ENDYMION.

Lo! while slow carried through the pitying crowd,To his inward senses these words spake aloud;1031Written in star-light on the dark above:Dearest Endymion! my entire love!How have I dwelt in fear of fate: 'tis done–Immortal bliss for me too hast thou won.Arise then! for the hen-dove shall not hatchHer ready eggs, before I'll kissing snatchThee into endless heaven. Awake! awake!The youth at once arose: a placid lakeCame quiet to his eyes; and forest green,1040Cooler than all the wonders he had seen,Lull'd with its simple song his fluttering breast.How happy once again in grassy nest!ENDYMION.BOOK IV.Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!O first-born on the mountains! by the huesOf heaven on the spiritual air begot:Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,While yet our England was a wolfish den;Before our forests heard the talk of men;Before the first of Druids was a child;–Long didst thou sit amid our regions wildRapt in a deep prophetic solitude.There came an eastern voice of solemn mood:–10Yet wast thou patient. Then sang forth the Nine,Apollo's garland:–yet didst thou divineSuch home-bred glory, that they cry'd in vain,"Come hither, Sister of the Island!" PlainSpake fair Ausonia; and once more she spakeA higher summons:–still didst thou betakeThee to thy native hopes. O thou hast wonA full accomplishment! The thing is done,Which undone, these our latter days had risenOn barren souls. Great Muse, thou know'st what prison,Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets21Our spirit's wings: despondency besetsOur pillows; and the fresh to-morrow mornSeems to give forth its light in very scornOf our dull, uninspired, snail-paced lives.Long have I said, how happy he who shrivesTo thee! But then I thought on poets gone,And could not pray:–nor can I now–so onI move to the end in lowliness of heart.–"Ah, woe is me! that I should fondly part30From my dear native land! Ah, foolish maid!Glad was the hour, when, with thee, myriads badeAdieu to Ganges and their pleasant fields!To one so friendless the clear freshet yieldsA bitter coolness; the ripe grape is sour:Yet I would have, great gods! but one short hourOf native air–let me but die at home."Endymion to heaven's airy domeWas offering up a hecatomb of vows,When these words reach'd him. Whereupon he bowsHis head through thorny-green entanglement41Of underwood, and to the sound is bent,Anxious as hind towards her hidden fawn."Is no one near to help me? No fair dawnOf life from charitable voice? No sweet sayingTo set my dull and sadden'd spirit playing?No hand to toy with mine? No lips so sweetThat I may worship them? No eyelids meetTo twinkle on my bosom? No one diesBefore me, till from these enslaving eyes50Redemption sparkles!–I am sad and lost."Thou, Carian lord, hadst better have been tostInto a whirlpool. Vanish into air,Warm mountaineer! for canst thou only bearA woman's sigh alone and in distress?See not her charms! Is Phœbe passionless?Phœbe is fairer far–O gaze no more:–Yet if thou wilt behold all beauty's store,Behold her panting in the forest grass!Do not those curls of glossy jet surpass60For tenderness the arms so idly lainAmongst them? Feelest not a kindred pain,To see such lovely eyes in swimming searchAfter some warm delight, that seems to perchDovelike in the dim cell lying beyondTheir upper lids?–Hist!"O for Hermes' wand,To touch this flower into human shape!That woodland Hyacinthus could escapeFrom his green prison, and here kneeling down70Call me his queen, his second life's fair crown!Ah me, how I could love!–My soul doth meltFor the unhappy youth–Love! I have feltSo faint a kindness, such a meek surrenderTo what my own full thoughts had made too tender,That but for tears my life had fled away!–Ye deaf and senseless minutes of the day,And thou, old forest, hold ye this for true,There is no lightning, no authentic dewBut in the eye of love: there's not a sound,80Melodious howsoever, can confoundThe heavens and earth in one to such a deathAs doth the voice of love: there's not a breathWill mingle kindly with the meadow air,Till it has panted round, and stolen a shareOf passion from the heart!"–Upon a boughHe leant, wretched. He surely cannot nowThirst for another love: O impious,That he can even dream upon it thus!–90Thought he, "Why am I not as are the dead,Since to a woe like this I have been ledThrough the dark earth, and through the wondrous sea?Goddess! I love thee not the less: from theeBy Juno's smile I turn not–no, no, no–While the great waters are at ebb and flow.–I have a triple soul! O fond pretence–For both, for both my love is so immense,I feel my heart is cut in twain for them."And so he groan'd, as one by beauty slain.100The lady's heart beat quick, and he could seeHer gentle bosom heave tumultuously.He sprang from his green covert: there she lay,Sweet as a muskrose upon new-made hay;With all her limbs on tremble, and her eyesShut softly up alive. To speak he tries."Fair damsel, pity me! forgive that IThus violate thy bower's sanctity!O pardon me, for I am full of grief–Grief born of thee, young angel! fairest thief!110Who stolen hast away the wings wherewithI was to top the heavens. Dear maid, sithThou art my executioner, and I feelLoving and hatred, misery and weal,Will in a few short hours be nothing to me,And all my story that much passion slew me;Do smile upon the evening of my days:And, for my tortur'd brain begins to craze,Be thou my nurse; and let me understandHow dying I shall kiss that lily hand.–120Dost weep for me? Then should I be content.Scowl on, ye fates! until the firmamentOutblackens Erebus, and the full-cavern'd earthCrumbles into itself. By the cloud girthOf Jove, those tears have given me a thirstTo meet oblivion."–As her heart would burstThe maiden sobb'd awhile, and then replied:"Why must such desolation betideAs that thou speakest of? Are not these green nooksEmpty of all misfortune? Do the brooks130Utter a gorgon voice? Does yonder thrush,Schooling its half-fledg'd little ones to brushAbout the dewy forest, whisper tales?–Speak not of grief, young stranger, or cold snailsWill slime the rose to night. Though if thou wilt,Methinks 'twould be a guilt–a very guilt–Not to companion thee, and sigh awayThe light–the dusk–the dark–till break of day!""Dear lady," said Endymion, "'tis past:I love thee! and my days can never last.140That I may pass in patience still speak:Let me have music dying, and I seekNo more delight–I bid adieu to all.Didst thou not after other climates call,And murmur about Indian streams?"–Then she,Sitting beneath the midmost forest tree,For pity sang this roundelay—"O Sorrow,Why dost borrowThe natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?–150To give maiden blushesTo the white rose bushes?Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips?"O Sorrow,Why dost borrowThe lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?–To give the glow-worm light?Or, on a moonless night,To tinge, on syren shores, the salt sea-spry?"O Sorrow,160Why dost borrowThe mellow ditties from a mourning tongue?–To give at evening paleUnto the nightingale,That thou mayst listen the cold dews among?"O Sorrow,Why dost borrowHeart's lightness from the merriment of May?–A lover would not treadA cowslip on the head,170Though he should dance from eve till peep of day–Nor any drooping flowerHeld sacred for thy bower,Wherever he may sport himself and play."To Sorrow,I bade good-morrow,And thought to leave her far away behind;But cheerly, cheerly,She loves me dearly;She is so constant to me, and so kind:180I would deceive herAnd so leave her,But ah! she is so constant and so kind."Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,I sat a weeping: in the whole world wideThere was no one to ask me why I wept,–And so I keptBrimming the water-lily cups with tearsCold as my fears."Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,190I sat a weeping: what enamour'd bride,Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds,But hides and shroudsBeneath dark palm trees by a river side?"And as I sat, over the light blue hillsThere came a noise of revellers: the rillsInto the wide stream came of purple hue–'Twas Bacchus and his crew!The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrillsFrom kissing cymbals made a merry din–200'Twas Bacchus and his kin!Like to a moving vintage down they came,Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all on flame;All madly dancing through the pleasant valley,To scare thee, Melancholy!O then, O then, thou wast a simple name!And I forgot thee, as the berried hollyBy shepherds is forgotten, when, in June,Tall chesnuts keep away the sun and moon:–I rush'd into the folly!210"Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood,Trifling his ivy-dart, in dancing mood,With sidelong laughing;And little rills of crimson wine imbruedHis plump white arms, and shoulders, enough whiteFor Venus' pearly bite:And near him rode Silenus on his ass,Pelted with flowers as he on did passTipsily quaffing."Whence came ye, merry Damsels! whence came ye!So many, and so many, and such glee?221Why have ye left your bowers desolate,Your lutes, and gentler fate?–'We follow Bacchus! Bacchus on the wing,A conquering!Bacchus, young Bacchus! good or ill betide,We dance before him thorough kingdoms wide:–Come hither, lady fair, and joined beTo our wild minstrelsy!'"Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs! whence came ye!230So many, and so many, and such glee?Why have ye left your forest haunts, why leftYour nuts in oak-tree cleft?–'For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree;For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms,And cold mushrooms;For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth;Great God of breathless cups and chirping mirth!