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She stood : he pass'd, shut up in mysteries, Any more subtle fluid in her veins
His mind wrapp'd like his mantle, while her eyes Than throbbing blood, and that the self-same pains
Follow'd his steps, and her neck regal white Inhabited her frail-strung heart as his.
Turn'd-syllabling thus,“ Ah, Lycius bright! And next she wonderd how his eyes could miss
And will you leave me on the hills alone ? Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said,
Lycius, look back! and be some pity shown." She dwelt but half retired, and there had led
He did ; not with cold wonder fearingly,

Days happy as the gold coin could invent
But Orpheus-like at an Eurydice;

Without the aid of love; yet in content For so delicious were the words she sung

Till she saw him, as once she pass'd him by, It seem'd he had loved them a whole summer long : Where 'gainst a column he leant thoughtfully And soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up, At Venus' temple porch, 'mid baskets heap d Leaving no drop in the bewildering cup,

Of amorous herbs and flowers, newly reap'd And still the cup was full,--while he, afraid Late on that eve, as 't was the night before Lest she should vanish ere his lip had paid

The Adonian feast; whereof she saw no more, Due adoration, thus began to adore ;

But wept alone those days, for why should she adore ! Her soft look growing coy, she saw his chain so sure : Lycius from death awoke into amaze, " Leave thee alone! Look back! Ah, Goddess, see To see her still, and singing so sweet lays; Whether my eyes can ever turn from thee! Then from amaze into delight he fell For pity do not this sad heart belie

To hear her whisper woman's lore so well ; Even as thou vanishest so I shall die.

And every word she spake enticed him on Stay! though a Naiad of the rivers, stay!

To unperplex'd delight and pleasure known To thy far wishes will thy streams obey :

Let the mad poets say whate'er they please Stay! though the greenest woods be thy domain, Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses, Alone they can drink up the morning rain :

There is not such a treat among them all, Though a descended Pleiad, will not one

Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall,
Of thine harmonious sisters keep in tune

As a real woman, lineal indeed
Thy spheres, and as thy silver proxy shine ? From Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed.
So sweetly to these ravish'd ears of mine

Thus gentle Lamia jndged, and judged aright, Came thy sweet greeting, that if thou shouldst fade That Lycius could not love in half a fright, Thy memory will waste me to a shade :

So threw the goddess off, and won his heart For pity do not melt!"_" If I should stay," More pleasanıly by playing woman's pari, Said Lamia, “ here, upon this floor of clay,

With no more awe than wbat her beauty gave. And pain my steps upon these flowers too rough, That, while it smote, still guaranted to save. What canst thou say or do of charm enough Lycius to all made eloquent reply, To dull the nice remembrance of my home? Marrying to every word a twin-born sigh; Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam And last, pointing to Corinth, ask'd her sweet, Over these hills and vales, where no joy is,- If it was too far that night for ber soft feet. Empty of immortality and bliss !

The way was short, for lama's eagemes Thou art a scholar, Lycius, and must know Made, by a spell, the triple league decrease That finer spirits cannot breathe below

To a few paces; not at all surmised In human climes, and live: Alas! poor youth,

By blinded Lycius, so in her comprised
What taste of purer air hast thou to soothe They pass'd the city gates, he knew not how,
My essence? What serener palaces,

So noiseless, and he never thought to know.
Where I may all my many senses please,
And by mysterious sleights a hundred thirsts appease?
It cannot be-Adieu !" So said, she rose

As men talk in a dream, so Corinth all,
Tiptoe with white arms spread. He, sick to lose

Throughout her palaces imperial, The amorous promise of her lone complain,

And all her populous streets and temples leud. Swoon'd murmuring of love, and pale with pain.

Muller'd, like tempest in the distance brewd, The cruel lady, without any show

To the wide-spreaded night above her toner Of sorrow for her tender favorite's woe,

Men, women, rich and poor, in the cool hour But rather, if her eyes could brighter be,

Shuffled their sandals o'er the pavement while, With brighter eyes and slow amenity,

Companion'd or alone; while many a light Put her new lips to his, and gave afresh

Flared, here and there, from wealthy festivals, The life she had so tangled in her mesh: And as he from one trance was wakening

And threw their moving shadows on the walls,

Or found them cluster'd in the corniced shade Into another, she began to sing, Happy in beauty, life, and love, and every thing,

Of some arch'd temple door, or dusky colonnade A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres, While, like held breath, the stars drew in their panting fires.

