And that of all things 'tis kept secretest. Endymion! one day thou wilt be blest: So still obey the guiding hand that fends
And purblind amid foggy midnight wolds. But he revives at once: for who beholds New sudden things, nor casts his mental slough?
Thee safely through these wonders for sweet ends. Forth from a rugged arch, in the dusk below,
"Tis a concealment needful in extreme;
And if I guess'd not so, the sunny beam
Thou shouldst mount up to with me. Now adieu! Here must we leave thee."-At these words up flew The impatient doves, up rose the floating ear, Up went the hum celestial. High afar The Latmian saw them minish into naught; And, when all were clear vanish'd, still he caught A vivid lightning from that dreadful bow. When all was darken'd, with Etnean throe The earth closed-gave a solitary moan- And left him once again in twilight lone.
He did not rave, he did not stare aghast, For all those visions were o'ergone, and past, And he in loneliness: he felt assured Of happy times, when all he had endured Would seem a feather to the mighty prize. So, with unusual gladness, on he hies Through caves, and palaces of mottled ore, Gold dome, and crystal wall, and turquoise floor, Black polish'd porticoes of awful shade, And, at the last, a diamond balustrade, Leading afar past wild magnificence, Spiral through ruggedest loop-holes, and thence Stretching across a void, then guiding o'er Enormous chasms, where, all foam and roar, Streams subterranean tease their granite beds; Then heighten'd just above the silvery heads Of a thousand fountains, so that he could dash The waters with his spear; but at the splash, Done heedlessly, those spouting columns rose Sudden a poplar's height, and 'gan to inclose His diamond path with fretwork streaming round Alive, and dazzling cool, and with a sound, Haply, like dolphin tumults, when sweet shells Welcome the float of Thetis. Long he dwells - On this delight; for, every minute's space, The streams with changed magic interlace: Sometimes like delicatest lattices, Cover'd with crystal vines; then weeping trees, Moving about as in a gentle wind, Which, in a wink, to watery gauze refined, Pour'd into shapes of curtain'd canopies, Spangled, and rich with liquid broideries! Of flowers, peacocks, swans, and naiads fair. Swifter than lightning went these wonders rare; And then the water, into stubborn streams Collecting, mimick'd the wrought oaken beams, Pillars, and frieze, and high fantastic roof, Of those dusk places in times far aloof Cathedrals call'd. He bade a loth farewell To these founts Protean, passing gulf, and dell, And torrent, and ten thousand jutting shapes, Half-seen through deepest gloom, and grisly gapes, Blackening on every side, and overhead
A vaulted dome like Heaven's, far bespread With starlight gems: aye, all so huge and strange, The solitary felt a hurried change Working within him into something dreary,- Vex'd like a morning eagle, lost, and weary,
Came mother Cybele! alone-alone- In sombre chariot; dark foldings thrown About her majesty, and front death-pale, With turrets crown'd. Four maned lions hale The sluggish wheels; solemn their toothed maws, Their surly eyes brow-hidden, heavy paws Uplifted drowsily, and nervy tails Cowering their tawny brushes. Silent sails This shadowy queen athwart, and faints away In another gloomy arch.
Young traveller, in such a mournful place? Art thou wayworn, or canst not further trace The diamond path? And does it indeed end Abrupt in middle air? Yet earthward bend Thy forehead, and to Jupiter cloud-borne Call ardently! He was indeed wayworn; Abrupt, in middle air, his way was lost; To cloud-borne Jove he bowed, and there crost Towards him a large eagle, 't wixt whose wings, Without one impkous word, himself he flings, Committed to the darkness and the gloom: Down, down, uncertain to what pleasant doom, Swift as a fathoming plummet down he fell Through unknown things; till exhaled asphodel, And rose, with spicy fannings interbreathed, Came swelling forth where little caves were wreathed So thick with leaves and mosses, that they seem'd Large honeycombs of green, and freshly teem'd With airs delicious. In the greenest nook The eagle landed him, and farewell took.
