I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and sing To the silver cymbals' ring!
I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierce Old Tartary the fierce!
The kings of Ind their jewel-sceptres vail, And from their treasures scatter pearled hail; Great Brahma from his mystic heaven groans, And all his priesthood moans,
Before young Bacchus' eye-wink turning pale. Into these regions came I, following him, Sick-hearted, weary-so I took a whim To stray away into these forests drear, Alone, without a peer:
And I have told thee all thou mayest hear.
O what a sight she gave in finishing, And look, quite dead to every worldly thing! Endymion could not speak, but gazed on her: And listen'd to the wind that now did stir About the crisped oaks full drearily, Yet with as sweet a sofiness as might be Remember'd from its velvet summer song. At last he said: "Poor lady, how thus long Have I been able to endure that voice? Fair Melody! kind Syren! I've no choice; I must be thy sad servant evermore : I cannot choose but kneel here and adore. Alas, I must not think-by Phoebe, no! Let me not think, soft Angel! shall it be so? Say, beautifullest, shall I never think? O thou couldst foster me beyond the brink Of recollection! make my watchful care Close up its bloodshot eyes, nor see despair! Do gently murder half my soul, and I Shall feel the other half so utterly!— I'm giddy at that cheek so fair and smooth; O let it blush so ever: let it soothe My madness! let it mantle rosy-warm With the tinge of love, panting in safe alarm. This cannot be thy hand, and yet it is; And this is sure thine other softling-this Thine own fair bosom, and I am so near! Wilt fall asleep? O let me sip that tear! And whisper one sweet word that I may know This is the world-sweet dewy blossom!"-WOE!
Their timid necks and tremble; so these both Leant to each other trembling, and sat so Waiting for some destruction-when lo! Foot-feather'd Mercury appear'd sublime Beyond the tall tree-tops; and in less time Than shoots the slanted hail-storm, down he dropt Towards the ground; but rested not, nor stopt One moment from his home: only the sward He with his wand light touch'd, and heavenward Swifter than sight was gone-even before The teeming earth a sudden witness bore Of his swift magic. Diving swans appear Above the crystal circlings white and clear; And catch the cheated eye in wild surprise, How they can dive in sight and unseen rise- So from the turf outsprang two steeds jet-black, Each with large dark-blue wings upon his back. The youth of Caria placed the lovely dame On one, and felt himself in spleen to tame The other's fierceness. Through the air they flew, High as the eagles. Like two drops of dew Exhaled to Phoebus' lips, away they are gone, Far from the earth away-unseen, alone, Among cool clouds and winds, but that the free, The buoyant life of song can floating be Above their heads, and follow them untired. Muse of my native land! am I inspired? This is the giddy air, and I must spread Wide pinions to keep here; nor do I dread Or height, or depth, or width, or any chance Precipitous: I have beneath my glance Those towering horses and their mournful freight. Could I thus sail, and see, and thus await Fearless for power of thought, without thine aid?- There is a sleepy dusk, an odorous shade From some approaching wonder, and behold Those winged steeds, with snorting nostrils bold Snuff at its faint extreme, and seem to tire, Dying to embers from their native fire!
There curl'd a purple mist around them; soon, It seem'd as when around the pale new moon Sad Zephyr droops the clouds like weeping willow: "Twas Sleep slow journeying with head on pillow For the first time, since he came nigh dead-born From the old womb of night, his cave forlorn Had he left more forlorn; for the first time, He felt aloof the day and morning's prime- Because into his depth Cimmerian There came a dream, showing how a young man. Ere a lean bat could plump its wintery skin, Would at high Jove's empyreal footstool win An immortality, and how espouse
Jove's daughter, and be reckon'd of his house. Now was he slumbering towards heaven's gate, That he might at the threshold one hour wait To hear the marriage melodies, and then Sink downward to his dusky cave again.
His litter of smooth semilucent mist, Diversely tinged with rose and amethyst, Puzzled those eyes that for the centre sought; And scarcely for one moment could be caught His sluggish form reposing motionless.
Those two on winged steeds, with all the stress Of vision search'd for him, as one would look Athwart the sallows of a river nook
To catch a glance at silver-throated eels,- Or from old Skiddaw's top, when fog conceals His rugged forehead in a mantle pale, With an eye-guess towards some pleasant vale, Descry a favorite hamlet faint and far.
These raven horses, though they foster'd are Of earth's splenetic fire, dully drop Their full-vein'd ears, nostrils blood wide, and stop; Upon the spiritless mist have they outspread Their ample feathers, are in slumber dead,— And on those pinions, level in mid-air, Endymion sleepeth and the lady fair.