Muffling his face, of greeting friends in fear, And then she whisper'd in such trembling tone,

Her fingers he press'd hard, as one came near As those who, safe together met alone

With curl'd gray beard, sharp eyes, and smooth bald For the first time through many anguish'd days,

crown,
Use other speech than looks; bidding him raise Slow-stepp'd, and robed in philosophic goun:
His drooping head, and clear his soul of doubt, Lycius shrank closer, as they met and past,
For that she was a woman, and without

Into his mantle, adding whigs to haste,

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While hurried Lamia trembled : “ Ah," said he, For the first time, since first he harbor'd in
Why do you shudder, love, so ruefully?

That purple-lined palace of sweet sin,
Why does your tender palm dissolve in dew?"- His spirit pass'd beyond its golden bourn
« I'm wearied," said fair Lamia : “ tell me who Into the noisy world almost forsworn.
Is that old man? I cannot bring to mind

The lady, ever watchful, penetrant,
His features : Lycius! wherefore did you blind Saw this with pain, so arguing a want
Yourself from his quick eyes ?" Lycius replied, Of something more, more than her empery
" "Tis Apollonius sage, my trusty guide

Of joys; and she began to moan and sigh
And good instructor; but to-night he seems Because he mused beyond her, knowing well
The ghost of folly haunting my sweet dreams." That but a moment's thought is passion's passing-bell.

“Why do you sigh, fair creature?" whisper'd he: While yet he spake they had arrived before · Why do you think?" return'd she tenderly : A pillar'd porch, with lofty portal door,

* You have deserted me; where am I now? Where hung a silver lamp, whose phosphor glow Not in your heart while care weighs on your brow: Reflected in the slabbed steps below,

No, no, you have dismiss'd me; and I go Mild as a star in water; for so new,

From your breast houseless : ay, it must be so." And so unsullied was the marble hue,

He answer'd, bending to her open eyes,
So through the crystal polish, liquid fine,

Where he was mirror'd small in paradise,
Ran the dark veins, that none but feet divine “ My silver planet, both of eve and morn!
Could e'er have touch'd there. Sounds Eolian Why will you plead yourself so sad forlorn,
Breathed from the hinges, as the ample span While I am striving how to fill my heart
Of the wide doors disclosed a place unknown With deeper crimson, and a double smart?
Some time to any, but those two alone,

How to entangle, trammel up and snare
And a few Persian mutes, who that same year

Your soul in mine, and labyrinth you there, Were seen about the markets: none knew where Like the hid scent in an unbudded rose ? They could inhabit; the most curious

Ay, a sweet kiss--you see your mighty woes. Were foil'd, who watch'd to trace them to their house : My thoughts ! shall I unveil them? Listen then! And but the flitter-winged verse must tell,

What mortal hath a prize, that other men
For truth's sake, what woe afierwards befell, May be confounded and abash'd withal,
"Twould humor many a heart to leave them thus, But lets it sometimes pace abroail majestioal,
Shut from the busy world of more incredulous. And triumph, as in thee I should rejoice

Amid the hoarse alarm of Corinth's voice.

Let my foes choke, and my friends shout afar,
PART II.

While through the thronged streets your bridal car

Wheels round its dazzling spokes.”—The lady's cheek Love in a hut, with water and a crust,

Trembled ; she nothing said, but, pale and meek, Is-Love, forgive us !--cinders, ashes, dust;

Arose and knelt before him, wept a rain Love in a palace is perhaps at last

Of sorrows at his words; at last with pain More grievous torment than a hermit's fast :- Beseeching him, the while his hand she wrung, That is a doubtful tale from fairy-land,

To change

his
purpose.

He thereat was stung, Hard for the non-elect to understand.

