Together had he left his mother fair

And his twin-sister sleeping in their bower,
And in the morning twilight wander'd forth
Beside the osiers of a rivulet,

Full ankle-deep in lilies of the vale.

The nightingale had ceas'd, and a few stars

Were lingering in the heavens, while the thrush
Began calm-throated.

Throughout all the isle

There was no covert, no retired cave
Unhaunted by the murmurous noise of waves,
Though scarcely heard in many a green recess.
He listen'd, and he wept, and his bright tears
Went trickling down the golden bow he held.
Thus with half-shut suffused eyes he stood,

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While from beneath some cumbrous boughs hard by 45 With solemn step an awful Goddess came,

And there was purport in her looks for him,
Which he with eager guess began to read
Perplex'd, the while melodiously he said:
"How cam'st thou over the unfooted sea?

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Or hath that antique mien and robed form

Mov'd in these vales invisible till now?

Sure I have heard those vestments sweeping o'er
The fallen leaves, when I have sat alone

In cool mid-forest. Surely I have trac'd

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The rustle of those ample skirts about
These grassy solitudes, and seen the flowers

Lift up their heads, as still the whisper pass'd.
Goddess! I have beheld those eyes before,

And their eternal calm, and all that face,

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Or I have dream'd."-"Yes," said the supreme shape,

"Thou hast dream'd of me; and awaking up

Didst find a lyre all golden by thy side,

Whose strings touch'd by thy fingers, all the vast

Unwearied ear of the whole universe

Listen'd in pain and pleasure at the birth

Of such new tuneful wonder. Is 't not strange

That thou shouldst weep, so gifted? Tell me, youth,
What sorrow thou canst feel; for I am sad

When thou dost shed a tear

explain thy griefs

To one who in this lonely isle hath been

The watcher of thy sleep and hours of life,
From the young day when first thy infant hand
Pluck'd witless the weak flowers, till thine arm
Could bend that bow heroic to all times.
Show thy heart's secret to an ancient Power
Who hath forsaken old and sacred thrones
For prophecies of thee, and for the sake

Of loveliness new born." - Apollo then,
With sudden scrutiny and gloomless eyes,

Thus answer'd, while his white melodious throat
Throbb'd with the syllables.

"Mnemosyne !

Thy name is on my tongue, I know not how ;
Why should I tell thee what thou so well seest?
Why should I strive to show what from thy lips
Would come no mystery? For me, dark, dark,
And painful vile oblivion seals my eyes:

I strive to search wherefore I am so sad,
Until a melancholy numbs my limbs ;
And then upon the grass I sit, and moan,
Like one who once had wings. O why should I
Feel curs'd and thwarted, when the liegeless air
Yields to my step aspirant? why should I
Spurn the green turf as hateful to my feet?
Goddess benign, point forth some unknown thing:
Are there not other regions than this isle?
What are the stars?

There is the sun, the sun!
And the most patient brilliance of the moon !

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And stars by thousands! Point me out the way
To any one particular beauteous star,
And I will flit into it with my lyre,

And make its silvery splendour pant with bliss.

I have heard the cloudy thunder: Where is power?
Whose hand, whose essence, what divinity

Makes this alarum in the elements,

While I here idle listen on the shores
In fearless yet in aching ignorance?
O tell me, lonely Goddess, by thy harp,
That waileth every morn and eventide,
Tell me why thus I rave, about these groves!

Mute thou remainest Mute! yet I can read
A wondrous lesson in thy silent face :
Knowledge enormous makes a God of me.

Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions,
Majesties, sovran voices, agonies,

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Creations and destroyings, all at once
Pour into the wide hollows of my brain,
And deify me, as if some blithe wine
Or bright elixir peerless I had drunk,

And so become immortal." Thus the God,
While his enkindled eyes, with level glance
Beneath his white soft temples, steadfast kept
Trembling with light upon Mnemosyne.

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Soon wild commotions shook him, and made flush
All the immortal fairness of his limbs ;

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Most like the struggle at the gate of death;

Or liker still to one who should take leave

Of pale immortal death, and with a pang

As hot as death's is chill, with fierce convulse

Die into life so young Apollo anguish'd;

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His very hair, his golden tresses famed

Kept undulation round his eager neck.

During the pain Mnemosyne upheld
Her arms as one who prophesied.
Apollo shriek'd;
Celestial

At length

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and lo! from all his limbs

LAMIA.

PART I.

UPON a time, before the fairy 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

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From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslipped 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

IO

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 ador'd.
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.
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,

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