Together had he left his mother fair And his twin-sister sleeping in their bower, 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 Throughout all the isle There was no covert, no retired cave 35 40 45 And there was purport in her looks for him, 50 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 In cool mid-forest. Surely I have trac'd 55 Lift up their heads, as still the whisper pass'd. And their eternal calm, and all that face, 60 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 Is 't not strange That thou shouldst weep, so gifted? Tell me, youth, What sorrow thou canst feel; for I am sad - Apollo then, With sudden scrutiny and gloomless eyes, Thus answer'd, while his white melodious throat I strive to search wherefore I am so sad, Until a melancholy numbs my limbs ; And then upon the grass I sit, and moan, 65 70 75 80 85 90 O why should I Feel curs'd and thwarted, when the liegeless air Spurn the green turf as hateful to my feet? There is the sun, the sun! 95 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? Makes this alarum in the elements, While I here idle listen on the shores Mute thou remainest Mute! yet I can read Names, deeds, gray legends, dire events, rebellions, 115 Creations and destroyings, all at once I 20 Soon wild commotions shook him, and made flush 125 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; 130 His very hair, his golden tresses famed Kept undulation round his eager neck. 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 5 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 ΙΟ Of his great summoner, and made retreat Into a forest on the shores of Crete. For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt 15 20 25 |