Slowly they sail, slowly as icy isle
Upon a calm sea drifting: and meanwhile
Awhile forgetful of all beauty save Young Phoebe's, golden-hair'd; and so 'gan crave Forgiveness: yet he turn'd once more to look At the sweet sleeper,-all his soul was shook,— She press'd his hand in slumber; so once more He could not help but kiss her and adore. At this the shadow wept, melting away. The Latmian started up: "Bright goddess, stay! Search my most hidden breast! By truth's own tongue, have no dædal heart: why is it wrung To desperation? Is there naught for me, Upon the bourn of bliss, but misery?"
These words awoke the stranger of dark tresses: Her dawning love-look rapt Endymion blesses With 'havior soft. Sleep yawn'd from underneath. "Thou swan of Ganges, let us no more breathe This murky phantasm! thou contented seem'st Pillow'd in lovely idleness, nor dream'st What horrors may discomfort thee and me. Ah, shouldst thou die from my heart-treachery!- Yet did she merely weep-her gentle soul Hath no revenge in it; as it is whole
The mournful wanderer dreams. Behold! he walks In tenderness, would I were whole in love!
On heaven's pavement; brotherly he talks To divine powers: from his hand full fain Juno's proud birds are pecking pearly grain: He tries the nerve of Phœbus' golden bow, And asketh where the golden apples grow: Upon his arm he braces Pallas' shield, And strives in vain to unsettle and wield A Jovian thunderbolt: arch Hebe brings A full-brimm'd goblet, dances lightly, sings And tantalizes long; at last he drinks, And lost in pleasure at her feet he sinks, Touching with dazzled lips her starlight hand, He blows a bugle,-an ethereal band Are visible above: the Seasons four,- Green-kirtled Spring, flush Summer, golden store In Autumn's sickle, Winter frosty hoar,
Join dance with shadowy Hours; while still the blast, In swells unmitigated, still doth last
To sway their floating morris. "Whose is this? Whose bugle?" he inquires: they smile-"O Dis! Why is this mortal here? Dost thou not know Its mistress' lips? Not thou?-"Tis Dian's: lo! She rises crescented!" He looks, 'tis she, His very goddess: good-bye earth, and sea, And air, and pains, and care, and suffering; Good-bye to all but love! Then doth he spring Towards her, and awakes-and, strange, o'erhead, Of those same fragrant exhalations bred, Beheld awake his very dream: the Gods Stood smiling; merry Hebe laughs and nods; And Phoebe bends towards him crescented. O state perplexing! On the pinion bed, Too well awake, he feels the panting side Of his delicious lady. He who died For soaring too audacious in the sun, Where that same treacherous wax began to run, Felt not more tongue-tied than Endymion. His heart leapt up as to its rightful throne, To that fair-shadow'd passion pulsed its way- Ah, what perplexity! Ah, well-a-day! So fond, so beauteous was his bed-fellow, He could not help but kiss her: then he grew 3 V
Can I prize thee, fair maid, all price above, Even when I feel as true as innocence?
I do, I do.-What is this soul then? Whence Came it? It does not seem my own, and I Have no self-passion or identity.
Some fearful end must be; where, where is it? By Nemesis! I see my spirit flit
Alone about the dark-Forgive me, sweet!
Shall we away?" He roused the steeds; they beat Their wings chivalrous into the clear air, Leaving old Sleep within his vapory lair.
The good-night blush of eve was waning slow, And Vesper, risen star, began to throe Thus sprang direct towards the Galaxy. In the dusk heavens silvery, when they Nor did speed hinder converse soft and strange- Eternal oaths and vows they interchange, In such wise, in such temper, so aloof Up in the winds, beneath a starry roof, So witless of their doom, that verily
"Tis well-nigh past man's search their hearts to see; Whether they wept, or laugh'd, or grieved, or toy'd- Most like with joy gone mad, with sorrow cloy'd.
Full facing their swift flight, from ebon streak The moon put forth a little diamond peak, No bigger than an unobserved star, Or tiny point of fairy scimitar; Bright signal that she only stoop'd to tie Her silver sandals, ere deliciously
She bow'd into the heavens her timid head. Slowly she rose, as though she would have fled While to his lady meek the Carian turn'd, To mark if her dark eyes had yet discern'd This beauty in its birth-Despair! despair! He saw her body fading gaunt and spare In the cold moonshine. Straight he seized her wrist; It melted from his grasp; her hand he kiss'd, And, horror! kiss'd his own-he was alone.
Her steed a little higher soar'd, and then Dropt hawkwise to the earth.
