for I fear 'twould troubleThy brain to loss of reason: and next tellHow a restoring chance came down to quellOne half of the witch in me."On a day,Sitting upon a rock above the spray,650I saw grow up from the horizon's brinkA gallant vessel: soon she seem'd to sinkAway from me again, as though her courseHad been resum'd in spite of hindering force–So vanish'd: and not long, before aroseDark clouds, and muttering of winds morose.Old Eolus would stifle his mad spleen,But could not: therefore all the billows greenToss'd up the silver spume against the clouds.The tempest came: I saw that vessel's shrouds660In perilous bustle; while upon the deckStood 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 eldAnnull'd my vigorous cravings: and thus quell'dAnd curb'd, think on't, O Latmian! did I sitWrithing with pity, and a cursing fitAgainst that hell-born Circe. The crew had gone,By one and one, to pale oblivion;670And 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'dThese treasures–touch'd the knuckles–they unclasp'd–I caught a finger: but the downward weightO'erpowered me–it sank. Then 'gan abateThe storm, and through chill aguish gloom outburstThe comfortable sun. I was athirst680To search the book, and in the warming airParted its dripping leaves with eager care.Strange matters did it treat of, and drew onMy soul page after page, till well-nigh wonInto forgetfulness; when, stupefied,I read these words, and read again, and triedMy eyes against the heavens, and read again.O what a load of misery and painEach Atlas-line bore off!–a shine of hopeCame gold around me, cheering me to cope690Strenuous 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 outstretchHis loath'd existence through ten centuries,And then to die alone. Who can deviseA total opposition? No one. SoOne million times ocean must ebb and flow,And he oppressed. Yet he shall not die,These things accomplish'd:–If he utterly700Scans all the depths of magic, and expoundsThe meanings of all motions, shapes, and sounds;If he explores all forms and substancesStraight homeward to their symbol-essences;He shall not die. Moreover, and in chief,He must pursue this task of joy and griefMost piously;–all lovers tempest-tost,And in the savage overwhelming lost,He shall deposit side by side, untilTime's creeping shall the dreary space fulfil:710Which done, and all these labours ripened,A youth, by heavenly power lov'd and led,Shall stand before him; whom he shall directHow to consummate all. The youth electMust 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 highIs, in this restless world, for me reserv'd.What! if from thee my wandering feet had swerv'd,720Had we both perish'd?"–"Look!" the sage replied,"Dost thou not mark a gleaming through the tide,Of divers brilliances? 'tis the edificeI told thee of, where lovely Scylla lies;And where I have enshrined piouslyAll lovers, whom fell storms have doom'd to dieThroughout my bondage." Thus discoursing, onThey went till unobscur'd the porches shone;Which hurryingly they gain'd, and enter'd straight.Sure never since king Neptune held his state730Was seen such wonder underneath the stars.Turn to some level plain where haughty MarsHas legion'd all his battle; and beholdHow every soldier, with firm foot, doth holdHis even breast: see, many steeled squares,And rigid ranks of iron–whence who daresOne 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.–740The stranger from the mountains, breathless, trac'dSuch thousands of shut eyes in order plac'd;Such ranges of white feet, and patient lipsAll ruddy,–for here death no blossom nips.He mark'd their brows and foreheads; saw their hairPut sleekly on one side with nicest care;And each one's gentle wrists, with reverence,Put cross-wise to its heart."Let us commence,Whisper'd the guide, stuttering with joy, even now."750He 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 snowThat drifts unfeather'd when bleak northerns blow;And having done it, took his dark blue cloakAnd bound it round Endymion: then struckHis wand against the empty air times nine.–"What more there is to do, young man, is thine:But first a little patience; first undo760This 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, breakThis wand against yon lyre on the pedestal."770

'Twas done: and straight with sudden swell and fallSweet music breath'd her soul away, and sigh'dA lullaby to silence.–"Youth! now strewThese minced leaves on me, and passing throughThose files of dead, scatter the same around,And thou wilt see the issue."–'Mid the soundOf 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 wight780Smiling 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 forcePress'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,790As doth a flower at Apollo's touch.Death felt it to his inwards: 'twas too much:Death fell a weeping in his charnel-house.The Latmian persever'd along, and thusAll were re-animated. There aroseA noise of harmony, pulses and throesOf gladness in the air–while many, whoHad died in mutual arms devout and true,Sprang to each other madly; and the restFelt a high certainty of being blest.800They gaz'd upon Endymion. EnchantmentGrew drunken, and would have its head and bent.Delicious symphonies, like airy flowers,Budded, and swell'd, and, full-blown, shed full showersOf light, soft, unseen leaves of sounds divine.The two deliverers tasted a pure wineOf happiness, from fairy-press ooz'd out.Speechless they eyed each other, and aboutThe fair assembly wander'd to and fro,Distracted with the richest overflow810Of joy that ever pour'd from heaven.—"Away!"Shouted the new born god; "Follow, and payOur piety to Neptunus supreme!"–Then Scylla, blushing sweetly from her dream,They led on first, bent to her meek surprise,Though portal columns of a giant size,Into the vaulted, boundless emerald.Joyous all follow'd, as the leader call'd,Down marble steps; pouring as easily820As hour-glass sand,–and fast, as you might seeSwallows 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 thickAnother multitude. Whereat more quickMoved 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,830Like what was never heard in all the throesOf wind and waters: 'tis past human witTo tell; 'tis dizziness to think of it.

