4. And divided at her prayer; The Earth's white daughter Behind her descended Her billows, unblended Like a gloomy stain On the emerald main, A dove to its ruin Down the streams of the cloudy wind. Under the bowers Where the Ocean Powers Sit on their pearlèd thrones ; Which amid the streams Are as green as the forest's night: And the sword-fish dark,— Under the ocean foam, 5. PISA. And up through the rifts They passed to their Dorian home. And now from their fountains In Enna's mountains, Down one vale where the morning basks, Grown single-hearted, In the azure sky, When they love but live no more. HYMN OF APOLLO. I. THE sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie, Curtained with star-inwoven tapestries From the broad moonlight of the sky, Fanning the busy dreams from my dim eyes, Waken me when their Mother, the grey Dawn, Tells them that dreams and that the moon is gone. 2. Then I arise, and, climbing heaven's blue dome, I walk over the mountains and the waves, Leaving my robe upon the ocean foam ;— My footsteps pave the clouds with fire; the caves Are filled with my bright presence; and the air Leaves the green Earth to my embraces bare. 3. The sunbeams are my shafts, with which I kill Deceit, that loves the night and fears the day; All men who do or even imagine ill Fly me, and from the glory of my ray Good minds and open actions take new might, Until diminished by the reign of Night. 4. I feed the clouds, the rainbows, and the flowers, With their ethereal colours; the moon's globe, And the pure stars in their eternal bowers, Are cinctured with my power as with a robe; Whatever lamps on earth or heaven may shine Are portions of one power, which is mine. 5. I stand at noon upon the peak of heaven; Then with unwilling steps I wander down Into the clouds of the Atlantic even ; For grief that I depart they weep and frown. What look is more delightful than the smile With which I soothe them from the western isle? 6. I am the eye with which the universe All prophecy, all medicine, are mine, HYMN OF PAN. FROM the forests and highlands Listening to my sweet pipings. The wind in the reeds and the rushes, And the lizards below in the grass, Liquid Peneus was flowing, waves, To the edge of the moist river-lawns, And the brink of the dewy caves, And all that did then attend and follow, Were silent with love, -as you now, Apolo, With envy of my sweet pipings. |