Beyond the seeming confines of the space Made for the soul to wander in and trace Its own existence, of remotest glooms. Dark regions are around it, where the tombs Of buried griefs the spirit sees, but scarce One hour doth linger weeping, for the pierce Of new-born woe it feels more inly smart : And in these regions many a venom'd dart At random flies; they are the proper home Of every ill the man is yet to come
Who hath not journey'd in this native hell. But few have ever felt how calm and well Sleep may be had in that deep den of all. There anguish does not sting, nor pleasure pall; Woe-hurricanes beat ever at the gate, Yet all is still within and desolate. Beset with plainful gusts, within ye hear No sound so loud as when on curtain'd bier The death-watch tick is stifled. Enter none Who strive therefor: on the sudden it is won. Just when the sufferer begins to burn, Then it is free to him; and from an urn, Still fed by melting ice, he takes a draught— Young Semele such richness never quaft In her maternal longing. Happy gloom! Dark Paradise! where pale becomes the bloom Of health by due; where silence dreariest Is most articulate; where hopes infest; Where those eyes are the brightest far that keep Their lids shut longest in a dreamless sleep. O happy spirit-home! O wondrous soul! Pregnant with such a den to save the whole In thine own depth. Hail, gentle Carian! For, never since thy griefs and woes began, Hast thou felt so content: a grievous feud Hath led thee to this Cave of Quietude, Aye, his lull'd soul was there, although upborne With dangerous speed: and so he did not mourn Because he knew not whither he was going. So happy was he, not the aerial blowing Of trumpets at clear parley from the east Could rouse from that fine relish, that high feast. They stung the feather'd horse; with fierce alarm He flapp'd towards the sound. Alas! no charm Could lift Endymion's head, or he had view'd A skyey mask, a pinion'd multitude,- And silvery was its passing: voices sweet Warbling the while as if to lull and greet The wanderer in his path. Thus warbled they, While past the vision went in bright array.
"Who, who from Dian's feast would be away? For all the golden bowers of the day Are empty left? Who, who away would be From Cynthia's wedding and festivity? Not Hesperus lo! upon his silver wings He leans away for highest heaven and sings, Snapping his lucid fingers merrily!Ah, Zephyrus! art here, and Flora too! Ye tender bibbers of the rain and dew, Young playmates of the rose and daffodil, Be careful, ere ye enter in, to fill
With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines, Savory, latter-mint, and columbines, Cool parsley, basil sweet, and sunny thyme; Yea, every flower and leaf of every clime, All gather'd in the dewy morning: hie
Crystalline brother of the belt of heaven, Aquarius! to whom king Jove has given Two liquid pulse streams 'stead of feather'd wings, Two fan-like fountains,-thine illuminings For Dian play:
Dissolve the frozen purity of air;
Let thy white shoulders silvery and bare Show cold through watery pinions; make more bright The Star-Queen's crescent on her marriage night: Haste, haste away!
Castor has tamed the planet Lion, see! And of the Bear has Pollux mastery: A third is in the race! who is the third, Speeding away swift as the eagle bird?
The ramping Centaur!
The Lion's mane's on end: the Bear how fierce! The Centaur's arrow ready seems to pierce Some enemy: far forth his bow is bent
Into the blue of heaven. He'll be shent,
When he shall hear the wedding lutes a-playing- Andromeda sweet woman! why delaying
So timidly among the stars? come hither! Join this bright throng, and nimbly follow whither They all are going.
Dana's Son, before Jove newly bow'd, Has wept for thee, calling to Jove aloud. Thee, gentle lady, did he disenthral : Ye shall for ever live and love, for all Thy tears are flowing.-
By Daphne's fright, behold Apollo!—"
Endymion heard not: down his steed him bore, Prone to the green head of a misty hill.
