UPON a time, before the faery broods
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: And for her eyes-what could such eyes do there
Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods, But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair! Before King Oberon's bright diadem,
Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem, Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns
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
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 pour'd Pearls, while on land they wither'd and adored. Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont, And in those meads where sometimes she might haunt, Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse, Though Fancy's casket were unlock'd to choose. 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, 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 prepared her secret bed:
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, 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 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, 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 ; And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed, Dissolved, or brighter shone, or interwreathed Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries- So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, She seemn'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.
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, 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, Among the Gods, upon Olympus old, The only sad one; for thou didst not hear The soft, lute-finger'd Muses chanting clear, Nor even Apollo when he sang alone, Deaf to his throbbing throat's long, long melodious
I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes, Break amorous through the clouds, as morning breaks, And, swiftly as a bright Phœbean dart, Strike for the Cretan isle; and here thou art! Too gentle Hermes, hast thou found the maid?" 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, 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!" Light flew his earnest words, among the blossoms
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 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 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 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, 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, 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!
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, Fair, on a sloping green of mossy tread,
Give me my woman's form, and place me where he is. By a clear pool, wherein she passioned
Stoop, Hermes, let me breath upon thy brow, And thou shalt see thy sweet nymph even now." The God on half-shut feathers sank serene, She breathed upon his eyes, and swift was seen Of both the guarded nymph near-smiling on the green. 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; Then, lighting on the printless verdure, turn'd To the swoon'd serpent, and with languid arm, Delicate, put to proof the lithe Caducean charm. So done, upon the nymph his eyes he bent Full of adoring tears and blandishment, 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, 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.
Left to herself, the serpent now began To change; her elfin blood in madness ran, Her mouth foam'd, and the grass, there with besprent, Wither'd at dew so sweet and virulent; Her eyes in torture fix'd, and anguish drear, Hot, glazed, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear, Flash'd phosphor and sharp sparks, without one cool- ing tear.
The colors all inflamed throughout her train, She writhed about, convulsed with scarlet pain: A deep volcanian yellow took the place 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, Eclipsed her crescents, and lick'd up her stars: 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 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 dissolved: Crete's forests heard no more.
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 Chenchreas' shore; And rested at the foot of those wild hills, The rugged founts of the Perman rills,
To see herself escaped from so sore ills, While her robes flaunted with the daffodils.
Ah, happy Lycius!-for she was a maid More beautiful than ever twisted braid, Or sigh'd, or blush'd, or on spring-flower'd lea Spread a green kirtle to the minstrelsy: A virgin purest lipp'd, yet in the lore Of love deep learn'd to the red heart's core: Not one hour old, yet of sciential brain To unperplex bliss from its neighbor pain; Define their pettish limits, and estrange Their points of contact, and swift counterchange; Intrigue with the specious chaos, and dispart 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 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; 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; 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, 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 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 quay-stones with her brazen prow In port Cenchreas, from Egina isle Fresh anchor'd; whither he had been awhile To sacrifice to Jove, whose temple there Waits with high marble doors for blood and incense
Jove heard his vows, and better'd his desire; For by some freakful chance he made retire 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 appear'd His phantasy was lost, where reason fades, 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 neighbor'd to him, and yet so unseen
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? 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 loved them a whole summer long: 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;
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. 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 Of thine harmonious sisters keep in tune
Thy spheres, and as thy silver proxy shine? So sweetly to these ravish'd ears of mine
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 Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said, She dwelt but half retired, 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, 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 't was the night before The Adonian feast; whereof she saw no more, 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; And every word she spake enticed 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, Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall, As a real woman, lineal indeed
From Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed. 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:- 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? 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
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? 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 Of sorrow for her tender favorite'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: 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 pant- ing fires.
