| |
| UPON a time, before the faery broods | |
| Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods, | |
| Before King Oberon’s bright diadem, | |
| Sceptre, and mantle, clasp’d with dewy gem, | |
| Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns | 5 |
| From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip’d lawns, | |
| The ever-smitten Hermes empty left | |
| His golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft: | |
| From high Olympus had he stolen light, | |
| On this side of Jove’s clouds, to escape the sight | 10 |
| Of his great summoner, and made retreat | |
| Into a forest on the shores of Crete. | |
| For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt | |
| A nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt; | |
| At whose white feet the languid Tritons poured | 15 |
| Pearls, while on land they wither’d and adored. | |
| Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont, | |
| And in those meads where sometime she might haunt, | |
| Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse, | |
| Though Fancy’s casket were unlock’d to choose. | 20 |
| Ah, what a world of love was at her feet! | |
| So Hermes thought, and a celestial heat | |
| Burnt from his winged heels to either ear, | |
| That from a whiteness, as the lily clear, | |
| Blush’d into roses ’mid his golden hair, | 25 |
| Fallen in jealous curls about his shoulders bare. | |
| From vale to vale, from wood to wood, he flew, | |
| Breathing upon the flowers his passion new, | |
| And wound with many a river to its head, | |
| To find where this sweet nymph prepar’d her secret bed: | 30 |
| In vain; the sweet nymph might nowhere be found, | |
| And so he rested, on the lonely ground, | |
| Pensive, and full of painful jealousies | |
| Of the Wood-Gods, and even the very trees. | |
| There as he stood, he heard a mournful voice, | 35 |
| Such as once heard, in gentle heart, destroys | |
| All pain but pity: thus the lone voice spake: | |
| “When from this wreathed tomb shall I awake! | |
| “When move in a sweet body fit for life, | |
| “And love, and pleasure, and the ruddy strife | 40 |
| “Of hearts and lips! Ah, miserable me!” | |
| The God, dove-footed, glided silently | |
| Round bush and tree, soft-brushing, in his speed, | |
| The taller grasses and full-flowering weed, | |
| Until he found a palpitating snake, | 45 |
| Bright, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake. | |
| |
| She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue, | |
| Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue; | |
| Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard, | |
| Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr’d; | 50 |
| And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed, | |
| Dissolv’d, or brighter shone, or interwreathed | |
| Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries— | |
| So rainbow-sided, touch’d with miseries, | |
| She seem’d, at once, some penanced lady elf, | 55 |
| Some demon’s mistress, or the demon’s self. | |
| Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire | |
| Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne’s tiar: | |
| Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet! | |
| She had a woman’s mouth with all its pearls complete: | 60 |
| And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there | |
| But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair? | |
| As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air. | |
| Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake | |
| Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love’s sake, | 65 |
| And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay, | |
| Like a stoop’d falcon ere he takes his prey. | |
| |
| “Fair Hermes, crown’d with feathers, fluttering light, | |
| “I had a splendid dream of thee last night: | |
| “I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold, | 70 |
| “Among the Gods, upon Olympus old, | |
| “The only sad one; for thou didst not hear | |
| “The soft, lute-finger’d Muses chaunting clear, | |
| “Nor even Apollo when he sang alone, | |