It was a jasmine bower, all bestrown With golden moss. His every sense had grown Ethereal for pleasure; 'bove his head Flew a delight half-graspable; his tread Was Hesperean; to his capable ears Silence was music from the holy spheres; A dewy luxury was in his eyes;
The little flowers felt his pleasant sighs And stirr'd them faintly. Verdant cave and cell He wander'd through, oft wondering at such swell Of sudden exaltation: but, "Alas!" Said he, "will all this gush of feeling pass Away in solitude? And must they wane, Like melodies upon a sandy plain, Without an echo? Then shall I be left So sad, so melancholy, so bereft! Yet still I feel immortal! O my love, My breath of life, where art thou? High above, Dancing before the morning gates of heaven? Or keeping watch among those starry seven, Old Atlas' children? Art a maid of the waters, One of shell-winding Triton's bright-hair'd daughters' Or art, impossible! a nymph of Dian's, Weaving a coronal of tender scions For very idleness? Where'er thou art, Methinks it now is at my will to start Into thine arms; to scare Aurora's train, And snatch thee from the morning; o'er the main
To scud like a wild bird, and take thee off From thy sea-foamy cradle; or to doff
Endymion! dearest! Ah, unhappy me! His soul will 'scape us-O felicity!
Thy shepherd vest, and woo thee 'mid fresh leaves. How he does love me! His poor temples beat No, no, too eagerly my soul deceives Its powerless self: I know this cannot be. O let me then by some sweet dreaming flee To her entrancements: hither sleep awhile! Hither most gentle sleep! and soothing foil For some few hours the coming solitude."
Thus spake he, and that moment felt endued With power to dream deliciously; so wound Through a dim passage, searching till he found The smoothest mossy bed and deepest, where He threw himself, and just into the air Stretching his indolent arms, he took, O bliss! A naked waist: "Fair Cupid, whence is this?" A well-known voice sigh'd, "Sweetest, here am I!" At which soft ravishment, with doting cry They trembled to each other.-Helicon! O'fountain'd hill! Old Homer's Helicon! That thou wouldst spout a little streamlet o'er These sorry pages; then the verse would soar And sing above this gentle pair, like lark Over his nested young: but all is dark Around thine aged top, and thy clear fount Exhales in mists to Heaven. Ay, the count Of mighty Poets is made up; the scroll Is folded by the Muses; the bright roll Is in Apollo's hand: our dazed eyes Have seen a new tinge in the western skies: The world has done its duty. Yet, oh yet, Although the sun of poesy is set,
These lovers did embrace, and we must weep That there is no old power left to steep A quill immortal in their joyous tears. Long time in silence did their anxious fears Question that thus it was; long time they lay Fondling and kissing every doubt away; Long time ere soft caressing sobs began To mellow into words, and then there ran Two bubbling springs of talk from their sweet lips. "O known Unknown! from whom my being sips Such darling essence, wherefore may I not Be ever in these arms? in this sweet spot Pillow my chin for ever? ever press
These toying hands and kiss their smooth excess? Why not for ever and for ever feel
That breath about my eyes? Ah, thou wilt steal Away from me again, indeed, indeed- Thou wilt be gone away, and wilt not heed My lonely madness. Speak, my kindest fair! Is-is it to be so? No! Who will dare
To pluck thee from me? And, of thine own will, Full well I feel thou wouldst not leave me. Still Let me entwine thee surer, surer-now How can we part? Elysium! who art thou? Who, that thou canst not be for ever here, Or lift me with thee to some starry sphere? Enchantress! tell me by this soft embrace, By the most soft complexion of thy face, Those lips, O slippery blisses! twinkling eyes, And by these tenderest, milky sovereignties- These tenderest, and by the nectar-wine, The passion"-
To the very tune of love-how sweet, sweet, sweet! Revive, dear youth, or I shall faint and die; Revive, or these soft hours will hurry by In tranced dullness; speak, and let that spell Affright this lethargy! I cannot quell Its heavy pressure, and will press at least My lips to thine, that they may richly feast Until we taste the life of love again.