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, For that she was a woman, and without
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 guarantied to save. Lycius to all made eloquent reply, Marrying to every word a twin-born 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 To a few paces; not at all surmised By blinded Lycius, so in her comprised 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, 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, 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 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
Slow-stepp'd, and robed in philosophic gown: Lycius shrank closer, as they met and past, Into his mantle, adding wigs to haste,
While hurried Lamia trembled: "Ah," said he, Why do you shudder, love, so ruefully? Why does your tender palm dissolve in dew?"- "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 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 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 Could e'er have touch'd there. Sounds Eolian Breathed from the hinges, as the ample span Of the wide doors disclosed a place unknown Some time to any, but those two alone,
And a few Persian mutes, who that same year 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: My thoughts! shall I unveil them? Listen then! And but the flitter-winged verse must tell, For truth's sake, what woe afterwards befell,
"I would humor many a heart to leave them thus, Shut from the busy world of more incredulous.
LOVE in a hut, with water and a crust, Is-Love, forgive us!-cinders, ashes, dust; Love in a palace is perhaps at last
More grievous torment than a hermit's fast:--- That is a doubtful tale from fairy-land, Hard for the non-elect to understand. Had Lycius lived to hand his story down,
He might have given the moral a fresh frown, Or clench'd it quite: but too short was their bliss To breed distrust and hate, that make the soft voice
Besides, there, nightly, with terrific glare, Love, jealous grown of so complete a pair, Hover'd and buzz'd his wings, with fearful roar, Above the lintel of their chamber-door,
And down the passage cast a glow upon the floor.
For all this came a ruin: side by side They were enthroned, in the eventide, Upon a couch, near to a curtaining Whose airy texture, from a golden string, Floated into the room, and let appear
Unveil'd the summer heaven, blue and clear, Betwixt two marble shafts :-there they reposed, Where use had made it sweet, with eyelids closed, Saving a tythe which love still open kept,
What mortal hath a prize, that other men May be confounded and abash'd withal, But lets it sometimes pace abroad majestical, 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, While through the thronged streets your bridal car Wheels round its dazzling spokes."-The lady's cheek Trembled; she nothing said, but, pale and meek, Arose and knelt before him, wept a rain
Of sorrows at his words; at last with pain Beseeching him, the while his hand she wrung, To change his purpose. He thereat was stung, Perverse, with stronger fancy to reclaim Her wild and timid nature to his aim; Besides, for all his love, in self-despite, Against his better self, he took delight Luxurious in her sorrows, soft and new His passion, cruel grown, took on a hue Fierce and sanguineous as 'twas possible In one whose brow had no dark veins to swell Fine was the mitigated fury, like
Apollo's presence when in act to strike The serpent-Ha, the serpent! certes, she Was none. She burnt, she loved the tyranny, And, all-subdued, consented to the hour When to the bridal he should lead his paramour.
Whispering in midnight silence, said the youth, "Sure some sweet name thou hast, though, by my
I have not ask'd it, ever thinking thee Not mortal, but of heavenly progeny, As still I do. Hast any mortal name, Fit appellation for this dazzling frame?
That they might see each other while they almost Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth,
When from the slope side of a suburb hill, Deafening the swallow's twitter, came a thrill Of trumpets-Lycius started-the sounds fled, But left a thought, a buzzing in his head.
To share our marriage-feast and nuptial mirth?' "I have no friends," said Lamia, "no, not one; My presence in wide Corinth hardly known: My parents' bones are in their dusty urns Sepulchred, where no kindled incense burns,
Seeing all their luckless race are dead, save me, And I neglect the holy rite for thee. Even as you list invite your many guests:
But if, as now it seems, your vision rests With any pleasure on me, do not bid Old Apollonius-from him keep me hid." Lycius, perplex'd at words so blind and blank, Made close inquiry; from whose touch she shrank, Feigning a sleep; and he to the dull shade Of deep sleep in a moment was betray'd.
It was the custom then to bring away
The bride from home at blushing shut of day, Veil'd, in a chariot, heralded along
By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage song, With other pageants; but this fair unknown Had not a friend. So being left alone (Lycius was gone to summon all his kin), And knowing surely she could never win His foolish heart from its mad pompousness, She set herself, high-thoughted, how to dress The misery in fit magnificence.