| “Deaf to his throbbing throat’s long, long melodious moan. | 75 |
| “I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes, | |
| “Break amorous through the clouds, as morning breaks, | |
| “And, swiftly as a bright Phoebean dart, | |
| “Strike for the Cretan isle; and here thou art! | |
| “Too gentle Hermes, hast thou found the maid?” | 80 |
| Whereat the star of Lethe not delay’d | |
| His rosy eloquence, and thus inquired: | |
| “Thou smooth-lipp’d serpent, surely high inspired! | |
| “Thou beauteous wreath, with melancholy eyes, | |
| “Possess whatever bliss thou canst devise, | 85 |
| “Telling me only where my nymph is fled,— | |
| “Where she doth breathe!” “Bright planet, thou hast said,” | |
| Return’d the snake, “but seal with oaths, fair God!” | |
| “I swear,” said Hermes, “by my serpent rod, | |
| “And by thine eyes, and by thy starry crown!” | 90 |
| Light flew his earnest words, among the blossoms blown. | |
| Then thus again the brilliance feminine: | |
| “Too frail of heart! for this lost nymph of thine, | |
| “Free as the air, invisibly, she strays | |
| “About these thornless wilds; her pleasant days | 95 |
| “She tastes unseen; unseen her nimble feet | |
| “Leave traces in the grass and flowers sweet; | |
| “From weary tendrils, and bow’d branches green, | |
| “She plucks the fruit unseen, she bathes unseen: | |
| “And by my power is her beauty veil’d | 100 |
| “To keep it unaffronted, unassail’d | |
| “By the love-glances of unlovely eyes, | |
| “Of Satyrs, Fauns, and blear’d Silenus’ sighs. | |
| “Pale grew her immortality, for woe | |
| “Of all these lovers, and she grieved so | 105 |
| “I took compassion on her, bade her steep | |
| “Her hair in weird syrops, that would keep | |
| “Her loveliness invisible, yet free | |
| “To wander as she loves, in liberty. | |
| “Thou shalt behold her, Hermes, thou alone, | 110 |
| “If thou wilt, as thou swearest, grant my boon!” | |
| Then, once again, the charmed God began | |
| An oath, and through the serpent’s ears it ran | |
| Warm, tremulous, devout, psalterian. | |
| Ravish’d, she lifted her Circean head, | 115 |
| Blush’d a live damask, and swift-lisping said, | |
| “I was a woman, let me have once more | |
| “A woman’s shape, and charming as before. | |
| “I love a youth of Corinth—O the bliss! | |
| “Give me my woman’s form, and place me where he is. | 120 |
| “Stoop, Hermes, let me breathe upon thy brow, | |
| “And thou shalt see thy sweet nymph even now.” | |
| The God on half-shut feathers sank serene, | |
| She breath’d upon his eyes, and swift was seen | |
| Of both the guarded nymph near-smiling on the green. | 125 |
| It was no dream; or say a dream it was, | |
| Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass | |
| Their pleasures in a long immortal dream. | |
| One warm, flush’d moment, hovering, it might seem | |
| Dash’d by the wood-nymph’s beauty, so he burn’d; | 130 |
| Then, lighting on the printless verdure, turn’d | |
| To the swoon’d serpent, and with languid arm, | |
| Delicate, put to proof the lythe Caducean charm. | |
| So done, upon the nymph his eyes he bent, | |
| Full of adoring tears and blandishment, | 135 |
| And towards her stept: she, like a moon in wane, | |
| Faded before him, cower’d, nor could restrain | |
| Her fearful sobs, self-folding like a flower | |
| That faints into itself at evening hour: | |
| But the God fostering her chilled hand, | 140 |
| She felt the warmth, her eyelids open’d bland, | |
| And, like new flowers at morning song of bees, | |
| Bloom’d, and gave up her honey to the lees. | |
| Into the green-recessed woods they flew; | |
| Nor grew they pale, as mortal lovers do. | 145 |
| |
| Left to herself, the serpent now began | |
| To change; her elfin blood in madness ran, | |
| Her mouth foam’d, and the grass, therewith besprent, | |
| Wither’d at dew so sweet and virulent; | |
| Her eyes in torture fix’d, and anguish drear, | 150 |
| Hot, glaz’d, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear, | |
| Flash’d phosphor and sharp sparks, without one cooling tear. | |
| The colours all inflam’d throughout her train, | |