What! dost thou move? dost kiss? O bliss! O pain! I love thee, youth, more than I can conceive; And so long absence from thee doth bereave My soul of any rest: yet must I hence: Yet, can I not to starry eminence Uplift thee; nor for very shame can own Myself to thee. Ah, dearest! do not groan, Or thou wilt force me from this secrecy, And I must blush in heaven. O that I Had done it already! that the dreadful smiles At my lost brightness, my impassion'd wiles, Had waned from Olympus' solemn height, And from all serious Gods; that our delight Was quite forgotten, save of us alone! And wherefore so ashamed? "Tis but to atone For endless pleasure, by some coward blushes: Yet must I be a coward! Horror rushes Too palpable before me-the sad look Of Jove-Minerva's start-no bosom shook With awe of purity-no Cupid pinion In reverence veil'd-my crystalline dominion Half lost, and all old hymns made nullity! But what is this to love? Oh! I could fly With thee into the ken of heavenly powers, So thou wouldst thus, for many sequent hours, Press me so sweetly. Now I swear at once That I am wise, that Pallas is a dunce- Perhaps her love like mine is but unknown- Oh! I do think that I have been alone In chastity! yes, Pallas has been sighing, While every eve saw me my hair uptying With fingers cool as aspen leaves. Sweet love! I was as vague as solitary dove,
Nor knew that nests were built. Now a soft kiss- Ay, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss, An immortality of passion's thine : Ere long I will exalt thee to the shine Of heaven ambrosial; and we will shade Ourselves whole summers by a river glade; And I will tell thee stories of the sky, And breathe thee whispers of its minstrelsy, My happy love will overwing all bounds! O let me melt into thee! let the sounds Of our close voices marry at their birth; Let us entwine hoveringly!-O dearth Of human words! roughness of mortal speech! Lispings empyrean will I sometimes teach Thine honey'd tongue-lute-breathings, which I gasp To have thee understand, now while I clasp Thee thus, and weep for fondness-I am pain'd, Endymion: woe! woe! is grief contain'd In the very deeps of pleasure, my sole life?"- Hereat, with many sobs, her gentle strife Melted into a languor. He return'd Entranced vows and tears.
With too much passion, will here stay and pity, For the mere sake of truth; as 'tis a ditty Not of these days, but long ago 't was told By a cavern wind unto a forest old; And then the forest told it in a dream
To a sleeping lake, whose cool and level gleam A poet caught as he was journeying To Phoebus' shrine; and in it he did fling His weary limbs, bathing an hour's space, And after, straight in that inspired place He sang the story up into the air, Giving it universal freedom. There Has it been ever sounding for those ears Whose tips are glowing hot. The legend cheers Yon sentinel stars; and he who listens to it Must surely be self-doom'd or he will rue it! For quenchless burnings come upon the heart, Made fiercer by a fear lest any part Should be ingulfed in the eddying wind. As much as here is penn'd doth always find A resting-place, thus much comes clear and plain; Anon the strange voice is upon the wane- And 'tis but echoed from departing sound, That the fair visitant at last unwound Her gentle limbs, and left the youth asleep.- Thus the tradition of the gusty deep.