–Come hither, lady fair, and joined beTo our mad minstrelsy!'240"Over wide streams and mountains great we went,And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy tent,Onward the tiger and the leopard pants,With Asian elephants:Onward these myriads–with song and dance,With zebras striped, and sleek Arabians' prance,Web-footed alligators, crocodiles,Bearing upon their scaly backs, in files,Plump infant laughers mimicking the coilOf seamen, and stout galley-rowers' toil:250With toying oars and silken sails they glide,Nor care for wind and tide."Mounted on panthers' furs and lions' manes,From rear to van they scour about the plains;A three days' journey in a moment done:And always, at the rising of the sun,About the wilds they hunt with spear and horn,On spleenful unicorn."I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adownBefore the vine-wreath crown!260I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and singTo the silver cymbals' ring!I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierceOld Tartary the fierce!The kings of Inde their jewel-sceptres vail,And from their treasures scatter pearled hail;Great Brahma from his mystic heaven groans,And all his priesthood moans;Before young Bacchus' eye-wink turning pale.–Into these regions came I following him,270Sick hearted, weary–so I took a whimTo stray away into these forests drearAlone, without a peer:And I have told thee all thou mayest hear."Young stranger!I've been a rangerIn search of pleasure throughout every clime:Alas, 'tis not for me!Bewitch'd I sure must be,To lose in grieving all my maiden prime.280"Come then, Sorrow!Sweetest Sorrow!Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast:I thought to leave theeAnd deceive thee,But now of all the world I love thee best."There is not one,No, no, not oneBut thee to comfort a poor lonely maid;Thou art her mother,290And her brother,Her playmate, and her wooer in the shade."O what a sigh she gave in finishing,And look, quite dead to every worldly thing!Endymion could not speak, but gazed on her;And listened to the wind that now did stirAbout the crisped oaks full drearily,Yet with as sweet a softness as might beRemember'd from its velvet summer song.At last he said: "Poor lady, how thus long300Have I been able to endure that voice?Fair Melody! kind Syren! I've no choice;I must be thy sad servant evermore:I cannot choose but kneel here and adore.Alas, I must not think–by Phœbe, no!Let me not think, soft Angel! shall it be so?Say, beautifullest, shall I never think?O thou could'st foster me beyond the brinkOf recollection! make my watchful careClose up its bloodshot eyes, nor see despair!310Do gently murder half my soul, and IShall feel the other half so utterly!–I'm giddy at that cheek so fair and smooth;O let it blush so ever! let it sootheMy madness! let it mantle rosy-warmWith the tinge of love, panting in safe alarm.–This cannot be thy hand, and yet it is;And this is sure thine other softling–thisThine own fair bosom, and I am so near!Wilt fall asleep? O let me sip that tear!320And whisper one sweet word that I may knowThis is this world–sweet dewy blossom!"–Woe!Woe! Woe to that Endymion! Where is he?–Even these words went echoing dismallyThrough the wide forest–a most fearful tone,Like one repenting in his latest moan;And while it died away a shade pass'd by,As of a thunder cloud. When arrows flyThrough the thick branches, poor ring-doves sleek forthTheir timid necks and tremble; so these both330Leant to each other trembling, and sat soWaiting for some destruction–when lo,Foot-feather'd Mercury appear'd sublimeBeyond the tall tree tops; and in less timeThan shoots the slanted hail-storm, down he droptTowards the ground; but rested not, nor stoptOne moment from his home: only the swardHe with his wand light touch'd, and heavenwardSwifter than sight was gone–even beforeThe teeming earth a sudden witness bore340Of his swift magic. Diving swans appearAbove the crystal circlings white and clear;And catch the cheated eye in wild surprise,How they can dive in sight and unseen rise–So from the turf outsprang two steeds jet-black,Each with large dark blue wings upon his back.The youth of Caria plac'd the lovely dameOn one, and felt himself in spleen to tameThe other's fierceness. Through the air they flew,High as the eagles. Like two drops of dew350Exhal'd to Phœbus' lips, away they are gone,Far from the earth away–unseen, alone,Among cool clouds and winds, but that the free,The buoyant life of song can floating beAbove their heads, and follow them untir'd.–Muse of my native land, am I inspir'd?This is the giddy air, and I must spreadWide pinions to keep here; nor do I dreadOr height, or depth, or width, or any chancePrecipitous: I have beneath my glance360Those towering horses and their mournful freight.Could I thus sail, and see, and thus awaitFearless for power of thought, without thine aid?–There is a sleepy dusk, an odorous shadeFrom some approaching wonder, and beholdThose winged steeds, with snorting nostrils boldSnuff at its faint extreme, and seem to tire,Dying to embers from their native fire!There curl'd a purple mist around them; soon,It seem'd as when around the pale new moon370Sad Zephyr droops the clouds like weeping willow:'Twas Sleep slow journeying with head on pillow.For the first time, since he came nigh dead bornFrom the old womb of night, his cave forlornHad he left more forlorn; for the first time,He felt aloof the day and morning's prime–Because into his depth CimmerianThere came a dream, shewing how a young man,Ere a lean bat could plump its wintery skin,Would at high Jove's empyreal footstool win380An immortality, and how espouseJove's daughter, and be reckon'd of his house.Now was he slumbering towards heaven's gate,That he might at the threshold one hour waitTo hear the marriage melodies, and thenSink downward to his dusky cave again.His litter of smooth semilucent mist,Diversely ting'd with rose and amethyst,Puzzled those eyes that for the centre sought;And scarcely for one moment could be caught390His sluggish form reposing motionless.Those two on winged steeds, with all the stressOf vision search'd for him, as one would lookAthwart the sallows of a river nookTo catch a glance at silver throated eels,–Or from old Skiddaw's top, when fog concealsHis rugged forehead in a mantle pale,With an eye-guess towards some pleasant valeDescry a favourite hamlet faint and far.These raven horses, though they foster'd are400Of earth's splenetic fire, dully dropTheir full-veined ears, nostrils blood wide, and stop;Upon the spiritless mist have they outspreadTheir ample feathers, are in slumber dead,–And on those pinions, level in mid air,Endymion sleepeth and the lady fair.Slowly they sail, slowly as icy isleUpon a calm sea drifting: and meanwhileThe mournful wanderer dreams. Behold! he walksOn heaven's pavement; brotherly he talks410To divine powers: from his hand full fainJuno's proud birds are pecking pearly grain:He tries the nerve of Phœbus' golden bow,And asketh where the golden apples grow:Upon his arm he braces Pallas' shield,And strives in vain to unsettle and wieldA Jovian thunderbolt: arch Hebe bringsA full-brimm'd goblet, dances lightly, singsAnd tantalizes long; at last he drinks,And lost in pleasure at her feet he sinks,420Touching with dazzled lips her starlight hand.He blows a bugle,–an ethereal bandAre visible above: the Seasons four,–Green-kyrtled Spring, flush Summer, golden storeIn Autumn's sickle, Winter frosty hoar,Join dance with shadowy Hours; while still the blast,In swells unmitigated, still doth lastTo sway their floating morris. "Whose is this?Whose bugle?" he inquires: they smile–"O Dis!Why is this mortal here? Dost thou not know430Its mistress' lips? Not thou?–'Tis Dian's: lo!She rises crescented!" He looks, 'tis she,His very goddess: good-bye earth, and sea,And air, and pains, and care, and suffering;Good-bye to all but love! Then doth he springTowards her, and awakes–and, strange, o'erhead,Of those same fragrant exhalations bred,Beheld awake his very dream: the godsStood smiling; merry Hebe laughs and nods;And Phœbe bends towards him crescented.440O state perplexing! On the pinion bed,Too well awake, he feels the panting sideOf his delicious lady. He who diedFor soaring too audacious in the sun,Where that same treacherous wax began to run,Felt not more tongue-tied than Endymion.His heart leapt up as to its rightful throne,To that fair shadow'd passion puls'd its way–Ah, what perplexity! Ah, well a day!So fond, so beauteous was his bed-fellow,450He could not help but kiss her: then he grewAwhile forgetful of all beauty saveYoung Phœbe's, golden hair'd; and so 'gan craveForgiveness: yet he turn'd once more to lookAt the sweet sleeper,–all his soul was shook,–She press'd his hand in slumber; so once moreHe could not help but kiss her and adore.At this the shadow wept, melting away.The Latmian started up: "Bright goddess, stay!Search my most hidden breast! By truth's own tongue,I have no dædale heart: why is it wrung461To desperation? Is there nought for me,Upon the bourne of bliss, but misery?"These words awoke the stranger of dark tresses:Her dawning love-look rapt Endymion blessesWith 'haviour soft. Sleep yawned from underneath."Thou swan of Ganges, let us no more breatheThis murky phantasm! thou contented seem'stPillow'd in lovely idleness, nor dream'stWhat horrors may discomfort thee and me.470Ah, shouldst thou die from my heart-treachery!–Yet did she merely weep–her gentle soulHath no revenge in it: as it is wholeIn tenderness, would I were whole in love!Can I prize thee, fair maid, till price above,Even when I feel as true as innocence?I do, I do.