Perverse, with stronger faney to reclaim Had Lycius lived to hand his story down,

Her wild and timid nature to his aim ; He might have given the moral a fresh frown, Besides, for all his love, in self-despite, Or clench'd it quite: but too short was their bliss Against his better self, he took delight To breed distrust and hate, that make the soft voice Luxurious in her sorrows, soft and new hiss.

Ilis passion, cruel grown, took on a hue Besides, there, nightly, with terrific glare,

Fierce and sanguineous as 'I was possible Love, jealous grown of so complete a pair,

In one whose brow had no dark veins to swell Hover'd and buzz'd his wings, with fearful roar,

Fine was the mitigated fury, like Above the lintel of their chamber-door,

Apollo's presence when in act to strike And down the passage cast a glow upon the floor.

The serpent--Ha, the serpent! certes, she

Was none. She burnt, she loved the tyranny, For all this came a ruin : side by side

And, all-subdued, consented to the hour They were enthroned, in the eventide,

When to the bridal he should lead his paramour. Upon a couch, near to a curtaining

Whispering in midnight silence, said the youth, Whose airy texture, from a golden string,

“ Sure some sweet name thou hast, though, by my Floated into the room, and let appear

truth. Unveild the summer heaven, blue and clear, I have not ask'd it, ever thinking thee Betwixt two marble shafts :--there they reposed,

Not mortal, but of heavenly progeny, Where use had made it sweet, with eyelids closed, As still I do. Hast any mortal naine, Saving a tythe which love still open kept,

Fit appellation for this dazzling frame? That they might see each other while they almost Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth, slepi;

To share our marriage-feast and nuptial mirth?" When from the slope side of a suburb hill, “ I have no friends," said Lamia, “no, not one ; Deafening the swallow's twitter, came a thrill My presence in wide Corinth hardly known : Of trumpets- Lycius started--the sounds fled, My parents' bones are in their dusty urns But lett a thought, a buzzing in his head.

Sepulchred, where no kindled incense burns,

Seeing all their luckless race are dead, save me, "T was Apollonius : something too he laugh'd
And I neglect the holy rite for thee.

As though some knotty problem, that had daft Even as you list invite your many guests :

His patient thought, had now begun to thaw, But if, as now it seems, your vision rests

And solve and melt: 't was just as he foresaw With any pleasure on me, do not bid Old Apollonius-from him keep me hid.”

He met within the murmurous vestibule Lycius, perplex'd at words so blind and blank,

His young disciple. “ "Tis no common rule, Made close inquiry; from whose touch she shrank, Lycius,” said he, “ for uninvited guest Feigning a sleep; and he to the dull shade

To force himself upon you, and infest Of deep sleep in a moment was betray'd.

With an unbidden presence the bright throng

Of younger friends; yet must I do this wrong, It was the custom then to bring away

And you forgive me." Lycius blush'd, and led The bride from home at blushing shut of day, The old man through the inner doors broad spread ; Veild, in a chariot, heralded along

With reconciling words and courteous mien By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage song, Turning into sweet milk the sophist's spleen. With other pageants; but this fair unknown Had not a friend. So being left alone (Lycius was gone to summon all his kin),

Of wealthy lustre was the banquet-room, And knowing surely she could never win

Fill’d with pervading brilliance and perfume , His foolish heart from its mad pompousness,

Before each lucid panel fuming stood She set herself, high-thoughted, how to dress

A censer fed with myrrh and spiced wood, 'The misery in fit magnificence.

Each by a sacred tripod held alott,

Whose slender feet wide-swerved upon the soft She did so, but 't is doubtful how and whence Came, and who were her subtle servitors.

Wool-woofed carpets : fifiy wreaths of smoke About the halls, and to and from the doors,

From fitty censers their light voyage took There was a noise of wings, till in short space

To the high roof, sull mimick'd as they rose The glowing banquet-room shone with wide-arched Along the mirror'd walls by twin-clouds odorous.