Now turn we to our former chroniclers.Endymion awoke, that grief of hers Sweet plaining on his ear: he sickly guess'd How lone he was once more, and sadly press'd His empty arms together, hung his head, And most forlorn upon that widow'd bed Sat silently. Love's madness he had known: Often with more than tortured lion's groan Moanings had burst from him; but now that rage Had pass'd away: no longer did he wage A rough-voiced war against the dooming stars. No, he had felt too much for such harsh jars : The lyre of his soul Eolian-tuned Forgot all violence, and but communed With melancholy thought: O he had swoon'd Drunken from pleasure's nipple! and his love Henceforth was dove-like.-Loth was he to move From the imprinted couch, and when he did, "T was with slow, languid paces, and face hid In muffling hands. So temper'd, out he stray'd Half seeing visions that might have dismay'd Alecto's serpents; ravishments more keen Than Hermes' pipe, when anxious he did lean Over eclipsing eyes: and at the last It was a sounding grotto, vaulted, vast, O'er-studded with a thousand, thousand pearls, And crimson-mouthed shells with stubborn curls, Of every shape and size, even to the bulk In which whales arbor close, to brood and sulk Against an endless storm. Moreover too, Fish-semblances, of green and azure hue, Ready to snort their streams. In this cool wonder Endymion sat down, and 'gan to ponder On all his life: his youth, up to the day When 'mid acclaim, and feasts, and garlands gay, He stept upon his shepherd throne: the look Of his white palace in wild forest nook,
And all the revels he had lorded there: Each tender maiden whom he once thought fair, With every friend and fellow-woodlander- Pass'd like a dream before him. Then the spur Of the old bards to mighty deeds: his plans To nurse the golden age 'mong shepherd clans: That wondrous night: the great Pan-festival: His sister's sorrow; and his wanderings all, Until into the earth's deep maw he rush'd: Then all its buried magic, till it flush'd High with excessive love. "And now," thought he How long must I remain in jeopardy
Of blank amazements that amaze no more? Now I have tasted her sweet soul to the core, All other depths are shallow: essences, Once spiritual, are like muddy lees, Meant but to fertilize my earthly root, And make my branches lift a golden fruit Into the bloom of heaven: other light, Though it be quick and sharp enough to blight The Olympian eagle's vision, is dark, Dark as the parentage of chaos. Hark! My silent thoughts are echoing from these shells; Or are they but the ghosts, the dying swells Of noises far away ?-list!-Hereupon He kept an anxious ear. The humming tone Came louder, and behold, there as he lay, On either side out-gush'd, with misty spray, A copious spring; and both together dash'd Swift, mad, fantastic round the rocks, and lash'd Among the conchs and shells of the lofty grot, Leaving a trickling dew. At last they shot Down from the ceiling's height, pouring a noise As of some breathless racers whose hopes poise Upon the last few steps, and with spent force Along the ground they took a winding course. Endymion follow'd-for it seem'd that one Ever pursued, the other strove to shun- Follow'd their languid mazes, till well-nigh He had left thinking of the mystery,- And was now rapt in tender hoverings Over the vanish'd bliss. Ah! what is it sings His dream away? What melodies are these? They sound as through the whispering of trees, Not native in such barren vaults. Give ear!
"O Arethusa, peerless nymph! why fear Such tenderness as mine? Great Dian, why, Why didst thou hear her prayer? O that I Were rippling round her dainty fairness now, Circling about her waist, and striving how To entice her to a dive! then stealing in Between her luscious lips and eyelids thin. O that her shining hair was in the sun, And I distilling from it thence to run In amorous rillets down her shrinking form! To linger on her lily shoulders, warm Between her kissing breasts, and every charm Touch raptured!-See how painfully I flow: Fair maid, be pitiful to my great woe. Stay, stay thy weary course, and let me lead, A happy wooer, to the flowery mead Where all that beauty snared me."—" Cruel God. Desist! or my offended mistress' nod Will stagnate all thy fountains-tease me not
With syren words-Ah, have I really got
Such power to madden thee? And is it true- Away, away, or I shall dearly rue
My very thoughts: in mercy then away, Kindest Alpheus, for should I obey
My own dear will, 't would be a deadly bane."— "Ö, Oread-Queen! would that thou hadst a pain Like this of mine, then would I fearless turn And be a criminal."-" Alas, I burn, I shudder-gentle river, get thee hence. Alpheus! thou enchanter! every sense
Of mine was once made perfect in these woods. Fresh breezes, bowery lawns, and innocent floods, Ripe fruits, and lonely couch, contentment gave; But ever since I heedlessly did lave In thy deceitful stream, a panting glow Grew strong within me: wherefore serve me so, And call it love? Alas! 'twas cruelty. Not once more did I close my happy eyes Amid the thrush's song. Away! Avaunt! O't was a cruel thing."-"Now thou dost taunt So softly, Arethusa, that I think
If thou wast playing on my shady brink,
Thou wouldst bathe once again. Innocent maid! Stifle thine heart no more;-nor be afraid Of angry powers: there are deities
Towards it by a sandy path, and lo! More suddenly than doth a moment go, The visions of the earth were gone and fled- He saw the giant sea above his head.