His first touch of the earth went nigh to kill. "Alas!" said he, "were I but always borne Through dangerous winds, had but my footsteps worn A path in hell, for ever would I bless Horrors which nourish an uneasiness For my own sullen conquering; to him
Who lives beyond earth's boundary, grief is dim, Sorrow is but a shadow: now I see
The grass; I feel the solid ground—Ah, me! It is thy voice-divinest! Where?-who? who Left thee so quiet on this bed of dew? Behold upon this happy earth we are; Let us aye love each other; let us fare On forest-fruits, and never, never go Among the abodes of mortals here below, Or be by phantoms duped. O destiny! Into a labyrinth now my soul would fly, But with thy beauty will I deaden it. Where didst thou melt too? By thee will I sit For ever: let our fate stop here-a kid I on this spot will offer: Pan will bid Us live in peace, in love and peace among His forest wildernesses. I have clung
To nothing, loved a nothing, nothing seen Or felt but a great dream! Oh, I have been Presumptuous against love, against the sky, Against all elements, against the tie
Of mortals each to each, against the blooms Of flowers, rush of rivers, and the tombs Of heroes gone! Against his proper glory Has my own soul conspired: so my story Will I to children utter, and repent. There never lived a mortal man, who bent His appetite beyond his natural sphere, But starved and died. My sweetest Indian, here, Here will I kneel, for thou redeemed hast
My life from too thin breathing: gone and past Are cloudy phantasms. Caverns lone, farewell! And air of visions, and the monstrous swell Of visionary seas! No, never more Shall airy voices cheat me to the shore Of tangled wonder, breathless and aghast. Adieu, my daintiest Dream! although so vast My love is still for thee. The hour may come When we shall meet in pure elysium.
On earth I may not love thee; and therefore Doves will I offer up, and sweetest store All through the teeming year: so thou wilt shine, On me, and on this damsel fair of mine, And bless our simple lives. My Indian bliss! My river-lily bud! one human kiss! One sigh of real breath-one gentle squeeze, Warm as a dove's nest among summer trees, And warm with dews that ooze from living blood! Whither didst melt? Ah, what of that?-all good We'll talk about-no more of dreaming.-Now, Where shall our dwelling be? Under the brow Of some steep mossy hill, where ivy dun
Would hide us up, although spring leaves were none; And where dark yew-trees, as we rustle through, Will drop their scarlet-berry cups of dew? O thou wouldst joy to live in such a place! Dusk for our loves, yet light enough to grace Those gentle limbs on mossy bed reclined: For by one step the blue sky shouldst thou find, And by another, in deep dell below, See, through the trees, a little river go All in its mid-day gold and glimmering. Honey from out the gnarled hive I'll bring, And apples, wan with sweetness, gather thee,- Cresses that grow where no man may them see, And sorrel untorn by the dew-claw'd stag: Pipes will I fashion of the syrinx flag, That thou mayst always know whither I roam, When it shall please thee in our quiet home To listen and think of love. Still let me speak; Still let me dive into the joy I seek,- For yet the past doth prison me. The rill, Thou haply mayst delight in, will I fill With fairy fishes from the mountain tarn,
And thou shalt feed them from the squirrel's barn. Its bottom will I strew with amber shells, And pebbles blue from deep enchanted wells. Its sides I'll plant with dew-sweet eglantine, And honeysuckles full of clear bee-wine. I will entice this crystal rill to trace Love's silver name upon the meadow's face. I'll kneel to Vesta, for a flame of fire; And to god Phoebus, for a golden lyre; To Empress Dian, for a hunting-spear; To Vesper, for a taper silver-clear,
Thus strove by fancies vain and crude to clear His brier'd path to some tranquillity. It gave bright gladness to his lady's eye, And yet the tears she wept were tears of sorrow; Answering thus, just as the golden morrow Beam'd upward from the valleys of the east: "O that the flutter of this heart had ceased, Or the sweet name of love had pass'd away! Young feather'd tyrant! by a swift decay Wilt thou devote this body to the earth: And I do think that at my very birth I lisp'd thy blooming titles inwardly; For at the first, first dawn and thought of thee, With uplift hands I blest the stars of heaven. Art thou not cruel? Ever have I striver To think thee kind, but ah, it will not do! When yet a child, I heard that kisses drew Favor from thee, and so I kisses gave To the void air, bidding them find out love: But when I came to feel how far above All fancy, pride, and fickle maidenhood. All earthly pleasure, all imagined good, Was the warm tremble of a devout kiss, Even then, that moment, at the thought of this, Fainting I fell into a bed of flowers, And languish'd there three days. Ye milder powers Am I not cruelly wrong'd? Believe, believe Me, dear Endymion, were I to weave With my own fancies garlands of sweet life, Thou shouldst be one of all. Ah, bitter strife!
may not be thy love: I am forbidden
Indeed I am-thwarted, affrighted, chidden
By things I trembled at, and gorgon wrath.
Twice hast thou ask'd whither I went: henceforth Ask me no more! I may not utter it,
Nor may I be thy love. We might commit Ourselves at once to vengeance; we might die, We might embrace and die: voluptuous thought Enlarge not to my hunger, or I'm caught In trammels of perverse deliciousness. No, no, that shall not be: thee will I bless, And bid a long adieu."
No word return'd both lovelorn, silent, wan,
Into the valleys green together went.
Far wandering they were perforce content To sit beneath a fair, lone beechen tree; Nor at each other gazed, but heavily Pored on its hazel cirque of shedded leaves.