Twelve sphered tables, by silk seats insphered, grace. A haunting music, sole perhaps and lone

High as the level of a man's breast rear'd Supportress of the fairy-roof, made moan

On libbard's paws, upheld the heavy gold Throughout, as fearful the whole charm might fade. or Ceres' horn, and, in huge vessels, wine

Of cups and goblets, and the store thrice told Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a glade Of palm and plantain, met from either side,

Came from the gloomy tun with merry shine. High in the midst, in honor of the bride :

Thus loaded with a feast, the tables stood, Two palms and then two plantains, and so on,

Each shrining in the midst the image of a God From either side their stems branch'd one to one All down the aisled palace; and beneath all

When in an antechamber every guest There ran a stream of lamps straight on from wall Had felt the cold full sponge to pleasure press'd, to wall.

By minist'ring slaves, upon his hands and feet, So canopied, lay an untasted feast

And fragrant oils with ceremony meet Teeming with odors. Lamia, regal drest, Pourd on his hair, they all moved to the feast Silently paced about, and as she went,

In white robes, and themselves in order placed In pale contented sort of discontent,

Around the silken couches, wondering Mission'd her viewless servants to enrich

Whence all this mighty cost and blaze of wealth The fretted splendor of each nook and niche.

could spring. Between the tree-stems, marbled plain at first, Came jasper panels; then, anon, there burst

Soft went the music that soft air along. Forth creeping imagery of slighter trees,

While fluent Greek a vowell'd under-song And with the larger wove in small intricacies. Kept up among the guests discoursing low Approving all, she faded at self-will,

At first, for scarcely was the wine at flow; And shut the chamber up, close, hush'd and still, But when the happy vintage touch'd their brains, Complete and ready for the revels rude,

Louder they talk, and louder come the strains When dreaded guests would come to spoil her solitude. Of powerful instruments :--the gorgeous dyes,

The space, the splendor of the draperies, The day appear'd, and all the gossip ront. The roof of awful richness, nectarous cheer, O senseless Lycius! Madman! wherefore flout Beautiful slaves, and Lamia's self, appear, The silent-blessing fate, warm cloister'd hours, Now, when the wine has done its rosy deed, And show to common eyes these secret bowers? And every soul from human trammels freed, The herd approachd; each guest, with busy brain, No more so strange : for merry wine, sweet wine, Arriving at the portal, gazed amain,

Will make Elysian shades not too fair, too divine. And enter'd marvelling: for they knew the street, Soon was God Bacchus at meridian height; Remember'd it from childhood all complete Flush'd were their cheeks, and bright eyes double Without a gap, yet ne'er before had seen

bright: That royal porch, that high-built fair demesne ; Garlands of every green, and every scent So in they hurried all, mazed, curious and keen: From vales deflower'd, or forest trees, branch-rent, Save one, who look'd thereon with eye severe, In baskets of bright osier'd gold were brought And with calm-planted steps walk'd in austere ; High as the handles heap'd, to suit the thought

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Of every guest ; that each, as he did please, Wander'd on fair-spaced temples; no soft bloom Might fancy-fit his brows, silk-pillow'd at his ease. Misted the cheek; no passion to illume

The deep-recessed vision all was blight;

Lamia, no longer fair, there sat a deadly white. What wreath for Lamia ? What for Lycius ?

“ Shut, shut those juggling eyes, thou ruthless man! What for the sage, old Apollonius?

Turn them aside, wretch! or the righteous ban Upon her aching forehead be there hung

Of all the Gods, whose dreadful images The leaves of willow and of adder's tongue;

Here represent their shadowy presences, And for the youth, quick, let us strip for him May pierce them on the sudden with the thorn The thyrsus, that his watching eyes may swim

Of painful blindness; leaving thee forlorn, Into forgetfulness; and, for the sage,

In trembling dotage to the feeblest fright Let spear-grass and the spiteful thistle wage

Of conscience, for their long-offended might, War on his temples. Do not all charms fly For all thine impious proud-heart sophistries, At the mere touch of cold philosophy?

Unlawful magic, and enticing lies. There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: Corinthians! look upon that gray-beard wretch! We know her woof, her texture; she is given

Mark how, possess'd, his lashless eyelids stretch In the dull catalogue of common things.

Around his demon eyes ! Corinthians, see! Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings,

My sweet bride withers at their potency." Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,

Fool!" said the sophist, in an under-tone Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine- Gruff with contempt; which a death-nighing moan Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made a

From Lycius answer'd, as heart-struck and lost, The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade. He sank supine beside the aching ghost.