–What is this soul then? WhenceCame it? It does not seem my own, and IHave no self-passion or identity.Some fearful end must be: where, where is it?480By Nemesis, I see my spirit flitAlone about the dark–Forgive me, sweet:Shall we away?" He rous'd the steeds: they beatTheir wings chivalrous into the clear air,Leaving old Sleep within his vapoury lair.The good-night blush of eve was waning slow,And Vesper, risen star, began to throeIn the dusk heavens silvery, when theyThus sprang direct towards the Galaxy.Nor did speed hinder converse soft and strange–490Eternal oaths and vows they interchange,In such wise, in such temper, so aloofUp in the winds, beneath a starry roof,So witless of their doom, that verily'Tis well nigh past man's search their hearts to see;Whether they wept, or laugh'd, or griev'd, or toy'd–Most like with joy gone mad, with sorrow cloy'd.Fell facing their swift flight, from ebon streak,The moon put forth a little diamond peak,No bigger than an unobserved star,500Or tiny point of fairy scymetar;Bright signal that she only stoop'd to tieHer silver sandals, ere deliciouslyShe bow'd into the heavens her timid head.Slowly she rose, as though she would have fled,While to his lady meek the Carian turn'd,To mark if her dark eyes had yet discern'dThis beauty in its birth–Despair! despair!He saw her body fading gaunt and spareIn the cold moonshine. Straight he seiz'd her wrist;It melted from his grasp: her hand he kiss'd,511And, horror! kiss'd his own–he was alone.Her steed a little higher soar'd, and thenDropt hawkwise to the earth.There lies a den,Beyond the seeming confines of the spaceMade for the soul to wander in and traceIts own existence, of remotest glooms.Dark regions are around it, where the tombsOf buried griefs the spirit sees, but scarce520One hour doth linger weeping, for the pierceOf new-born woe it feels more inly smart:And in these regions many a venom'd dartAt random flies; they are the proper homeOf every ill: the man is yet to comeWho hath not journeyed in this native hell.But few have ever felt how calm and wellSleep may be had in that deep den of all.There anguish does not sting; nor pleasure pall:Woe-hurricanes beat ever at the gate,530Yet all is still within and desolate.Beset with plainful gusts, within ye hearNo sound so loud as when on curtain'd bierThe death-watch tick is stifled. Enter noneWho strive therefore: on the sudden it is won.Just when the sufferer begins to burn,Then it is free to him; and from an urn,Still fed by melting ice, he takes a draught–Young Semele such richness never quaftIn her maternal longing. Happy gloom!540Dark Paradise! where pale becomes the bloomOf health by due; where silence dreariestIs most articulate; where hopes infest;Where those eyes are the brightest far that keepTheir lids shut longest in a dreamless sleep.O happy spirit-home! O wondrous soul!Pregnant with such a den to save the wholeIn thine own depth. Hail, gentle Carian!For, never since thy griefs and woes began,Hast thou felt so content: a grievous feud550Hath let thee to this Cave of Quietude.Aye, his lull'd soul was there, although upborneWith dangerous speed: and so he did not mournBecause he knew not whither he was going.So happy was he, not the aerial blowingOf trumpets at clear parley from the eastCould rouse from that fine relish, that high feast.They stung the feather'd horse: with fierce alarmHe flapp'd towards the sound. Alas, no charmCould lift Endymion's head, or he had view'd560A skyey mask, a pinion'd multitude,–And silvery was its passing: voices sweetWarbling the while as if to lull and greetThe wanderer in his path. Thus warbled they,While past the vision went in bright array."Who, who from Dian's feast would be away?For all the golden bowers of the dayAre empty left? Who, who away would beFrom Cynthia's wedding and festivity?Not Hesperus: lo! upon his silver wings570He leans away for highest heaven and sings,Snapping his lucid fingers merrily!–Ah, Zephyrus! art here, and Flora too!Ye tender bibbers of the rain and dew,Young playmates of the rose and daffodil,Be careful, ere ye enter in, to fillYour baskets highWith fennel green, and balm, and golden pines,Savory, latter-mint, and columbines,Cool parsley, basil sweet, and sunny thyme;580Yea, every flower and leaf of every clime,All gather'd in the dewy morning: hieAway! fly, fly!–Crystalline brother of the belt of heaven,Aquarius! to whom king Jove has givenTwo liquid pulse streams 'stead of feather'd wings,Two fan-like fountains,–thine illuminingsFor Dian play:Dissolve the frozen purity of air;Let thy white shoulders silvery and bare590Shew cold through watery pinions; make more brightThe Star-Queen's crescent on her marriage night:Haste, haste away!–Castor has tamed the planet Lion, see!And of the Bear has Pollux mastery:A third is in the race! who is the third,Speeding away swift as the eagle bird?The ramping Centaur!The Lion's mane's on end: the Bear how fierce!The Centaur's arrow ready seems to pierce600Some enemy: far forth his bow is bentInto the blue of heaven. He'll be shent,Pale unrelentor,When he shall hear the wedding lutes a playing.–Andromeda! sweet woman! why delayingSo timidly among the stars: come hither!Join this bright throng, and nimbly follow whitherThey all are going.Danae's Son, before Jove newly bow'd,Has wept for thee, calling to Jove aloud.610Thee, gentle lady, did he disenthral:Ye shall for ever live and love, for allThy tears are flowing.–By Daphne's fright, behold Apollo!–"MoreEndymion heard not: down his steed him bore,Prone to the green head of a misty hill.His first touch of the earth went nigh to kill."Alas!" said he, "were I but always borneThrough dangerous winds, had but my footsteps wornA path in hell, for ever would I bless621Horrors which nourish an uneasinessFor my own sullen conquering: to himWho lives beyond earth's boundary, grief is dim,Sorrow is but a shadow: now I seeThe grass; I feel the solid ground–Ah, me!It is thy voice–divinest! Where?–who? whoLeft thee so quiet on this bed of dew?Behold upon this happy earth we are;Let us ay love each other; let us fare630On forest-fruits, and never, never goAmong the abodes of mortals here below,Or be by phantoms duped. O destiny!Into a labyrinth now my soul would fly,But with thy beauty will I deaden it.Where didst thou melt too? By thee will I sitFor ever: let our fate stop here–a kidI on this spot will offer: Pan will bidUs live in peace, in love and peace amongHis forest wildernesses. I have clung640To nothing, lov'd a nothing, nothing seenOr felt but a great dream! O I have beenPresumptuous against love, against the sky,Against all elements, against the tieOf mortals each to each, against the bloomsOf flowers, rush of rivers, and the tombsOf heroes gone! Against his proper gloryHas my own soul conspired: so my storyWill I to children utter, and repent.There never liv'd a mortal man, who bent650His appetite beyond his natural sphere,But starv'd and died. My sweetest Indian, here,Here will I kneel, for thou redeemed hastMy life from too thin breathing: gone and pastAre cloudy phantasms. Caverns lone, farewel!And air of visions, and the monstrous swellOf visionary seas! No, never moreShall airy voices cheat me to the shoreOf tangled wonder, breathless and aghast.Adieu, my daintiest Dream! although so vast660My love is still for thee. The hour may comeWhen we shall meet in pure elysium.On earth I may not love thee; and thereforeDoves will I offer up, and sweetest storeAll through the teeming year: so thou wilt shineOn me, and on this damsel fair of mine,And bless our simple lives. My Indian bliss!My river-lily bud! one human kiss!One sigh of real breath–one gentle squeeze,Warm as a dove's nest among summer trees,670And warm with dew at ooze from living blood!Whither didst melt? Ah, what of that!–all goodWe'll talk about–no more of dreaming.–Now,Where shall our dwelling be? Under the browOf some steep mossy hill, where ivy dunWould hide us up, although spring leaves were none;And where dark yew trees, as we rustle through,Will drop their scarlet berry cups of dew?O thou wouldst joy to live in such a place;Dusk for our loves, yet light enough to grace680Those gentle limbs on mossy bed reclin'd:For by one step the blue sky shouldst thou find,And by another, in deep dell below,See, through the trees, a little river goAll in its mid-day gold and glimmering.Honey from out the gnarled hive I'll bring,And apples, wan with sweetness, gather thee,–Cresses that grow where no man may them see,And sorrel untorn by the dew-claw'd stag:Pipes will I fashion of the syrinx flag,690That thou mayst always know whither I roam,When it shall please thee in our quiet homeTo listen and think of love. Still let me speak;Still let me dive into the joy I seek,–For yet the past doth prison me. The rill,Thou haply mayst delight in, will I fillWith fairy fishes from the mountain tarn,And thou shall feed them from the squirrel's barn.Its bottom will I strew with amber shells,And pebbles blue from deep enchanted wells.700Its sides I'll plant with dew-sweet eglantine,And honeysuckles full of clear bee-wine.I will entice this crystal rill to traceLove's silver name upon the meadow's face.I'll kneel to Vesta, for a flame of fire;And to god Phœbus, for a golden lyre;To Empress Dian, for a hunting spear;To Vesper, for a taper silver-clear,That I may see thy beauty through the night;To Flora, and a nightingale shall light710Tame on thy finger; to the River-gods,And they shall bring thee taper fishing-rodsOf gold, and lines of Naiads' long bright tress.Heaven shield thee for thine utter loveliness!Thy mossy footstool shall the altar be'Fore which I'll bend, bending, dear love, to thee:Those lips shall be my Delphos, and shall speakLaws to my footsteps, colour to my cheek,Trembling or stedfastness to this same voice,And of three sweetest pleasurings the choice:720And that affectionate light, those diamond things,Those eyes, those passions, those supreme pearl springs,Shall be my grief, or twinkle me to pleasure.Say, is not bliss within our perfect seisure?O that I could not doubt?"The mountaineerThus strove by fancies vain and crude to clearHis briar'd path to some tranquillity.It gave bright gladness to his lady's eye,And yet the tears she wept were tears of sorrow;730Answering thus, just as the golden morrowBeam'd upward from the vallies of the east:"O that the flutter of this heart had ceas'd,Or the sweet name of love had pass'd away.Young feathor'd tyrant! by a swift decayWilt thou devote this body to the earth:And I do think that at my very birthI lisp'd thy blooming titles inwardly;For at the first, first dawn and thought of thee,With uplift hands I blest the stars of heaven.740Art thou not cruel? Ever have I strivenTo think thee kind, but ah, it will not do!When yet a child, I heard that kisses drewFavour from thee, and so I gave and gaveTo the void air, bidding them find out love:But when I came to feel how far aboveAll fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood,All earthly pleasure, all imagin'd good,Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss,–Even then, that moment, at the thought of this,750Fainting I fell into a bed of flowers,And languish'd there three days. Ye milder powers,Am I not cruelly wrong'd? Believe, believeMe, dear Endymion, were I to weaveWith my own fancies garlands of sweet life,Thou shouldst be one of all. Ah, bitter strife!I may not be thy love: I am forbidden–Indeed I am–thwarted, affrighted, chidden,By things I trembled at, and gorgon wrath.Twice hast thou ask'd whither I went: henceforth760Ask me no more! I may not utter it,Nor may I be thy