THERE are who lord it o'er their fellow-men With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen Their baaing vanities, to browse away The comfortable green and juicy hay From human pastures; or, O torturing fact! Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack'd Fire-branded foxes to sear up and singe Our gold and ripe-ear'd hopes. With not one tinge Of sanctuary splendor, nor a sight
Able to face an owl's, they still are dight By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests, And crowns, and turbans. With unladen breasts, Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mount To their spirit's perch, their being's high account,
Will shade us with their wings. Those fitful sighs Their tip-top nothings, their dull skies, their thrones
"Tis almost death to hear: O let me pour
A dewy balm upon them!-fear no more, Sweet Arethusa! Dian's self must feel,
Sometimes, these very pangs. Dear maiden, steal Blushing into my soul, and let us fly These dreary caverns for the open sky. I will delight thee all my winding course, From the green sea up to my hidden source About Arcadian forests; and will show The channels where my coolest waters flow Through mossy rocks; where, 'mid exuberant green, I roam in pleasant darkness, more unseen Than Saturn in his exile; where I brim Round flowery islands, and take thence a skim Of mealy sweets, which myriads of bees
Buzz from their honey'd wings: and thou shouldst please
Thyself to choose the richest, where we might Be incense-pillow'd every summer night. Doff all sad fears, thou white deliciousness, And let us be thus comforted; unless Thou couldst rejoice to see my hopeless stream Hurry distracted from Sol's temperate beam, And pour to death along some hungry sands."— What can I do, Alpheus? Dian stands Severe before me: persecuting fate! Unhappy Arethusa! thou wast late
A huntress free in"-At this, sudden fell Those two sad streams adown a fearful dell. The Latmian listen'd, but he heard no more, Save echo, faint repeating o'er and o'er The name of Arethusa. On the verge Of that dark gulf he wept, and said: "I urge Thee, gentle Goddess of my pilgrimage, By our eternal hopes, to soothe, to assuage, If thou art powerful, these lovers' pains; And make them happy in some happy plains."
Amid the fierce intoxicating tones
Of trumpets, shoutings, and belabor'd drums, And sudden cannon. Ah! how all this hums, In wakeful ears, like uproar past and gone- Like thunder-clouds that spake to Babylon, And set those old Chaldeans to their tasks.- Are then regalities all gilded masks? No, there are throned seats unscalable But by a patient wing, a constant spell, Or by ethereal things that, unconfined, Can make a ladder of the eternal wind, And poise about in cloudy thunder-tents To watch the abysm-birth of elements. Aye, 'bove the withering of old-lipp'd Fate A thousand powers keep religious state, In water, fiery realm, and airy bourn; And, silent as a consecrated urn, Hold sphery sessions for a season due. Yet few of these far majesties, ah, few! Have bared their operations to this globe- Few, who with gorgeous pageantry enrobe Our piece of heaven-whose benevolence Shakes hand with our own Ceres; every sense Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude, As bees gorge full their cells. And by the feud "Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear, Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair
Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest. When thy gold breath is misting in the west, She unobserved steals unto her throne, And there she sits most meek and most alone; As if she had not pomp subservient; As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent Towards her with the Muses in thine heart; As if the ministering stars kept not apart, Waiting for silver-footed messages.
O Moon! the oldest shades 'mong oldest trees Feel palpitations when thou lookest in: O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din
He turn'd-there was a whelming sound-he stept, The while they feel thine airy fellowship.