“ Fool! Fool!" repeated he, while his eyes still

Relented not, nor moved ; “ from every ill By her glad Lycius sitting, in chief place,

Of life have I preserved thee to this day, Scarce saw in all the room another face,

And shall I see thee made a serpent's prey?” Till, checking his love trance, a cup he took

Then Lamia breathed death-breath ; the sophist's eye, Full-brimm'd, and opposite sent forth a look

Like a sharp spear, went through her utterly, 'Cross the broad table, to beseech a glance

Keen, cruel, perceant, stinging: she, as well From his old teacher's wrinkled countenance,

As her weak hand could any meaning tell,

Motion'd him to be silent; vainly so,
And pledge him. The bald-head philosopher
Had fix'd his eye, without a twinkle or stir

He look'd and look'd again a level-No!
Full on the alarmed beauty of the bride,

“ A Serpent!" echoed he; no sooner said, Browbeating her fair form, and troubling her sweet Than with a frightful scream she vanished:

And Lycius' arms were empty of delight, pride. Lycius then press'd her hand, with devout touch,

As were his limbs of life, from that same night. As pale it lay upon the rosy couch:

On the high couch he lay-his friends came round'T was icy, and the cold ran through his veins ;

Supported him—no pulse, or breath they found, Then sudden it grew hot, and all the pains

And, in its marriage robe, the heavy body wound.* Of an unnatural heat shot to his heart. “ Lamia, what means this? Wherefore dost thou start? * " Philostratus, in his fourth book de Vila Apollonii, Know'st thou that man?” Poor Lamia answer'd not. omit, of one Menippus Lycius, a young man twenty-five

hath a memorable instance in this kind, which I may not He gazed into her eyes, and not a jot

years of age. that going betwixt Cenchreas and Corinth, Ownd they the lovelorn piteous appeal :

met such a phantasın in the habit of a fair gentlewoman,

which taking him by the hand, carried him home to lier More, more he gazed : his human senses reel :

house, in the suburbs of Corinth, and told him she was a Some angry spell that loveliness absorbs;

Phænician by birth, and if he would tarry with her, he There was no recognition in those orbs.

should hear her sing and play, and drink such wine as * Lamia!" he cried-and no soft-toned reply.

never any drank, and no man should inulest him; but she,

being fair and lovely, would die with him, that was fair The many heard, and the loud revelry

and lovely to behold. The young man, a philosopher, Grew hush ; the stately music no more breathes ; otherwise staid and discreet, able to moderate his passions, The myrtle sicken'd in a thousand wreaths.

though not this of love, tarried with her a while to his

great content, and at last married her, to whose wedding, By faint degrees, voice, lute, and pleasure ceased;

amongst other guests, came Apollonius; who, by some A deadly silence step by step increased,

probable conjectures, found her out to be a serpent, a Until it seem'd a horrid presence there,

lamia; and that all her furniture was, like Tantalus gold, And not a man but felt the terror in his hair.

described by Homer, no substance but mere illusions.

When she saw herself descried, she wept, and desired · Lamia!” he shriek'd : and nothing but the shriek | Apollonius to be silent, but he would not be moved, and With its sad echo did the silence break.

thereupon she, plate, house, and all that was in it, van. “ Begone, foul dream !” he cried, gazing again

ished in an instant : many thousands took notice of this

fact, for it was done in the midst of Greece." -BURTON'S In the bride's face, where now no azure vein Anatomy of Melancholy, Part 3, Sect. 2, Memb. I, Subs. I.

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VI.
So said he ono fair morning, and all day

His heart beat awfully against his side;
And to his heart he inwardly did pray

For power to speak; but still the ruddy tide Stifled his voice, and pulsed resolve away

Fever'd his high conceit of such a bride, Yet brought him to the meekness of a child : Alas! when passion is both meek and wild !

XII.
Were they unhappy then ?-It cannot be

Too many tears for lovers have been shed,
Too many sighs give we to them in fee,

Too much of pity after they are dead, Too many doleful stories do we see,

Whose matter in bright gold were best be read, Except in such a page where Theseus' spouse Over the pathless waves towards him bows.

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