love. We might commitOurselves at once to vengeance; we might die;We might embrace and die: voluptuous thought!Enlarge not to my hunger, or I'm caughtIn trammels of perverse deliciousness.No, no, that shall not be: thee will I bless,And bid a long adieu."The CarianNo word return'd: both lovelorn, silent, wan,770Into the vallies green together went.Far wandering, they were perforce contentTo sit beneath a fair lone beechen tree;Nor at each other gaz'd, but heavilyPor'd on its hazle cirque of shedded leaves.Endymion! unhappy! it nigh grievesMe to behold thee thus in last extreme:Ensky'd ere this, but truly that I deemTruth the best music in a first-born song.Thy lute-voic'd brother will I sing ere long,780And thou shall aid–hast thou not aided me?Yes, moonlight Emperor! felicityHas been thy meed for many thousand years;Yet often have I, on the brink of tears,Mourn'd as if yet thou wert a forester;–Forgetting the old tale.He did not stirHis eyes from the dead leaves, or one small pulseOf joy he might have felt. The spirit cullsUnfaded amaranth, when wild it strays790Through the old garden-ground of boyish days.A little onward ran the very streamBy which he took his first soft poppy dream;And on the very bark 'gainst which he leantA crescent he had carv'd, and round it spentHis skill in little stars. The teeming treeHad swollen and green'd the pious charactery,But not ta'en out. Why, there was not a slopeUp which he had not fear'd the antelope;And not a tree, beneath whose rooty shade800He had not with his tamed leopards play'd;Nor could an arrow light, or javelin,Fly in the air where his had never been–And yet he knew it not.O treachery!Why does his lady smile, pleasing her eyeWith all his sorrowing? He sees her not.But who so stares on him? His sister sure!Peona of the woods!–Can she endure–Impossible–how dearly they embrace!810His lady smiles; delight is in her face;It is no treachery."Dear brother mine!Endymion, weep not so! Why shouldst thou pineWhen all great Latmos so exalt will be?Thank the great gods, and look not bitterly;And speak not one pale word, and sigh no more.Sure I will not believe thou hast such storeOf grief, to last thee to my kiss again.Thou surely canst not bear a mind in pain,820Come hand in hand with one so beautiful.Be happy both of you! for I will pullThe flowers of autumn for your coronals.Pan's holy priest for young Endymion calls;And when he is restor'd, thou, fairest dame,Shalt be our queen. Now, is it not a shameTo see ye thus,–not very, very sad?Perhaps ye are too happy to be glad:O feel as if it were a common day;Free-voic'd as one who never was away.830No tongue shall ask, whence come ye? but ye shallBe gods of your own rest imperial.Not even I, for one whole month, will pryInto the hours that have pass'd us by,Since in my arbour I did sing to thee.O Hermes! on this very night will beA hymning up to Cynthia, queen of light;For the soothsayers old saw yesternightGood visions in the air,–whence will befal,As say these sages, health perpetual840To shepherds and their flocks; and furthermore,In Dian's face they read the gentle lore:Therefore for her these vesper-carols are.Our friends will all be there from nigh and far.Many upon thy death have ditties made;And many, even now, their foreheads shadeWith cypress, on a day of sacrifice.New singing for our maids shalt thou devise,And pluck the sorrow from our huntsmen's brows.Tell me, my lady-queen, how to espouse850This wayward brother to his rightful joys!His eyes are on thee bent, as thou didst poiseHis fate most goddess-like. Help me, I pray,To lure–Endymion, dear brother, sayWhat ails thee?" He could bear no more, and soBent his soul fiercely like a spiritual bow,And twang'd it inwardly, and calmly said:"I would have thee my only friend, sweet maid!My only visitor! not ignorant though,That those deceptions which for pleasure go860'Mong men, are pleasures real as real may be:But there are higher ones I may not see,If impiously an earthly realm I take.Since I saw thee, I have been wide awakeNight after night, and day by day, untilOf the empyrean I have drunk my fill.Let it content thee, Sister, seeing meMore happy than betides mortality.A hermit young, I'll live in mossy cave,Where thou alone shalt come to me, and lave870Thy spirit in the wonders I shall tell.Through me the shepherd realm shall prosper well;For to thy tongue will I all health confide.And, for my sake, let this young maid abideWith thee as a dear sister. Thou alone,Peona, mayst return to me. I ownThis may sound strangely: but when, dearest girl,Thou seest it for my happiness, no pearlWill trespass down those cheeks. Companion fair!Wilt be content to dwell with her, to share880This sister's love with me?" Like one resign'dAnd bent by circumstance, and thereby blindIn self-commitment, thus that meek unknown:"Aye, but a buzzing by my ears has flown,Of jubilee to Dian:–truth I heard!Well then, I see there is no little bird,Tender soever, but is Jove's own care.Long have I sought for rest, and, unaware,Behold I find it! so exalted too!So after my own heart! I knew, I knew890There was a place untenanted in it:In that same void white Chastity shall sit,And monitor me nightly to lone slumber.With sanest lips I vow me to the numberOf Dian's sisterhood; and, kind lady,With thy good help, this very night shall seeMy future days to her fane consecrate."As feels a dreamer what doth most createHis own particular fright, so these three felt:Or like one who, in after ages, knelt900To Lucifer or Baal, when he'd pineAfter a little sleep: or when in mineFar under-ground, a sleeper meets his friendsWho know him not. Each diligently bendsTowards common thoughts and things for very fear;Striving their ghastly malady to cheer,By thinking it a thing of yes and no,That housewives talk of. But the spirit-blowWas struck, and all were dreamers. At the lastEndymion said: "Are not our fates all cast?910Why stand we here? Adieu, ye tender pair!Adieu!" Whereat those maidens, with wild stare,Walk'd dizzily away. Pained and hotHis eyes went after them, until they gotNear to a cypress grove, whose deadly maw,In one swift moment, would what then he sawEngulph for ever. "Stay!" he cried, "ah, stay!Turn, damsels! hist! one word I have to say.Sweet Indian, I would see thee once again.It is a thing I dote on: so I'd fain,920Peona, ye should hand in hand repairInto those holy groves, that silent areBehind great Dian's temple. I'll be yon,At vesper's earliest twinkle–they are gone–But once, once, once again–" At this he press'dHis hands against his face, and then did restHis head upon a mossy hillock green,And so remain'd as he a corpse had beenAll the long day; save when he scantly liftedHis eyes abroad, to see how shadows shifted930With the slow move of time,–sluggish and wearyUntil the poplar tops, in journey dreary,Had reach'd the river's brim. Then up he rose,And, slowly as that very river flows,Walk'd towards the temple grove with this lament:"Why such a golden eve? The breeze is sentCareful and soft, that not a leaf may fallBefore the serene father of them allBows down his summer head below the west.Now am I of breath, speech, and speed possest,940But at the setting I must bid adieuTo her for the last time. Night will strewOn the damp grass myriads of lingering leaves,And with them shall I die; nor much it grievesTo die, when summer dies on the cold sward.Why, I have been a butterfly, a lordOf flowers, garlands, love-knots, silly posies,Groves, meadows, melodies, and arbour roses;My kingdom's at its death, and just it isThat I should die with it: so in all this950We miscal grief, bale, sorrow, heartbreak, woe,What is there to plain of? By Titan's foeI am but rightly serv'd." So saying, heTripp'd lightly on, in sort of deathful glee;Laughing at the clear stream and setting sun,As though they jests had been: nor had he doneHis laugh at nature's holy countenance,Until that grove appear'd, as if perchance,And then his tongue with sober seemlihedGave utterance as he entered: "Ha!" I said,960"King of the butterflies; but by this gloom,And by old Rhadamanthus' tongue of doom,This dusk religion, pomp of solitude,And the Promethean clay by thief endued,By old Saturnus' forelock, by his headShook with eternal palsy, I did wedMyself to things of light from infancy;And thus to be cast out, thus lorn to die,Is sure enough to make a mortal manGrow impious." So he inwardly began970On things for which no wording can be found;Deeper and deeper sinking, until drown'dBeyond the reach of music: for the choirOf Cynthia he heard not, though rough briarNor muffling thicket interpos'd to dullThe vesper hymn, far swollen, soft and full,Through the dark pillars of those sylvan aisles.He saw not the two maidens, nor their smiles,Wan as primroses gather'd at midnightBy chilly finger'd spring. "Unhappy wight!980Endymion!" said Peona, "we are here!What wouldst thou ere we all are laid on bier?"Then he embrac'd her, and his lady's handPress'd, saying: "Sister, I would have command,If it were heaven's will, on our sad fate."At which that dark-eyed stranger stood elateAnd said, in a new voice, but sweet as love,To Endymion's amaze: "By Cupid's dove,And so thou shalt! and by the lily truthOf my own breast thou shalt, beloved youth!"990And as she spake, into her face there cameLight, as reflected from a silver flame:Her long black hair swell'd ampler, in displayFull golden; in her eyes a brighter dayDawn'd blue and full of love. Aye, he beheldPhœbe, his passion! joyous she upheldHer lucid bow, continuing thus: "Drear, drearHas our delaying been; but foolish fearWithheld me first; and then decrees of fate;And then 'twas fit that from this mortal state1000Thou shouldst, my love, by some unlook'd for changeBe spiritualiz'd. Peona, we shall rangeThese forests, and to thee they safe shall beAs was thy cradle; hither shalt thou fleeTo meet us many a time." Next Cynthia brightPeona kiss'd, and bless'd with fair good night:Her brother kiss'd her too, and knelt adownBefore his goddess, in a blissful swoon.She gave her fair hands to him, and behold,Before three swiftest kisses he had told,1010They vanish'd far away!–Peona wentHome through the gloomy wood in wonderment.THE END.T. Miller, Printer, Noble Street, Cheapside.Transcriber's NotesBook II, line 795: "crystaline" corrected to "crystalline".Book III, line 71: "her" corrected to "his".