She did so, but 'tis doubtful how and whence Came, and who were her subtle servitors. About the halls, and to and from the doors, There was a noise of wings, till in short space
The glowing banquet-room shone with wide-arched
A haunting music, sole perhaps and lone Supportress of the fairy-roof, made moan
"Twas Apollonius: something too he laugh'd. As though some knotty problem, that had daft His patient thought, had now begun to thaw, And solve and melt: 'twas just as he foresaw
He met within the murmurous vestibule His young disciple. "Tis no common rule, Lycius," said he, " for uninvited guest To force himself upon you, and infest With an unbidden presence the bright throng Of younger friends; yet must I do this wrong, And you forgive me." Lycius blush'd, and led The old man through the inner doors broad spread; With reconciling words and courteous mien Turning into sweet milk the sophist's spleen
Of wealthy lustre was the banquet-room, Fill'd with pervading brilliance and perfume: Before each lucid panel fuming stood
A censer fed with myrrh and spiced wood, Each by a sacred tripod held aloft, Whose slender feet wide-swerved upon the soft Wool-woofed carpets: fifty wreaths of smoke From fifty censers their light voyage took To the high roof, still mimick'd as they rose Twelve sphered tables, by silk seats insphered, Along the mirror'd walls by twin-clouds odorous High as the level of a man's breast rear'd On libbard's paws, upheld the heavy gold Of cups and goblets, and the store thrice told
Throughout, as fearful the whole charm might fade. Of Ceres' horn, and, in huge vessels, wine
Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a glade Of palm and plantain, met from either side, High in the midst, in honor of the bride: Two palms and then two plantains, and so on, From either side their stems branch'd one to one All down the aisled palace; and beneath all
Came from the gloomy tun with merry shine. Thus loaded with a feast, the tables stood, Each shrining in the midst the image of a God.
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.
So canopied, lay an untasted feast
Teeming with odors. Lamia, regal drest, Silently paced about, and as she went, In pale contented sort of discontent, Mission'd her viewless servants to enrich The fretted splendor of each nook and niche. Between the tree-stems, marbled plain at first, Came jasper panels; then, anon, there burst Forth creeping imagery of slighter trees, And with the larger wove in small intricacies. Approving all, she faded at self-will,
And shut the chamber up, close, hush'd and still, Complete and ready for the revels rude,
By minist'ring slaves, upon his hands and feet. And fragrant oils with ceremony meet Pour'd on his hair, they all moved to the feast In white robes, and themselves in order placed Around the silken couches, wondering
Whence all this mighty cost and blaze of wealth could spring.
Soft went the music that soft air along. While fluent Greek a vowell'd under-song Kept up among the guests discoursing low At first, for scarcely was the wine at flow; But when the happy vintage touch'd their brains, Louder they talk, and louder come the strains
When dreaded guests would come to spoil her solitude. Of powerful instruments:-the gorgeous dyes,
The day appear'd, and all the gossip rout. O senseless Lycius! Madman! wherefore flout The silent-blessing fate, warm cloister'd hours, And show to common eyes these secret bowers? The herd approach'd; each guest, with busy brain, Arriving at the portal, gazed amain,
And enter'd marvelling: for they knew the street, Remember'd it from childhood all complete Without a gap, yet ne'er before had seen That royal porch, that high-built fair demesne; So in they hurried all, mazed, curious and keen: Save one, who look'd thereon with eye severe, And with calm-planted steps walk'd in austere;
The space, the splendor of the draperies, The roof of awful richness, nectarous cheer. Beautiful slaves, and Lamia's self, appear, Now, when the wine has done its rosy deed, And every soul from human trammels freed, No more so strange for merry wine, sweet wine, Will make Elysian shades not too fair, too divine. Soon was God Bacchus at meridian height; Flush'd were their cheeks, and bright eyes double
Garlands of every green, and every scent From vales deflower'd, or forest trees, branch-rent, In baskets of bright osier'd gold were brought High as the handles heap'd, to suit the thought
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