Endymion! unhappy! it nigh grieves Me to behold thee thus in last extreme: Enskied ere this, but truly that I deem Truth the best music in a first-born song. Thy lute-voiced brother will I sing ere long, And thou shalt aid-hast thou not aided me? Yes, moonlight Emperor! felicity
Has been thy meed for many thousand years; Yet often have I, on the brink of tears, Mourn'd as if yet thou wert a forester ;Forgetting the old tale.
His eyes from the dead leaves, or one small pulse Of joy he might have felt. The spirit culls Unfaded amaranth, when wild it strays Through the old garden-ground of boyish days. A little onward ran the very stream By which he took his first soft poppy dream; And on the very bark 'gainst which he leant A crescent he had carved, and round it spent His skill in little stars. The teeming tree Had swoll'n and green'd the pious charactery, But not ta'en out. Why, there was not a slope Up which he had not fear'd the antelope; And not a tree, beneath whose rooty shade He had not with his tamed leopards play'd; Nor could an arrow light, or javelin, Fly in the air where his had never been- And yet he knew it not.
Why does his lady smile, pleasing her eye With all his sorrowing? He sees her not. But who so stares on him? His sister, sure! Peona of the woods! Can she endure- Impossible-how dearly they embrace! His lady smiles; delight is in her face; It is no treachery.
"Dear brother mine! Endymion, weep not so! Why shouldst thou pine When all great Latmos so exalt will be? Thank the great gods, and look not bitterly; And speak not one pale word, and sigh no more. Sure I will not believe thou hast such store Of grief, to last thee to my kiss again. Thou surely canst not bear a mind in pain, Come hand in hand with one so beautiful. Be happy both of you! for I will pull The flowers of autumn for your coronals. Pan's holy priest for young Endymion calls; And when he is restored, thou, fairest dame, Shalt be our queen. Now, is it not a shame To see ye thus,-not very, very sad? Perhaps ye are too happy to be glad : O feel as if it were a common day; Free-voiced as one who never was away.
No tongue shall ask, whence come ye? but ye shali
Be gods of your own rest imperial.
Not even I, for one whole month, will pry Into the hours that have pass'd us by, Since in my arbor I did sing to thee. O Hermes! on this very night will be A hymning up to Cynthia, queen of light; For the soothsayers old saw yesternight Good visions in the air,-whence will befall, As say these sages, health perpetual
To shepherds and their flocks; and furthermore, In Dian's face they read the gentle lore: Therefore for her these vesper-carols are. Our friends will all be there from nigh and far. Many upon thy death have ditties made; And many, even now, their foreheads shade With cypress, on a day of sacrifice. New singing for our maids shalt thou devise, And pluck the sorrow from our huntsmen's brows. Tell me, my lady-queen, how to espouse This wayward brother to his rightful joys! His eyes are on thee bent, as thou didst poise His fate most goddess-like. Help me, I pray, To lure-Endymion, dear brother, say
What ails thee?" He could bear no more, and so Bent his soul fiercely like a spiritual bow, And twang'd it inwardly, and calmly said:
"I would have thee my only friend, sweet maid! My only visitor! not ignorant though, That those deceptions which for pleasure go 'Mong men, are pleasures real as real may be: But there are higher ones I may not see, If impiously an earthly realm I take. Since I saw thee, I have been wide awake Night after night, and day by day, until Of the empyrean I have drunk my fill. Let it content thee, Sister, seeing me More happy than betides mortality. A hermit young, I'll live in mossy cave, Where thou alone shalt come to me, and lave Thy spirit in the wonders I shall tell. Through me the shepherd realm shall prosper well, For to thy tongue will I all health confide. And, for my sake, let this young maid abide With thee as a dear sister.
Peona, mayst return to me. I own
This may sound strangely: but when, dearest girl, Thou seest it for my happiness, no pearl
Will trespass down those cheeks. Companion fair! Wilt be content to dwell with her, to share This sister's love with me?" Like one resign'd And bent by circumstances, and thereby blind In self-commitment, thus that meek unknown:
Ay, but a buzzing by my ears has flown,
Of jubilee to Dian:-truth I heard!
Well then, I see there is no little bird, Tender soever, but is Jove's own care. Long have I sought for rest, and, unaware, Behold I find it! so exalted too! So after my own heart! I knew, I knew There was a place untenanted in it; In that same void white Chastity shall sit, And monitor me nightly to lone slumber. With sanest lips I vow me to the number Of Dian's sisterhood; and, kind lady, With thy good help, this very night shall see
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