Lo! while slow carried through the pitying crowd,To his inward senses these words spake aloud;1031Written in star-light on the dark above:Dearest Endymion! my entire love!How have I dwelt in fear of fate: 'tis done–Immortal bliss for me too hast thou won.Arise then! for the hen-dove shall not hatchHer ready eggs, before I'll kissing snatchThee into endless heaven. Awake! awake!

The youth at once arose: a placid lakeCame quiet to his eyes; and forest green,1040Cooler than all the wonders he had seen,Lull'd with its simple song his fluttering breast.How happy once again in grassy nest!

BOOK IV.

Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!O first-born on the mountains! by the huesOf heaven on the spiritual air begot:Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,While yet our England was a wolfish den;Before our forests heard the talk of men;Before the first of Druids was a child;–Long didst thou sit amid our regions wildRapt in a deep prophetic solitude.There came an eastern voice of solemn mood:–10Yet wast thou patient. Then sang forth the Nine,Apollo's garland:–yet didst thou divineSuch home-bred glory, that they cry'd in vain,"Come hither, Sister of the Island!" PlainSpake fair Ausonia; and once more she spakeA higher summons:–still didst thou betakeThee to thy native hopes. O thou hast wonA full accomplishment! The thing is done,Which undone, these our latter days had risenOn barren souls. Great Muse, thou know'st what prison,Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets21Our spirit's wings: despondency besetsOur pillows; and the fresh to-morrow mornSeems to give forth its light in very scornOf our dull, uninspired, snail-paced lives.Long have I said, how happy he who shrivesTo thee! But then I thought on poets gone,And could not pray:–nor can I now–so onI move to the end in lowliness of heart.–

"Ah, woe is me! that I should fondly part30From my dear native land! Ah, foolish maid!Glad was the hour, when, with thee, myriads badeAdieu to Ganges and their pleasant fields!To one so friendless the clear freshet yieldsA bitter coolness; the ripe grape is sour:Yet I would have, great gods! but one short hourOf native air–let me but die at home."

Endymion to heaven's airy domeWas offering up a hecatomb of vows,When these words reach'd him. Whereupon he bowsHis head through thorny-green entanglement41Of underwood, and to the sound is bent,Anxious as hind towards her hidden fawn.

"Is no one near to help me? No fair dawnOf life from charitable voice? No sweet sayingTo set my dull and sadden'd spirit playing?No hand to toy with mine? No lips so sweetThat I may worship them? No eyelids meetTo twinkle on my bosom? No one diesBefore me, till from these enslaving eyes50Redemption sparkles!–I am sad and lost."

Thou, Carian lord, hadst better have been tostInto a whirlpool. Vanish into air,Warm mountaineer! for canst thou only bearA woman's sigh alone and in distress?See not her charms! Is Phœbe passionless?Phœbe is fairer far–O gaze no more:–Yet if thou wilt behold all beauty's store,Behold her panting in the forest grass!Do not those curls of glossy jet surpass60For tenderness the arms so idly lainAmongst them? Feelest not a kindred pain,To see such lovely eyes in swimming searchAfter some warm delight, that seems to perchDovelike in the dim cell lying beyondTheir upper lids?–Hist!"O for Hermes' wand,To touch this flower into human shape!That woodland Hyacinthus could escapeFrom his green prison, and here kneeling down70Call me his queen, his second life's fair crown!Ah me, how I could love!–My soul doth meltFor the unhappy youth–Love! I have feltSo faint a kindness, such a meek surrenderTo what my own full thoughts had made too tender,That but for tears my life had fled away!–Ye deaf and senseless minutes of the day,And thou, old forest, hold ye this for true,There is no lightning, no authentic dewBut in the eye of love: there's not a sound,80Melodious howsoever, can confoundThe heavens and earth in one to such a deathAs doth the voice of love: there's not a breathWill mingle kindly with the meadow air,Till it has panted round, and stolen a shareOf passion from the heart!"–Upon a boughHe leant, wretched. He surely cannot nowThirst for another love: O impious,That he can even dream upon it thus!–90Thought he, "Why am I not as are the dead,Since to a woe like this I have been ledThrough the dark earth, and through the wondrous sea?Goddess! I love thee not the less: from theeBy Juno's smile I turn not–no, no, no–While the great waters are at ebb and flow.–I have a triple soul! O fond pretence–For both, for both my love is so immense,I feel my heart is cut in twain for them."

And so he groan'd, as one by beauty slain.100The lady's heart beat quick, and he could seeHer gentle bosom heave tumultuously.He sprang from his green covert: there she lay,Sweet as a muskrose upon new-made hay;With all her limbs on tremble, and her eyesShut softly up alive. To speak he tries."Fair damsel, pity me! forgive that IThus violate thy bower's sanctity!O pardon me, for I am full of grief–Grief born of thee, young angel! fairest thief!110Who stolen hast away the wings wherewithI was to top the heavens. Dear maid, sithThou art my executioner, and I feelLoving and hatred, misery and weal,Will in a few short hours be nothing to me,And all my story that much passion slew me;Do smile upon the evening of my days:And, for my tortur'd brain begins to craze,Be thou my nurse; and let me understandHow dying I shall kiss that lily hand.–120Dost weep for me? Then should I be content.Scowl on, ye fates! until the firmamentOutblackens Erebus, and the full-cavern'd earthCrumbles into itself. By the cloud girthOf Jove, those tears have given me a thirstTo meet oblivion."–As her heart would burstThe maiden sobb'd awhile, and then replied:"Why must such desolation betideAs that thou speakest of? Are not these green nooksEmpty of all misfortune? Do the brooks130Utter a gorgon voice? Does yonder thrush,Schooling its half-fledg'd little ones to brushAbout the dewy forest, whisper tales?–Speak not of grief, young stranger, or cold snailsWill slime the rose to night. Though if thou wilt,Methinks 'twould be a guilt–a very guilt–Not to companion thee, and sigh awayThe light–the dusk–the dark–till break of day!""Dear lady," said Endymion, "'tis past:I love thee! and my days can never last.140That I may pass in patience still speak:Let me have music dying, and I seekNo more delight–I bid adieu to all.Didst thou not after other climates call,And murmur about Indian streams?"–Then she,Sitting beneath the midmost forest tree,For pity sang this roundelay—

"O Sorrow,Why dost borrowThe natural hue of health, from vermeil lips?–150To give maiden blushesTo the white rose bushes?Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips?

"O Sorrow,Why dost borrowThe lustrous passion from a falcon-eye?–To give the glow-worm light?Or, on a moonless night,To tinge, on syren shores, the salt sea-spry?

"O Sorrow,160Why dost borrowThe mellow ditties from a mourning tongue?–To give at evening paleUnto the nightingale,That thou mayst listen the cold dews among?

"O Sorrow,Why dost borrowHeart's lightness from the merriment of May?–A lover would not treadA cowslip on the head,170Though he should dance from eve till peep of day–Nor any drooping flowerHeld sacred for thy bower,Wherever he may sport himself and play.

"To Sorrow,I bade good-morrow,And thought to leave her far away behind;But cheerly, cheerly,She loves me dearly;She is so constant to me, and so kind:180I would deceive herAnd so leave her,But ah! she is so constant and so kind.

"Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,I sat a weeping: in the whole world wideThere was no one to ask me why I wept,–And so I keptBrimming the water-lily cups with tearsCold as my fears.

"Beneath my palm trees, by the river side,190I sat a weeping: what enamour'd bride,Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds,But hides and shroudsBeneath dark palm trees by a river side?"And as I sat, over the light blue hillsThere came a noise of revellers: the rillsInto the wide stream came of purple hue–'Twas Bacchus and his crew!The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrillsFrom kissing cymbals made a merry din–200'Twas Bacchus and his kin!Like to a moving vintage down they came,Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all on flame;All madly dancing through the pleasant valley,To scare thee, Melancholy!O then, O then, thou wast a simple name!And I forgot thee, as the berried hollyBy shepherds is forgotten, when, in June,Tall chesnuts keep away the sun and moon:–I rush'd into the folly!210

"Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood,Trifling his ivy-dart, in dancing mood,With sidelong laughing;And little rills of crimson wine imbruedHis plump white arms, and shoulders, enough whiteFor Venus' pearly bite:And near him rode Silenus on his ass,Pelted with flowers as he on did passTipsily quaffing.

"Whence came ye, merry Damsels! whence came ye!So many, and so many, and such glee?221Why have ye left your bowers desolate,Your lutes, and gentler fate?–'We follow Bacchus! Bacchus on the wing,A conquering!Bacchus, young Bacchus! good or ill betide,We dance before him thorough kingdoms wide:–Come hither, lady fair, and joined beTo our wild minstrelsy!'

"Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs! whence came ye!230So many, and so many, and such glee?Why have ye left your forest haunts, why leftYour nuts in oak-tree cleft?–'For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree;For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms,And cold mushrooms;For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth;Great God of breathless cups and chirping mirth!–Come hither, lady fair, and joined beTo our mad minstrelsy!'240

"Over wide streams and mountains great we went,And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy tent,Onward the tiger and the leopard pants,With Asian elephants:Onward these myriads–with song and dance,With zebras striped, and sleek Arabians' prance,Web-footed alligators, crocodiles,Bearing upon their scaly backs, in files,Plump infant laughers mimicking the coilOf seamen, and stout galley-rowers' toil:250With toying oars and silken sails they glide,Nor care for wind and tide.

"Mounted on panthers' furs and lions' manes,From rear to van they scour about the plains;A three days' journey in a moment done:And always, at the rising of the sun,About the wilds they hunt with spear and horn,On spleenful unicorn.