This mighty consummation made, the hostMov'd on for many a league; and gain'd, and lostHuge 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,840They shoulder'd on towards that brightening cast.At every onward step proud domes aroseIn prospect,–diamond gleams, and golden glowsOf 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 upheldBy jasper pillars, letting through their shaftsA blush of coral. Copious wonder-draughtsEach gazer drank; and deeper drank more near:850For what poor mortals fragment up, as mereAs marble was there lavish, to the vastOf 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 bowOf Iris, when unfading it doth shewBeyond a silvery shower, was the archThrough which this Paphian army took its march,Into the outer courts of Neptune's state:860Whence could be seen, direct, a golden gate,To which the leaders sped; but not half raughtEre it burst open swift as fairy thought,And made those dazzled thousands veil their eyesLike callow eagles at the first sunrise.Soon with an eagle nativeness their gazeRipe from hue-golden swoons took all the blaze,And then, behold! large Neptune on his throneOf emerald deep: yet not exalt alone;At his right hand stood winged Love, and on870His left sat smiling Beauty's paragon.

Far as the mariner on highest mastCan see all round upon the calmed vast,So wide was Neptune's hall: and as the blueDoth vault the waters, so the waters drewTheir doming curtains, high, magnificent,Aw'd from the throne aloof;–and when storm-rentDisclos'd the thunder-gloomings in Jove's air;But sooth'd as now, flash'd sudden everywhere,Noiseless, sub-marine cloudlets, glittering880Death to a human eye: for there did springFrom natural west, and east, and south, and north,A light as of four sunsets, blazing forthA gold-green zenith 'bove the Sea-God's head.Of lucid depth the floor, and far outspreadAs breezeless lake, on which the slim canoeOf feather'd Indian darts about, as throughThe delicatest air: air verily,But for the portraiture of clouds and sky:This palace floor breath-air,–but for the amaze890Of deep-seen wonders motionless,–and blazeOf the dome pomp, reflected in extremes,Globing a golden sphere.They stood in dreamsTill 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 shedOn all the multitude a nectarous dew.The ooze-born Goddess beckoned and drew900Fair Scylla and her guides to conference;And when they reach'd the throned eminenceShe kist the sea-nymph's cheek,–who sat her downA toying with the doves. Then,–"Mighty crownAnd sceptre of this kingdom!" Venus said,"Thy vows were on a time to Nais paid:Behold!"–Two copious tear-drops instant fellFrom the God's large eyes; he smil'd delectable,And over Glaucus held his blessing hands.–"Endymion! Ah! still wandering in the bands910Of love? Now this is cruel. Since the hourI met thee in earth's bosom, all my powerHave I put forth to serve thee. What, not yetEscap'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 given920To utter secrets, haply I might saySome pleasant words:–but Love will have his day.So wait awhile expectant. Pr'ythee soon,Even in the passing of thine honey-moon,Visit my Cytherea: thou wilt findCupid 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 EndymionKnelt to receive those accents halcyon.930

Meantime a glorious revelry beganBefore the Water-Monarch. Nectar ranIn courteous fountains to all cups outreach'd;And plunder'd vines, teeming exhaustless, pleach'dNew growth about each shell and pendent lyre;The which, in disentangling for their fire,Pull'd down fresh foliage and covertureFor dainty toying. Cupid, empire-sure,Flutter'd and laugh'd, and oft-times through the throngMade a delighted way. Then dance, and song,940And garlanding grew wild; and pleasure reign'd.In harmless tendril they each other chain'd,And strove who should be smother'd deepest inFresh crush of leaves.O 'tis a very sinFor one so weak to venture his poor verseIn such a place as this. O do not curse,High Muses! let him hurry to the ending.

All suddenly were silent. A soft blendingOf dulcet instruments came charmingly;950And then a hymn."Kingof the stormy sea!Brother of Jove, and co-inheritorOf elements! Eternally beforeThee the waves awful bow. Fast, stubborn rock,At thy fear'd trident shrinking, doth unlockIts deep foundations, hissing into foam.All mountain-rivers lost, in the wide homeOf thy capacious bosom ever flow.Thou frownest, and old Eolus thy foe960Skulks to his cavern, 'mid the gruff complaintOf all his rebel tempests. Dark clouds faintWhen, from thy diadem, a silver gleamSlants over blue dominion. Thy bright teamGulphs in the morning light, and scuds alongTo bring thee nearer to that golden songApollo singeth, while his chariotWaits at the doors of heaven. Thou art notFor scenes like this: an empire stern hast thou;And it hath furrow'd that large front: yet now,970As newly come of heaven, dost thou sitTo blend and interknitSubdued 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,980Nor 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 earOf goddess Cytherea!Yet deign, white Queen of Beauty, thy fair eyesOn our souls' sacrifice.

"Bright-winged Child!Who has another care when thou hast smil'd?Unfortunates on earth, we see at lastAll death-shadows, and glooms that overcast990Our 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! eclipserOf light in light! delicious poisoner!Thy venom'd goblet will we quaff untilWe fill–we fill!And by thy Mother's lips—"1000Was heard no moreFor clamour, when the golden palace doorOpened again, and from without, in shoneA new magnificence. On oozy throneSmooth-moving came Oceanus the old,To take a latest glimpse at his sheep-fold,Before he went into his quiet caveTo muse for ever–Then a lucid wave,Scoop'd from its trembling sisters of mid-sea,Afloat, and pillowing up the majestyOf Doris, and the Egean seer, her spouse–1010Next, on a dolphin, clad in laurel boughs,Theban Amphion leaning on his lute:His fingers went across it–All were muteTo gaze on Amphitrite, queen of pearls,And Thetis pearly too.–The palace whirlsAround giddy Endymion; seeing heWas there far strayed from mortality.He could not bear it–shut his eyes in vain;Imagination gave a dizzier pain.1020"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 ringOf Nereids were about him, in kind strifeTo usher back his spirit into life:But still he slept. At last they interwoveTheir cradling arms, and purpos'd to conveyTowards a crystal bower far away.

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