| She writh’d about, convuls’d with scarlet pain: | |
| A deep volcanian yellow took the place | 155 |
| Of all her milder-mooned body’s grace; | |
| And, as the lava ravishes the mead, | |
| Spoilt all her silver mail, and golden brede; | |
| Made gloom of all her frecklings, streaks and bars, | |
| Eclips’d her crescents, and lick’d up her stars: | 160 |
| So that, in moments few, she was undrest | |
| Of all her sapphires, greens, and amethyst, | |
| And rubious-argent: of all these bereft, | |
| Nothing but pain and ugliness were left. | |
| Still shone her crown; that vanish’d, also she | 165 |
| Melted and disappear’d as suddenly; | |
| And in the air, her new voice luting soft, | |
| Cried, “Lycius! gentle Lycius!”—Borne aloft | |
| With the bright mists about the mountains hoar | |
| These words dissolv’d: Crete’s forests heard no more. | 170 |
| |
| Whither fled Lamia, now a lady bright, | |
| A full-born beauty new and exquisite? | |
| She fled into that valley they pass o’er | |
| Who go to Corinth from Cenchreas’ shore; | |
| And rested at the foot of those wild hills, | 175 |
| The rugged founts of the Peraean rills, | |
| And of that other ridge whose barren back | |
| Stretches, with all its mist and cloudy rack, | |
| South-westward to Cleone. There she stood | |
| About a young bird’s flutter from a wood, | 180 |
| Fair, on a sloping green of mossy tread, | |
| By a clear pool, wherein she passioned | |
| To see herself escap’d from so sore ills, | |
| While her robes flaunted with the daffodils. | |
| |
| Ah, happy Lycius!—for she was a maid | 185 |
| More beautiful than ever twisted braid, | |
| Or sigh’d, or blush’d, or on spring-flowered lea | |
| Spread a green kirtle to the minstrelsy: | |
| A virgin purest lipp’d, yet in the lore | |
| Of love deep learned to the red heart’s core: | 190 |
| Not one hour old, yet of sciential brain | |
| To unperplex bliss from its neighbour pain; | |
| Define their pettish limits, and estrange | |
| Their points of contact, and swift counterchange; | |
| Intrigue with the specious chaos, and dispart | 195 |
| Its most ambiguous atoms with sure art; | |
| As though in Cupid’s college she had spent | |
| Sweet days a lovely graduate, still unshent, | |
| And kept his rosy terms in idle languishment. | |
| |
| Why this fair creature chose so fairily | 200 |
| By the wayside to linger, we shall see; | |
| But first ’tis fit to tell how she could muse | |
| And dream, when in the serpent prison-house, | |
| Of all she list, strange or magnificent: | |
| How, ever, where she will’d, her spirit went; | 205 |
| Whether to faint Elysium, or where | |
| Down through tress-lifting waves the Nereids fair | |
| Wind into Thetis’ bower by many a pearly stair; | |
| Or where God Bacchus drains his cups divine, | |
| Stretch’d out, at ease, beneath a glutinous pine; | 210 |
| Or where in Pluto’s gardens palatine | |
| Mulciber’s columns gleam in far piazzian line. | |
| And sometimes into cities she would send | |
| Her dream, with feast and rioting to blend; | |
| And once, while among mortals dreaming thus, | 215 |
| She saw the young Corinthian Lycius | |
| Charioting foremost in the envious race, | |
| Like a young Jove with calm uneager face, | |
| And fell into a swooning love of him. | |
| Now on the moth-time of that evening dim | 220 |
| He would return that way, as well she knew, | |
| To Corinth from the shore; for freshly blew | |
| The eastern soft wind, and his galley now | |
| Grated the quaystones with her brazen prow | |
| In port Cenchreas, from Egina isle | 225 |
| Fresh anchor’d; whither he had been awhile | |
| To sacrifice to Jove, whose temple there | |
| Waits with high marble doors for blood and incense rare. | |
| Jove heard his vows, and better’d his desire; | |
| For by some freakful chance he made retire | 230 |
| From his companions, and set forth to walk, | |
| Perhaps grown wearied of their Corinth talk: | |
| Over the solitary hills he fared, | |
| Thoughtless at first, but ere eve’s star appeared | |
| His phantasy was lost, where reason fades, | 235 |