"I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adownBefore the vine-wreath crown!260I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and singTo the silver cymbals' ring!I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierceOld Tartary the fierce!The kings of Inde their jewel-sceptres vail,And from their treasures scatter pearled hail;Great Brahma from his mystic heaven groans,And all his priesthood moans;Before young Bacchus' eye-wink turning pale.–Into these regions came I following him,270Sick hearted, weary–so I took a whimTo stray away into these forests drearAlone, without a peer:And I have told thee all thou mayest hear.

"Young stranger!I've been a rangerIn search of pleasure throughout every clime:Alas, 'tis not for me!Bewitch'd I sure must be,To lose in grieving all my maiden prime.280

"Come then, Sorrow!Sweetest Sorrow!Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast:I thought to leave theeAnd deceive thee,But now of all the world I love thee best.

"There is not one,No, no, not oneBut thee to comfort a poor lonely maid;Thou art her mother,290And her brother,Her playmate, and her wooer in the shade."

O what a sigh she gave in finishing,And look, quite dead to every worldly thing!Endymion could not speak, but gazed on her;And listened to the wind that now did stirAbout the crisped oaks full drearily,Yet with as sweet a softness as might beRemember'd from its velvet summer song.At last he said: "Poor lady, how thus long300Have I been able to endure that voice?Fair Melody! kind Syren! I've no choice;I must be thy sad servant evermore:I cannot choose but kneel here and adore.Alas, I must not think–by Phœbe, no!Let me not think, soft Angel! shall it be so?Say, beautifullest, shall I never think?O thou could'st foster me beyond the brinkOf recollection! make my watchful careClose up its bloodshot eyes, nor see despair!310Do gently murder half my soul, and IShall feel the other half so utterly!–I'm giddy at that cheek so fair and smooth;O let it blush so ever! let it sootheMy madness! let it mantle rosy-warmWith the tinge of love, panting in safe alarm.–This cannot be thy hand, and yet it is;And this is sure thine other softling–thisThine own fair bosom, and I am so near!Wilt fall asleep? O let me sip that tear!320And whisper one sweet word that I may knowThis is this world–sweet dewy blossom!"–Woe!Woe! Woe to that Endymion! Where is he?–Even these words went echoing dismallyThrough the wide forest–a most fearful tone,Like one repenting in his latest moan;And while it died away a shade pass'd by,As of a thunder cloud. When arrows flyThrough the thick branches, poor ring-doves sleek forthTheir timid necks and tremble; so these both330Leant to each other trembling, and sat soWaiting for some destruction–when lo,Foot-feather'd Mercury appear'd sublimeBeyond the tall tree tops; and in less timeThan shoots the slanted hail-storm, down he droptTowards the ground; but rested not, nor stoptOne moment from his home: only the swardHe with his wand light touch'd, and heavenwardSwifter than sight was gone–even beforeThe teeming earth a sudden witness bore340Of his swift magic. Diving swans appearAbove the crystal circlings white and clear;And catch the cheated eye in wild surprise,How they can dive in sight and unseen rise–So from the turf outsprang two steeds jet-black,Each with large dark blue wings upon his back.The youth of Caria plac'd the lovely dameOn one, and felt himself in spleen to tameThe other's fierceness. Through the air they flew,High as the eagles. Like two drops of dew350Exhal'd to Phœbus' lips, away they are gone,Far from the earth away–unseen, alone,Among cool clouds and winds, but that the free,The buoyant life of song can floating beAbove their heads, and follow them untir'd.–Muse of my native land, am I inspir'd?This is the giddy air, and I must spreadWide pinions to keep here; nor do I dreadOr height, or depth, or width, or any chancePrecipitous: I have beneath my glance360Those towering horses and their mournful freight.Could I thus sail, and see, and thus awaitFearless for power of thought, without thine aid?–There is a sleepy dusk, an odorous shadeFrom some approaching wonder, and beholdThose winged steeds, with snorting nostrils boldSnuff at its faint extreme, and seem to tire,Dying to embers from their native fire!

There curl'd a purple mist around them; soon,It seem'd as when around the pale new moon370Sad Zephyr droops the clouds like weeping willow:'Twas Sleep slow journeying with head on pillow.For the first time, since he came nigh dead bornFrom the old womb of night, his cave forlornHad he left more forlorn; for the first time,He felt aloof the day and morning's prime–Because into his depth CimmerianThere came a dream, shewing how a young man,Ere a lean bat could plump its wintery skin,Would at high Jove's empyreal footstool win380An immortality, and how espouseJove's daughter, and be reckon'd of his house.Now was he slumbering towards heaven's gate,That he might at the threshold one hour waitTo hear the marriage melodies, and thenSink downward to his dusky cave again.His litter of smooth semilucent mist,Diversely ting'd with rose and amethyst,Puzzled those eyes that for the centre sought;And scarcely for one moment could be caught390His sluggish form reposing motionless.Those two on winged steeds, with all the stressOf vision search'd for him, as one would lookAthwart the sallows of a river nookTo catch a glance at silver throated eels,–Or from old Skiddaw's top, when fog concealsHis rugged forehead in a mantle pale,With an eye-guess towards some pleasant valeDescry a favourite hamlet faint and far.

These raven horses, though they foster'd are400Of earth's splenetic fire, dully dropTheir full-veined ears, nostrils blood wide, and stop;Upon the spiritless mist have they outspreadTheir ample feathers, are in slumber dead,–And on those pinions, level in mid air,Endymion sleepeth and the lady fair.Slowly they sail, slowly as icy isleUpon a calm sea drifting: and meanwhileThe mournful wanderer dreams. Behold! he walksOn heaven's pavement; brotherly he talks410To divine powers: from his hand full fainJuno's proud birds are pecking pearly grain:He tries the nerve of Phœbus' golden bow,And asketh where the golden apples grow:Upon his arm he braces Pallas' shield,And strives in vain to unsettle and wieldA Jovian thunderbolt: arch Hebe bringsA full-brimm'd goblet, dances lightly, singsAnd tantalizes long; at last he drinks,And lost in pleasure at her feet he sinks,420Touching with dazzled lips her starlight hand.He blows a bugle,–an ethereal bandAre visible above: the Seasons four,–Green-kyrtled Spring, flush Summer, golden storeIn Autumn's sickle, Winter frosty hoar,Join dance with shadowy Hours; while still the blast,In swells unmitigated, still doth lastTo sway their floating morris. "Whose is this?Whose bugle?" he inquires: they smile–"O Dis!Why is this mortal here? Dost thou not know430Its mistress' lips? Not thou?–'Tis Dian's: lo!She rises crescented!" He looks, 'tis she,His very goddess: good-bye earth, and sea,And air, and pains, and care, and suffering;Good-bye to all but love! Then doth he springTowards her, and awakes–and, strange, o'erhead,Of those same fragrant exhalations bred,Beheld awake his very dream: the godsStood smiling; merry Hebe laughs and nods;And Phœbe bends towards him crescented.440O state perplexing! On the pinion bed,Too well awake, he feels the panting sideOf his delicious lady. He who diedFor soaring too audacious in the sun,Where that same treacherous wax began to run,Felt not more tongue-tied than Endymion.His heart leapt up as to its rightful throne,To that fair shadow'd passion puls'd its way–Ah, what perplexity! Ah, well a day!So fond, so beauteous was his bed-fellow,450He could not help but kiss her: then he grewAwhile forgetful of all beauty saveYoung Phœbe's, golden hair'd; and so 'gan craveForgiveness: yet he turn'd once more to lookAt the sweet sleeper,–all his soul was shook,–She press'd his hand in slumber; so once moreHe could not help but kiss her and adore.At this the shadow wept, melting away.The Latmian started up: "Bright goddess, stay!Search my most hidden breast! By truth's own tongue,I have no dædale heart: why is it wrung461To desperation? Is there nought for me,Upon the bourne of bliss, but misery?"

These words awoke the stranger of dark tresses:Her dawning love-look rapt Endymion blessesWith 'haviour soft. Sleep yawned from underneath."Thou swan of Ganges, let us no more breatheThis murky phantasm! thou contented seem'stPillow'd in lovely idleness, nor dream'stWhat horrors may discomfort thee and me.470Ah, shouldst thou die from my heart-treachery!–Yet did she merely weep–her gentle soulHath no revenge in it: as it is wholeIn tenderness, would I were whole in love!Can I prize thee, fair maid, till price above,Even when I feel as true as innocence?I do, I do.–What is this soul then? WhenceCame it? It does not seem my own, and IHave no self-passion or identity.Some fearful end must be: where, where is it?480By Nemesis, I see my spirit flitAlone about the dark–Forgive me, sweet:Shall we away?" He rous'd the steeds: they beatTheir wings chivalrous into the clear air,Leaving old Sleep within his vapoury lair.

The good-night blush of eve was waning slow,And Vesper, risen star, began to throeIn the dusk heavens silvery, when theyThus sprang direct towards the Galaxy.Nor did speed hinder converse soft and strange–490Eternal oaths and vows they interchange,In such wise, in such temper, so aloofUp in the winds, beneath a starry roof,So witless of their doom, that verily'Tis well nigh past man's search their hearts to see;Whether they wept, or laugh'd, or griev'd, or toy'd–Most like with joy gone mad, with sorrow cloy'd.

