He kissed her with his beams, and made all golden

The chamber of grey rock in which she layShe, in that dream of joy, dissolved away.

III.

'Tis said she first was changed into a vapour, And then into a cloud, such clouds as flit, Like splendour-winged moths about a taper, Round the red west when the sun dies in it: And then into a meteor, such as caper

On hill-tops when the moon is in a fit : Then, into one of those mysterious stars Which hide themselves between the Earth and

Mars.

IV.

Ten times the Mother of the Months had bent Her bow beside the folding-star, and bidden With that bright sign the billows to indent

The sea-deserted sand-like children chidden, At her command they ever came and wentSince in that cave a dewy splendour hidden Took shape and motion: with the living form Of this embodied Power, the cave grew warm.

V.

A lovely lady garmented in light

From her own beauty-deep her eyes, as are Two openings of unfathomable night

Seen through a Temple's cloven roof-her hair

Dark-the dim brain whirls dizzy with delight, Picturing her form; her soft smiles shone

afar,

And her low voice was heard like love, and

drew

All living things towards this wonder new.

VI.

And first the spotted cameleopard' came,
And then the wise and fearless elephant;
Then the sly serpent, in the golden flame

Of his own volumes intervolved;-all gaunt And sanguine beasts her gentle looks made

tame.

They drank before her at her sacred fount; And every beast of beating heart grew bold, Such gentleness and power even to behold.

VII.

The brinded lioness led forth her young,
That she might teach them how they should

forego

Their inborn thirst of death; the pard unstrung

His sinews at her feet, and sought to know With looks whose motions spoke without a tongue

How he might be as gentle as the doe. The magic circle of her voice and eyes All savage natures did imparadise.

VIII.

And old Silenus, shaking a green stick
Of lilies, and the wood-gods in a crew,
Came, blithe as in the olive copses thick
Cicada are, drunk with the noonday dew:
And Dryope and Faunus followed quick,

1 No doubt Shelley used this popular but incorrect form instead of the more classic camelopard, to express his conception of the word as a compound of camel and leopard. The same form occurs in line 240 of the Letter to Maria Gisborne, where also it is impossible to pronounce the word otherwise than camel-leopard. ED.

Teasing the God to sing them something

new;

Till in this cave they found the lady lone,
Sitting upon a seat of emerald stone.

IX.

And universal Pan, 'tis said, was there,

And though none saw him,—through the adamant

Of the deep mountains, through the trackless air,

And through those living spirits, like a want He passed out of his everlasting lair

Where the quick heart of the great world doth pant,

And felt that wondrous lady all alone,—
And she felt him, upon her emerald throne.

X.

And every nymph of stream and spreading tree,

And every shepherdess of Ocean's flocks, Who drives her white waves over the green sea, And Ocean with the brine on his grey locks, And quaint Priapus with his company,

All came, much wondering how the enwombed rocks

Could have brought forth so beautiful a birth;Her love subdued their wonder and their mirth.

XI.

The herdsmen and the mountain maidens came, And the rude kings of pastoral GaramantTheir spirits shook within them, as a flame Stirred by the air under a cavern gaunt: Pigmies, and Polyphemes, by many a name,

Centaurs and Satyrs, and such shapes as

haunt

Wet clefts, and lumps neither alive nor dead, Dog-headed, bosom-eyed, and bird-footed.

XII.

For she was beautiful-her beauty made
The bright world dim, and every thing beside
Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade:
No thought of living spirit could abide,
Which to her looks had ever been betrayed,
On any object in the world so wide,
On any hope within the circling skies,
But on her form, and in her inmost eyes.

XIII.

Which when the lady knew, she took her

spindle

And twined three threads of fleecy mist, and

three

Long lines of light, such as the dawn may kindle

The clouds and waves and mountains with; and she

As many star-beams, ere their lamps could dwindle

In the belated moon, wound skilfully;

And with these threads a subtle veil she woveA shadow for the splendour of her love.

XIV.

The deep recesses of her odorous dwelling Were stored with magic treasures-sounds

of air,

Which had the power all spirits of compelling, Folded in cells of crystal silence there;

Such as we hear in youth, and think the feeling
Will never die—yet, ere we are aware,
The feeling and the sound are fled and gone,
And the regret they leave remains alone.

XV.

And there lay Visions swift, and sweet, and quaint,

Each in its thin sheath, like a chrysalis, Some eager to burst forth, some weak and faint With the soft burthen of intensest bliss

It was its work to bear to many a saint

Whose heart adores the shrine which holiest is, Even Love's:-and others white, green, grey and black,

And of all shapes-and each was at her beck.

XVI.

And odours in a kind of aviary

Of ever-blooming Eden-trees she kept, Clipped in a floating net, a love-sick Fairy Had woven from dew-beams while the moon yet slept;

As bats at the wired window of a dairy,

They beat their vans; and each was an adept, When loosed and missioned, making wings of

winds,

To stir sweet thoughts or sad, in destined minds.

XVII.

And liquors clear and sweet, whose healthful might

Could medicine the sick soul to happy sleep, And change eternal death into a night

Of glorious dreams—or if eyes needs must weep,