There was no recognition in those orbs. 260 Grew hush; the stately music no more breathes; By faint degrees, voice, lute, and pleasure ceas'd; 265 A deadly silence step by step increas'd, Until it seem'd a horrid presence there, And not a man but felt the terror in his hair. “Lamia!" he shriek'd; and nothing but the shriek With its sad echo did the silence break. 270 Begone, foul dream!" he cried, gazing again In the bride's face, where now no azure vein Wander'd on fair-spaced temples; no soft bloom The deep-recessed vision: - all was blight : 275 "Shut, shut those juggling eyes, thou ruthless man ! Turn them aside, wretch! or the righteous ban Of all the Gods, whose dreadful images 280 May pierce them on the sudden with the thorn Of painful blindness; leaving thee forlorn, 285 Corinthians! look upon that gray-beard wretch! Gruff with contempt; which a death-nighing moan 290 He sank supine beside the aching ghost. "Fool! Fool!" repeated he, while his eyes still ee 295 Relented not, nor mov'd; from every ill Of life have I preserv'd thee to this day, And shall I see thee made a serpent's prey?" Then Lamia breath'd death breath; the sophist's eye, Like a sharp spear, went through her utterly, 300 As her weak hand could any meaning tell, No! Than with a frightful scream she vanished : As were his limbs of life, from that same night. 305 310 1" Philostratus, in his fourth book De Vita Apollonii, hath a memorable instance in this kind, which I may not omit, of one Menippus Lycius, a young man twenty-five years of age, that going betwixt Cenchreas and Corinth, met such a phantasm in the habit of a fair gentlewoman, which taking him by the hand, carried him home to her house, in the suburbs of Corinth, and told him she was a Phœnician by birth, and if he would tarry with her, he should hear her sing and play, and drink such wine as never any drank, and no man should molest him; but she, being fair and lovely, would live and die with him, that was fair and lovely to behold. The young man, a philosopher, otherwise staid and discreet, able to moderate his passions, though not this of love, tarried with her a while to his great content, and at last married her, to whose wedding, amongst other guests, came Apollonius; who, by some probable conjectures, found her out to be a serpent, a lamia; and that all her furniture was, like Tantalus's gold, described by Homer, no substance but mere illusions. When she saw herself descried, she wept, and desired Apollonius to be silent, but he would not be moved, and thereupon she, plate, house, and all that was in it, vanished in an instant many thousands took notice of this fact, for it was done in the midst of Greece." Memb. 1. Subs. I. Burton's 'Anatomy of Melancholy.' Part 3. Sect. 2. ISABELLA; OR THE POT OF BASIL. A STORY FROM BOCCACCIO. I. FAIR Isabel, poor simple Isabel ! Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye! II. With every morn their love grew tenderer, To her, than noise of trees or hidden rill; III. He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch, And constant as her vespers would he watch, IV. A whole long month of May in this sad plight ee To-morrow will I ask my lady's boon." "O may I never see another night, Lorenzo, if thy lips breathe not love's tune." So spake they to their pillows; but, alas, Honeyless days and days did he let pass; V. Until sweet Isabella's untouched cheek And yet I will, and tell my love all plain : VI. So said he one fair morning, and all day And to his heart he inwardly did pray 25 30 35 40 For power to speak; but still the ruddy tide. Stifled his voice, and puls'd resolve away 45 Fever'd his high conceit of such a bride, Yet brought him to the meekness of a child : VII. So once more he had wak'd and anguished A dreary night of love and misery, If Isabel's quick eye had not been wed To every symbol on his forehead high; She saw it waxing very pale and dead, And straight all flush'd; so, lisped tenderly, "Lorenzo!" here she ceas'd her timid quest, But in her tone and look he read the rest. VIII. "O Isabella, I can half perceive That I may speak my grief into thine ear; If thou didst ever any thing believe, Believe how I love thee, believe how near My soul is to its doom: I would not grieve Thy hand by unwelcome pressing, would not fear Thine eyes by gazing; but I cannot live 50 55 60 IX. er Love! thou art leading me from wintry cold; 65 And I must taste the blossoms that unfold In its ripe warmth this gracious morning time." So said, his erewhile timid lips grew bold, And poesied with hers in dewy rhyme : 70 X. Parting they seem'd to tread upon the air, Only to meet again more close, and share 75 The inward fragrance of each other's heart. |