Fell facing their swift flight, from ebon streak,The moon put forth a little diamond peak,No bigger than an unobserved star,500Or tiny point of fairy scymetar;Bright signal that she only stoop'd to tieHer silver sandals, ere deliciouslyShe bow'd into the heavens her timid head.Slowly she rose, as though she would have fled,While to his lady meek the Carian turn'd,To mark if her dark eyes had yet discern'dThis beauty in its birth–Despair! despair!He saw her body fading gaunt and spareIn the cold moonshine. Straight he seiz'd her wrist;It melted from his grasp: her hand he kiss'd,511And, horror! kiss'd his own–he was alone.Her steed a little higher soar'd, and thenDropt hawkwise to the earth.There lies a den,Beyond the seeming confines of the spaceMade for the soul to wander in and traceIts own existence, of remotest glooms.Dark regions are around it, where the tombsOf buried griefs the spirit sees, but scarce520One hour doth linger weeping, for the pierceOf new-born woe it feels more inly smart:And in these regions many a venom'd dartAt random flies; they are the proper homeOf every ill: the man is yet to comeWho hath not journeyed in this native hell.But few have ever felt how calm and wellSleep may be had in that deep den of all.There anguish does not sting; nor pleasure pall:Woe-hurricanes beat ever at the gate,530Yet all is still within and desolate.Beset with plainful gusts, within ye hearNo sound so loud as when on curtain'd bierThe death-watch tick is stifled. Enter noneWho strive therefore: on the sudden it is won.Just when the sufferer begins to burn,Then it is free to him; and from an urn,Still fed by melting ice, he takes a draught–Young Semele such richness never quaftIn her maternal longing. Happy gloom!540Dark Paradise! where pale becomes the bloomOf health by due; where silence dreariestIs most articulate; where hopes infest;Where those eyes are the brightest far that keepTheir lids shut longest in a dreamless sleep.O happy spirit-home! O wondrous soul!Pregnant with such a den to save the wholeIn thine own depth. Hail, gentle Carian!For, never since thy griefs and woes began,Hast thou felt so content: a grievous feud550Hath let thee to this Cave of Quietude.Aye, his lull'd soul was there, although upborneWith dangerous speed: and so he did not mournBecause he knew not whither he was going.So happy was he, not the aerial blowingOf trumpets at clear parley from the eastCould rouse from that fine relish, that high feast.They stung the feather'd horse: with fierce alarmHe flapp'd towards the sound. Alas, no charmCould lift Endymion's head, or he had view'd560A skyey mask, a pinion'd multitude,–And silvery was its passing: voices sweetWarbling the while as if to lull and greetThe wanderer in his path. Thus warbled they,While past the vision went in bright array.

"Who, who from Dian's feast would be away?For all the golden bowers of the dayAre empty left? Who, who away would beFrom Cynthia's wedding and festivity?Not Hesperus: lo! upon his silver wings570He leans away for highest heaven and sings,Snapping his lucid fingers merrily!–Ah, Zephyrus! art here, and Flora too!Ye tender bibbers of the rain and dew,Young playmates of the rose and daffodil,Be careful, ere ye enter in, to fillYour baskets highWith fennel green, and balm, and golden pines,Savory, latter-mint, and columbines,Cool parsley, basil sweet, and sunny thyme;580Yea, every flower and leaf of every clime,All gather'd in the dewy morning: hieAway! fly, fly!–Crystalline brother of the belt of heaven,Aquarius! to whom king Jove has givenTwo liquid pulse streams 'stead of feather'd wings,Two fan-like fountains,–thine illuminingsFor Dian play:Dissolve the frozen purity of air;Let thy white shoulders silvery and bare590Shew cold through watery pinions; make more brightThe Star-Queen's crescent on her marriage night:Haste, haste away!–Castor has tamed the planet Lion, see!And of the Bear has Pollux mastery:A third is in the race! who is the third,Speeding away swift as the eagle bird?The ramping Centaur!The Lion's mane's on end: the Bear how fierce!The Centaur's arrow ready seems to pierce600Some enemy: far forth his bow is bentInto the blue of heaven. He'll be shent,Pale unrelentor,When he shall hear the wedding lutes a playing.–Andromeda! sweet woman! why delayingSo timidly among the stars: come hither!Join this bright throng, and nimbly follow whitherThey all are going.Danae's Son, before Jove newly bow'd,Has wept for thee, calling to Jove aloud.610Thee, gentle lady, did he disenthral:Ye shall for ever live and love, for allThy tears are flowing.–By Daphne's fright, behold Apollo!–"MoreEndymion heard not: down his steed him bore,Prone to the green head of a misty hill.

His first touch of the earth went nigh to kill."Alas!" said he, "were I but always borneThrough dangerous winds, had but my footsteps wornA path in hell, for ever would I bless621Horrors which nourish an uneasinessFor my own sullen conquering: to himWho lives beyond earth's boundary, grief is dim,Sorrow is but a shadow: now I seeThe grass; I feel the solid ground–Ah, me!It is thy voice–divinest! Where?–who? whoLeft thee so quiet on this bed of dew?Behold upon this happy earth we are;Let us ay love each other; let us fare630On forest-fruits, and never, never goAmong the abodes of mortals here below,Or be by phantoms duped. O destiny!Into a labyrinth now my soul would fly,But with thy beauty will I deaden it.Where didst thou melt too? By thee will I sitFor ever: let our fate stop here–a kidI on this spot will offer: Pan will bidUs live in peace, in love and peace amongHis forest wildernesses. I have clung640To nothing, lov'd a nothing, nothing seenOr felt but a great dream! O I have beenPresumptuous against love, against the sky,Against all elements, against the tieOf mortals each to each, against the bloomsOf flowers, rush of rivers, and the tombsOf heroes gone! Against his proper gloryHas my own soul conspired: so my storyWill I to children utter, and repent.There never liv'd a mortal man, who bent650His appetite beyond his natural sphere,But starv'd and died. My sweetest Indian, here,Here will I kneel, for thou redeemed hastMy life from too thin breathing: gone and pastAre cloudy phantasms. Caverns lone, farewel!And air of visions, and the monstrous swellOf visionary seas! No, never moreShall airy voices cheat me to the shoreOf tangled wonder, breathless and aghast.Adieu, my daintiest Dream! although so vast660My love is still for thee. The hour may comeWhen we shall meet in pure elysium.On earth I may not love thee; and thereforeDoves will I offer up, and sweetest storeAll through the teeming year: so thou wilt shineOn me, and on this damsel fair of mine,And bless our simple lives. My Indian bliss!My river-lily bud! one human kiss!One sigh of real breath–one gentle squeeze,Warm as a dove's nest among summer trees,670And warm with dew at ooze from living blood!Whither didst melt? Ah, what of that!–all goodWe'll talk about–no more of dreaming.–Now,Where shall our dwelling be? Under the browOf some steep mossy hill, where ivy dunWould hide us up, although spring leaves were none;And where dark yew trees, as we rustle through,Will drop their scarlet berry cups of dew?O thou wouldst joy to live in such a place;Dusk for our loves, yet light enough to grace680Those gentle limbs on mossy bed reclin'd:For by one step the blue sky shouldst thou find,And by another, in deep dell below,See, through the trees, a little river goAll in its mid-day gold and glimmering.Honey from out the gnarled hive I'll bring,And apples, wan with sweetness, gather thee,–Cresses that grow where no man may them see,And sorrel untorn by the dew-claw'd stag:Pipes will I fashion of the syrinx flag,690That thou mayst always know whither I roam,When it shall please thee in our quiet homeTo listen and think of love. Still let me speak;Still let me dive into the joy I seek,–For yet the past doth prison me. The rill,Thou haply mayst delight in, will I fillWith fairy fishes from the mountain tarn,And thou shall feed them from the squirrel's barn.Its bottom will I strew with amber shells,And pebbles blue from deep enchanted wells.700Its sides I'll plant with dew-sweet eglantine,And honeysuckles full of clear bee-wine.I will entice this crystal rill to traceLove's silver name upon the meadow's face.I'll kneel to Vesta, for a flame of fire;And to god Phœbus, for a golden lyre;To Empress Dian, for a hunting spear;To Vesper, for a taper silver-clear,That I may see thy beauty through the night;To Flora, and a nightingale shall light710Tame on thy finger; to the River-gods,And they shall bring thee taper fishing-rodsOf gold, and lines of Naiads' long bright tress.Heaven shield thee for thine utter loveliness!Thy mossy footstool shall the altar be'Fore which I'll bend, bending, dear love, to thee:Those lips shall be my Delphos, and shall speakLaws to my footsteps, colour to my cheek,Trembling or stedfastness to this same voice,And of three sweetest pleasurings the choice:720And that affectionate light, those diamond things,Those eyes, those passions, those supreme pearl springs,Shall be my grief, or twinkle me to pleasure.Say, is not bliss within our perfect seisure?O that I could not doubt?"The mountaineerThus strove by fancies vain and crude to clearHis briar'd path to some tranquillity.It gave bright gladness to his lady's eye,And yet the tears she wept were tears of sorrow;730Answering thus, just as the golden morrowBeam'd upward from the vallies of the east:"O that the flutter of this heart had ceas'd,Or the sweet name of love had pass'd away.Young feathor'd tyrant! by a swift decayWilt thou devote this body to the earth:And I do think that at my very birthI lisp'd thy blooming titles inwardly;For at the first, first dawn and thought of thee,With uplift hands I blest the stars of heaven.740Art thou not cruel? Ever have I strivenTo think thee kind, but ah, it will not do!When yet a child, I heard that kisses drewFavour from thee, and so I gave and gaveTo the void air, bidding them find out love:But when I came to feel how far aboveAll fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood,All earthly pleasure, all imagin'd good,Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss,–Even then, that moment, at the thought of this,750Fainting I fell into a bed of flowers,And languish'd there three days. Ye milder powers,Am I not cruelly wrong'd? Believe, believeMe, dear Endymion, were I to weaveWith my own fancies garlands of sweet life,Thou shouldst be one of all. Ah, bitter strife!I may not be thy love: I am forbidden–Indeed I am–thwarted, affrighted, chidden,By things I trembled at, and gorgon wrath.Twice hast thou ask'd whither I went: henceforth760Ask me no more! I may not utter it,Nor may I be thy love. We might commitOurselves at once to vengeance; we might die;We might embrace and die: voluptuous thought!Enlarge not to my hunger, or I'm caughtIn trammels of perverse deliciousness.No, no, that shall not be: thee will I bless,And bid a long adieu."The CarianNo word return'd: both lovelorn, silent, wan,770Into the vallies green together went.Far wandering, they were perforce contentTo sit beneath a fair lone beechen tree;Nor at each other gaz'd, but heavilyPor'd on its hazle cirque of shedded leaves.