| In the calm’d twilight of Platonic shades. | |
| Lamia beheld him coming, near, more near— | |
| Close to her passing, in indifference drear, | |
| His silent sandals swept the mossy green; | |
| So neighbour’d to him, and yet so unseen | 240 |
| She stood: he pass’d, shut up in mysteries, | |
| His mind wrapp’d like his mantle, while her eyes | |
| Follow’d his steps, and her neck regal white | |
| Turn’d—syllabling thus, “Ah, Lycius bright, | |
| “And will you leave me on the hills alone? | 245 |
| “Lycius, look back! and be some pity shown.” | |
| He did; not with cold wonder fearingly, | |
| But Orpheus-like at an Eurydice; | |
| For so delicious were the words she sung, | |
| It seem’d he had lov’d them a whole summer long: | 250 |
| And soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up, | |
| Leaving no drop in the bewildering cup, | |
| And still the cup was full,—while he afraid | |
| Lest she should vanish ere his lip had paid | |
| Due adoration, thus began to adore; | 255 |
| Her soft look growing coy, she saw his chain so sure: | |
| “Leave thee alone! Look back! Ah, Goddess, see | |
| “Whether my eyes can ever turn from thee! | |
| “For pity do not this sad heart belie— | |
| “Even as thou vanishest so I shall die. | 260 |
| “Stay! though a Naiad of the rivers, stay! | |
| “To thy far wishes will thy streams obey: | |
| “Stay! though the greenest woods be thy domain, | |
| “Alone they can drink up the morning rain: | |
| “Though a descended Pleiad, will not one | 265 |
| “Of thine harmonious sisters keep in tune | |
| “Thy spheres, and as thy silver proxy shine? | |
| “So sweetly to these ravish’d ears of mine | |
| “Came thy sweet greeting, that if thou shouldst fade | |
| “Thy memory will waste me to a shade:— | 270 |
| “For pity do not melt!”—“If I should stay,” | |
| Said Lamia, “here, upon this floor of clay, | |
| “And pain my steps upon these flowers too rough, | |
| “What canst thou say or do of charm enough | |
| “To dull the nice remembrance of my home? | 275 |
| “Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam | |
| “Over these hills and vales, where no joy is,— | |
| “Empty of immortality and bliss! | |
| “Thou art a scholar, Lycius, and must know | |
| “That finer spirits cannot breathe below | 280 |
| “In human climes, and live: Alas! poor youth, | |
| “What taste of purer air hast thou to soothe | |
| “My essence? What serener palaces, | |
| “Where I may all my many senses please, | |
| “And by mysterious sleights a hundred thirsts appease? | 285 |
| “It cannot be—Adieu!” So said, she rose | |
| Tiptoe with white arms spread. He, sick to lose | |
| The amorous promise of her lone complain, | |
| Swoon’d, murmuring of love, and pale with pain. | |
| The cruel lady, without any show | 290 |
| Of sorrow for her tender favourite’s woe, | |
| But rather, if her eyes could brighter be, | |
| With brighter eyes and slow amenity, | |
| Put her new lips to his, and gave afresh | |
| The life she had so tangled in her mesh: | 295 |
| And as he from one trance was wakening | |
| Into another, she began to sing, | |
| Happy in beauty, life, and love, and every thing, | |
| A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres, | |
| While, like held breath, the stars drew in their panting fires | 300 |
| And then she whisper’d in such trembling tone, | |
| As those who, safe together met alone | |
| For the first time through many anguish’d days, | |
| Use other speech than looks; bidding him raise | |
| His drooping head, and clear his soul of doubt, | 305 |
| For that she was a woman, and without | |
| Any more subtle fluid in her veins | |
| Than throbbing blood, and that the self-same pains | |
| Inhabited her frail-strung heart as his. | |
| And next she wonder’d how his eyes could miss | 310 |
| Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said, | |
| She dwelt but half retir’d, and there had led | |
| Days happy as the gold coin could invent | |
| Without the aid of love; yet in content | |
| Till she saw him, as once she pass’d him by, | 315 |
| Where ’gainst a column he leant thoughtfully | |