There was a cooler light; and so he kept
Thou dost bless everywhere, with silver lip
Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine, Couch'd in thy brightness, dream of fields divine: Innumerable mountains rise, and rise, Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes; And yet thy benediction passeth not One obscure hiding-place, one little spot Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken, And from beneath a sheltering ivy leaf Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps Within its pearly house :-The mighty deeps, The monstrous sea is thine-the myriad sea! O Moon! far-spooming Ocean bows to thee, And Tellus feels her forehead's cumbrous load.
Cynthia where art thou now? What far abode Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine Such utmost beauty? Alas, thou dost pine For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail His tears, who weeps for thee. Where dost thou sigh? Ah! surely that light peeps from Vesper's eye, Or what a thing is love! "Tis She, but lo! How changed, how full of ache, how gone in woe! She dies at the thinnest cloud; her loveliness Is wan on Neptune's blue: yet there's a stress Of love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees, Dancing upon the waves, as if to please The curly foam with amorous influence. O, not so idle for down-glancing thence, She fathoms eddies, and runs wild about O'erwhelming water-courses; scaring out The thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and fright'ning Their savage eyes with unaccustom'd lightning. Where will the splendor be content to reach ? O love! how potent hast thou been to teach Strange journeyings! Wherever beauty dwells, In gulf or aerie, mountains or deep dells, In light, in gloom, in star or blazing sun, Thou pointest out the way, and straight 'tis won. Amid his toil thou gavest Leander breath; Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death; Thou madest Pluto bear thin element: And now, O winged Chieftain! thou hast sent A moonbeam to the deep, deep water-world, To find Endymion.
With lily shells, and pebbles milky white, Poor Cynthia greeted him, and soothed her light Against his pallid face: he felt the charm To breathlessness, and suddenly a warm
Of his heart's blood: 'twas very sweet; he stay'd His wandering steps, and half-entranced laid His head upon a tuft of straggling weeds, To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads, Lash'd from the crystal roof by fishes' tails. And so he kept, until the rosy veils Mantling the east, by Aurora's peering hand Were lifted from the water's breast, and fann'd Into sweet air; and sober'd morning came Meekly through billows:-when like taper-flame Left sudden by a dallying breath of air, He rose in silence, and once more 'gan fare
But those of Saturn's vintage; mouldering scrolls, Writ in the tongue of heaven, by those souls Who first were on the earth; and sculptures rude In ponderous stone, developing the mood Of ancient Nox ;-then skeletons of man, Of beast, behemoth, and leviathan, And elephant, and eagle, and huge jaw Of nameless monster. A cold leaden awe These secrets struck into him; and unless Dian had chased away that heaviness, He might have died: but now, with cheered feel, He onward kept; wooing these thoughts to steal About the labyrinth in his soul of love.
My heart so potently? When yet a child,
I oft have dried my tears when thou hast smiled. Thou seem'dst my sister: hand in hand we went From eve to morn across the firmament. No apples would I gather from the tree, Till thou hadst cool'd their cheeks deliciously: No tumbling water ever spake romance,
But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance : No woods were green enough, no bower divine, Until thou lifted'st up thine eyelids fine: In sowing-time ne'er would I dibble take, Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake; And, in the summer-tide of blossoming. No one but thee hath heard me blithely sing And mesh my dewy flowers all the night. No melody was like a passing spright If it went not to solemnize thy reign. Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain By thee were fashion'd to the self-same end; And as I grew in years, still didst thou blend With all my ardors: thou wast the deep glen; Thou wast the mountain-top-the sage's pen- The poet's harp-the voice of friends-the sun; Thou wast the river-thou wast glory won; Thou wast my clarion's blast-thou wast my steed- My goblet full of wine-my topmost deed- Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon! O what a wild and harmonized tune My spirit struck from all the beautiful! On some bright essence could I lean, and lull Myself to immortality: I prest
Nature's soft pillow in a wakeful rest. But, gentle Orb! there came a nearer bliss- My strange love came-Felicity's abyss! She came, and thou didst fade, and fade away Yet not entirely; no, thy starry sway Has been an under-passion to this hour. Now I begin to feel thine orby power
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