And down some swart abysm he had gone, Had not a heavenly guide benignant led
To where thick myrtle branches, 'gainst his head Brushing, awaken'd: then the sounds again Went noiseless as a passing noontide rain Over a bower, where little space he stood; For as the sunset peeps into a wood, So saw he panting light, and towards it went Through winding alleys; and lo, wonderment! Upon soft verdure saw, one here, one there, Cupids a slumbering on their pinions fair.
After a thousand mazes overgone, At last, with sudden step, he came upon A chamber, myrtle-wall'd, embower'd high, Full of light, incense, tender minstrelsy, And more of beautiful and strange beside: For on a silken couch of rosy pride,
In midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth Of fondest beauty; fonder, in fair sooth, Than sighs could fathom, or contentment reach: And coverlids gold-tinted like the peach, Or ripe October's faded marigolds,
Fell sleek about him in a thousand folds
Not hiding up an Apollonian curve
Of neck and shoulder, nor the tenting swerve Of knee from knee, nor ankles pointing light; But rather, giving them to the fill'd sight Officiously. Sideway his face reposed On one white arm, and tenderly unclosed, By tenderest pressure, a faint damask mouth To slumbery pout; just as the morning south Disparts a dew-lipp'd rose. Above his head,
Four lily stalks did their white honors wed To make a coronal; and round him grew All tendrils green, of every bloom and hue Together intertwined and tramell'd fresh: The vine of glossy sprout; the ivy mesh, Shading its Ethiop berries; and woodbine, Of velvet leaves and bugle-blooms divine; Convolvulus in streaked vases flush;
The creeper, mellowing for an autumn blush; And virgin's-bower, trailing airily; With others of the sisterhood. Hard by, Stood serene Cupids watching silently. One, kneeling to a lyre, touch'd the strings, Muffling to death the pathos with his wings; And, ever and anon, uprose to look At the youth's slumber; while another took A willow bough, distilling odorous dew, And shook it on his hair; another flew In through the woven roof, and fluttering-wise Rain'd violets upon his sleeping eyes.
At these enchantments, and yet many more, The breathless Latmian wonder'd o'er and o'er; Until impatient in embarrassment,
He forthright pass'd, and lightly treading went To that same feather'd lyrist, who straightway, Smiling, thus whisper'd: "Though from upper day Thou art a wanderer, and thy presence here Might seem unholy, be of happy cheer! For 'tis the nicest touch of human honor, When some ethereal and high-favoring donor Presents immortal bowers to mortal sense; As now 't is done to thee, Endymion. Hence
Was I in no wise startled. So recline
Upon these living flowers.
Alive with sparkles-never, I aver, Since Ariadne was a vintager,
So cool a purple: taste these juicy pears, Sent me by sad Vertumnus, when his fears Were high about Pomona: here is cream, Deepening to richness from a snowy gleam; Sweeter than that nurse Amalthea skimm'd For the boy Jupiter: and here, undimm'd By any touch, a bunch of blooming plums Ready to melt between an infant's gums: And here is manna pick'd from Syrian trees, In starlight, by the three Hesperides. Feast on, and meanwhile I will let thee know Of all these things around us." He did so, Still brooding o'er the cadence of his lyre; And thus: "I need not any hearing tire By telling how the sea-born goddess pined For a mortal youth, and how she strove to bind Him all in all unto her doting self.
Who would not be so prison'd? but, fond elf,
He was content to let her amorous plea
Faint through his careless arms; content to see An unseized heaven dying at his feet;
Content, O fool! to make a cold retreat, When on the pleasant grass such love, lovelorn, Lay sorrowing; when every tear was born Of diverse passion; when her lips and eyes Were closed in sullen moisture, and quick sighs Came vex'd and pettish through her nostrils small. Hush! no exclaim-yet, justly might'st thou call Curses upon his head. I was half glad,
But my poor mistress went distract and mad, When the boar tusk'd him: so away she flew To Jove's high throne, and by her plainings drew Immortal tear-drops down the thunderer's beard; Whereon, it was decreed he should be rear'd Each summer-time to life. Lo! this is he, That same Adonis, safe in the privacy Of this still region all his winter-sleep.
Ay, sleep; for when our love-sick queen did weep Over his waned corse, the tremulous shower Heal'd up the wound, and, with a balmy power, Medicined death to a lengthen'd drowsiness: The which she fills with visions, and doth dress
In all this quiet luxury; and hath set
Us young immortals, without any let,
To watch his slumber through. 'Tis well nigh pass'd,
Even to a moment's filling up, and fast
She scuds with summer breezes, to pant through
The first long kiss, warm firstling, to renew Embower'd sports in Cytherea's isle.
Look, how those winged listeners all this while Stand anxious: see! behold!"-This clamant word Broke through the careful silence; for they heard A rustling noise of leaves, and out there flutter'd Pigeons and doves: Adonis something mutter'd, The while one hand, that erst upon his thigh Lay dormant, moved convulsed and gradually Up to his forehead. Then there was a hum Of sudden voices, echoing, "Come! come! Arise! awake! Clear summer has forth walk'd Unto the clover-sward, and she has talk'd Full soothingly to every nested finch:
Rise, Cupids! or we'll give the blue-bell pinch
To your dimpled arms. Once more sweet life begin!" At this, from every side they hurried in, Rubbing their sleepy eyes with lazy wrists, And doubling overhead their little fists
In backward yawns. But all were soon alive; For as delicious wine doth, sparkling, dive In nectar'd clouds and curls through water fair, So from the arbor roof down swell'd an air Odorous and enlivening; making all
To laugh, and play, and sing, and loudly call
For their sweet queen: when lo! the wreathed green
Disparted, and far upward could be seen
Blue heaven, and a silver car, air-borne,
Whose silent wheels, fresh wet from clouds of morn,
Spun off a drizzling dew,-which falling chill
On soft Adonis' shoulders, made him still
Nestle and turn uneasily about.
Soon were the white doves plain, with necks stretch'd out,
And silken traces lighten'd in descent;
And soon, returning from love's banishment, Queen Venus leaning downward open-arm'd: Her shadow fell upon his breast, and charm'd A tumult to his heart, and a new life Into his eyes. Ah, miserable strife, But for her comforting! unhappy sight,
But meeting her blue orbs! Who, who can write Of these first minutes? The unchariest muse To embracements warm as theirs makes coy excuse.
O it has ruffled every spirit there,
Saving love's self, who stands superb to share The general gladness: awfully he stands ; A sovereign quell is in his waving hands;
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