| At Venus’ temple porch, ’mid baskets heap’d | |
| Of amorous herbs and flowers, newly reap’d | |
| Late on that eve, as ’twas the night before | |
| The Adonian feast; whereof she saw no more, | 320 |
| But wept alone those days, for why should she adore? | |
| Lycius from death awoke into amaze, | |
| To see her still, and singing so sweet lays; | |
| Then from amaze into delight he fell | |
| To hear her whisper woman’s lore so well; | 325 |
| And every word she spake entic’d him on | |
| To unperplex’d delight and pleasure known. | |
| Let the mad poets say whate’er they please | |
| Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses, | |
| There is not such a treat among them all, | 330 |
| Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall, | |
| As a real woman, lineal indeed | |
| From Pyrrha’s pebbles or old Adam’s seed. | |
| Thus gentle Lamia judg’d, and judg’d aright, | |
| That Lycius could not love in half a fright, | 335 |
| So threw the goddess off, and won his heart | |
| More pleasantly by playing woman’s part, | |
| With no more awe than what her beauty gave, | |
| That, while it smote, still guaranteed to save. | |
| Lycius to all made eloquent reply, | 340 |
| Marrying to every word a twinborn sigh; | |
| And last, pointing to Corinth, ask’d her sweet, | |
| If ’twas too far that night for her soft feet. | |
| The way was short, for Lamia’s eagerness | |
| Made, by a spell, the triple league decrease | 345 |
| To a few paces; not at all surmised | |
| By blinded Lycius, so in her comprized. | |
| They pass’d the city gates, he knew not how | |
| So noiseless, and he never thought to know. | |
| |
| As men talk in a dream, so Corinth all, | 350 |
| Throughout her palaces imperial, | |
| And all her populous streets and temples lewd, | |
| Mutter’d, like tempest in the distance brew’d, | |
| To the wide-spreaded night above her towers. | |
| Men, women, rich and poor, in the cool hours, | 355 |
| Shuffled their sandals o’er the pavement white, | |
| Companion’d or alone; while many a light | |
| Flared, here and there, from wealthy festivals, | |
| And threw their moving shadows on the walls, | |
| Or found them cluster’d in the corniced shade | 360 |
| Of some arch’d temple door, or dusky colonnade. | |
| |
| Muffling his face, of greeting friends in fear, | |
| Her fingers he press’d hard, as one came near | |
| With curl’d gray beard, sharp eyes, and smooth bald crown, | |
| Slow-stepp’d, and robed in philosophic gown: | 365 |
| Lycius shrank closer, as they met and past, | |
| Into his mantle, adding wings to haste, | |
| While hurried Lamia trembled: “Ah,” said he, | |
| “Why do you shudder, love, so ruefully? | |
| “Why does your tender palm dissolve in dew?”— | 370 |
| “I’m wearied,” said fair Lamia: “tell me who | |
| “Is that old man? I cannot bring to mind | |
| “His features:—Lycius! wherefore did you blind | |
| “Yourself from his quick eyes?” Lycius replied, | |
| “’Tis Apollonius sage, my trusty guide | 375 |
| “And good instructor; but to-night he seems | |
| “The ghost of folly haunting my sweet dreams. | |
| |
| While yet he spake they had arrived before | |
| A pillar’d porch, with lofty portal door, | |
| Where hung a silver lamp, whose phosphor glow | 380 |
| Reflected in the slabbed steps below, | |
| Mild as a star in water; for so new, | |
| And so unsullied was the marble hue, | |
| So through the crystal polish, liquid fine, | |
| Ran the dark veins, that none but feet divine | 385 |
| Could e’er have touch’d there. Sounds Aeolian | |
| Breath’d from the hinges, as the ample span | |
| Of the wide doors disclos’d a place unknown | |
| Some time to any, but those two alone, | |
| And a few Persian mutes, who that same year | 390 |
| Were seen about the markets: none knew where | |
| They could inhabit; the most curious | |
| Were foil’d, who watch’d to trace them to their house: | |
| And but the flitter-winged verse must tell, | |
| For truth’s sake, what woe afterwards befel, | 395 |
| ’Twould humour many a heart to leave them thus, | |
| Shut from the busy world of more incredulous. | |
| |
| See Notes. |
| |