Endymion! unhappy! it nigh grievesMe to behold thee thus in last extreme:Ensky'd ere this, but truly that I deemTruth the best music in a first-born song.Thy lute-voic'd brother will I sing ere long,780And thou shall aid–hast thou not aided me?Yes, moonlight Emperor! felicityHas been thy meed for many thousand years;Yet often have I, on the brink of tears,Mourn'd as if yet thou wert a forester;–Forgetting the old tale.He did not stirHis eyes from the dead leaves, or one small pulseOf joy he might have felt. The spirit cullsUnfaded amaranth, when wild it strays790Through the old garden-ground of boyish days.A little onward ran the very streamBy which he took his first soft poppy dream;And on the very bark 'gainst which he leantA crescent he had carv'd, and round it spentHis skill in little stars. The teeming treeHad swollen and green'd the pious charactery,But not ta'en out. Why, there was not a slopeUp which he had not fear'd the antelope;And not a tree, beneath whose rooty shade800He had not with his tamed leopards play'd;Nor could an arrow light, or javelin,Fly in the air where his had never been–And yet he knew it not.O treachery!Why does his lady smile, pleasing her eyeWith all his sorrowing? He sees her not.But who so stares on him? His sister sure!Peona of the woods!–Can she endure–Impossible–how dearly they embrace!810His lady smiles; delight is in her face;It is no treachery."Dear brother mine!Endymion, weep not so! Why shouldst thou pineWhen all great Latmos so exalt will be?Thank the great gods, and look not bitterly;And speak not one pale word, and sigh no more.Sure I will not believe thou hast such storeOf grief, to last thee to my kiss again.Thou surely canst not bear a mind in pain,820Come hand in hand with one so beautiful.Be happy both of you! for I will pullThe flowers of autumn for your coronals.Pan's holy priest for young Endymion calls;And when he is restor'd, thou, fairest dame,Shalt be our queen. Now, is it not a shameTo see ye thus,–not very, very sad?Perhaps ye are too happy to be glad:O feel as if it were a common day;Free-voic'd as one who never was away.830No tongue shall ask, whence come ye? but ye shallBe gods of your own rest imperial.Not even I, for one whole month, will pryInto the hours that have pass'd us by,Since in my arbour I did sing to thee.O Hermes! on this very night will beA hymning up to Cynthia, queen of light;For the soothsayers old saw yesternightGood visions in the air,–whence will befal,As say these sages, health perpetual840To shepherds and their flocks; and furthermore,In Dian's face they read the gentle lore:Therefore for her these vesper-carols are.Our friends will all be there from nigh and far.Many upon thy death have ditties made;And many, even now, their foreheads shadeWith cypress, on a day of sacrifice.New singing for our maids shalt thou devise,And pluck the sorrow from our huntsmen's brows.Tell me, my lady-queen, how to espouse850This wayward brother to his rightful joys!His eyes are on thee bent, as thou didst poiseHis fate most goddess-like. Help me, I pray,To lure–Endymion, dear brother, sayWhat ails thee?" He could bear no more, and soBent his soul fiercely like a spiritual bow,And twang'd it inwardly, and calmly said:"I would have thee my only friend, sweet maid!My only visitor! not ignorant though,That those deceptions which for pleasure go860'Mong men, are pleasures real as real may be:But there are higher ones I may not see,If impiously an earthly realm I take.Since I saw thee, I have been wide awakeNight after night, and day by day, untilOf the empyrean I have drunk my fill.Let it content thee, Sister, seeing meMore happy than betides mortality.A hermit young, I'll live in mossy cave,Where thou alone shalt come to me, and lave870Thy spirit in the wonders I shall tell.Through me the shepherd realm shall prosper well;For to thy tongue will I all health confide.And, for my sake, let this young maid abideWith thee as a dear sister. Thou alone,Peona, mayst return to me. I ownThis may sound strangely: but when, dearest girl,Thou seest it for my happiness, no pearlWill trespass down those cheeks. Companion fair!Wilt be content to dwell with her, to share880This sister's love with me?" Like one resign'dAnd bent by circumstance, and thereby blindIn self-commitment, thus that meek unknown:"Aye, but a buzzing by my ears has flown,Of jubilee to Dian:–truth I heard!Well then, I see there is no little bird,Tender soever, but is Jove's own care.Long have I sought for rest, and, unaware,Behold I find it! so exalted too!So after my own heart! I knew, I knew890There was a place untenanted in it:In that same void white Chastity shall sit,And monitor me nightly to lone slumber.With sanest lips I vow me to the numberOf Dian's sisterhood; and, kind lady,With thy good help, this very night shall seeMy future days to her fane consecrate."

As feels a dreamer what doth most createHis own particular fright, so these three felt:Or like one who, in after ages, knelt900To Lucifer or Baal, when he'd pineAfter a little sleep: or when in mineFar under-ground, a sleeper meets his friendsWho know him not. Each diligently bendsTowards common thoughts and things for very fear;Striving their ghastly malady to cheer,By thinking it a thing of yes and no,That housewives talk of. But the spirit-blowWas struck, and all were dreamers. At the lastEndymion said: "Are not our fates all cast?910Why stand we here? Adieu, ye tender pair!Adieu!" Whereat those maidens, with wild stare,Walk'd dizzily away. Pained and hotHis eyes went after them, until they gotNear to a cypress grove, whose deadly maw,In one swift moment, would what then he sawEngulph for ever. "Stay!" he cried, "ah, stay!Turn, damsels! hist! one word I have to say.Sweet Indian, I would see thee once again.It is a thing I dote on: so I'd fain,920Peona, ye should hand in hand repairInto those holy groves, that silent areBehind great Dian's temple. I'll be yon,At vesper's earliest twinkle–they are gone–But once, once, once again–" At this he press'dHis hands against his face, and then did restHis head upon a mossy hillock green,And so remain'd as he a corpse had beenAll the long day; save when he scantly liftedHis eyes abroad, to see how shadows shifted930With the slow move of time,–sluggish and wearyUntil the poplar tops, in journey dreary,Had reach'd the river's brim. Then up he rose,And, slowly as that very river flows,Walk'd towards the temple grove with this lament:"Why such a golden eve? The breeze is sentCareful and soft, that not a leaf may fallBefore the serene father of them allBows down his summer head below the west.Now am I of breath, speech, and speed possest,940But at the setting I must bid adieuTo her for the last time. Night will strewOn the damp grass myriads of lingering leaves,And with them shall I die; nor much it grievesTo die, when summer dies on the cold sward.Why, I have been a butterfly, a lordOf flowers, garlands, love-knots, silly posies,Groves, meadows, melodies, and arbour roses;My kingdom's at its death, and just it isThat I should die with it: so in all this950We miscal grief, bale, sorrow, heartbreak, woe,What is there to plain of? By Titan's foeI am but rightly serv'd." So saying, heTripp'd lightly on, in sort of deathful glee;Laughing at the clear stream and setting sun,As though they jests had been: nor had he doneHis laugh at nature's holy countenance,Until that grove appear'd, as if perchance,And then his tongue with sober seemlihedGave utterance as he entered: "Ha!" I said,960"King of the butterflies; but by this gloom,And by old Rhadamanthus' tongue of doom,This dusk religion, pomp of solitude,And the Promethean clay by thief endued,By old Saturnus' forelock, by his headShook with eternal palsy, I did wedMyself to things of light from infancy;And thus to be cast out, thus lorn to die,Is sure enough to make a mortal manGrow impious." So he inwardly began970On things for which no wording can be found;Deeper and deeper sinking, until drown'dBeyond the reach of music: for the choirOf Cynthia he heard not, though rough briarNor muffling thicket interpos'd to dullThe vesper hymn, far swollen, soft and full,Through the dark pillars of those sylvan aisles.He saw not the two maidens, nor their smiles,Wan as primroses gather'd at midnightBy chilly finger'd spring. "Unhappy wight!980Endymion!" said Peona, "we are here!What wouldst thou ere we all are laid on bier?"Then he embrac'd her, and his lady's handPress'd, saying: "Sister, I would have command,If it were heaven's will, on our sad fate."At which that dark-eyed stranger stood elateAnd said, in a new voice, but sweet as love,To Endymion's amaze: "By Cupid's dove,And so thou shalt! and by the lily truthOf my own breast thou shalt, beloved youth!"990And as she spake, into her face there cameLight, as reflected from a silver flame:Her long black hair swell'd ampler, in displayFull golden; in her eyes a brighter dayDawn'd blue and full of love. Aye, he beheldPhœbe, his passion! joyous she upheldHer lucid bow, continuing thus: "Drear, drearHas our delaying been; but foolish fearWithheld me first; and then decrees of fate;And then 'twas fit that from this mortal state1000Thou shouldst, my love, by some unlook'd for changeBe spiritualiz'd. Peona, we shall rangeThese forests, and to thee they safe shall beAs was thy cradle; hither shalt thou fleeTo meet us many a time." Next Cynthia brightPeona kiss'd, and bless'd with fair good night:Her brother kiss'd her too, and knelt adownBefore his goddess, in a blissful swoon.She gave her fair hands to him, and behold,Before three swiftest kisses he had told,1010They vanish'd far away!–Peona wentHome through the gloomy wood in wonderment.

THE END.

T. Miller, Printer, Noble Street, Cheapside.

Book II, line 795: "crystaline" corrected to "crystalline".

Book III, line 71: "her" corrected to "his".

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