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From her couch of snows
From cloud and from crag
With many a jag Shepherding her bright fountains.
She leapt down the rocks
With her rainbow locks Streaming among the streams ;
Her steps paved with green
The downward ravine Which slopes to the western gleams :
And gliding and springing,
She went, ever singing, In murmurs as soft as sleep;
The Earth seemed to love her,
And Heaven smiled above her, As she lingered towards the deep.
Then Alpheus bold,
On his glacier cold, With his trident the mountains strook ;
And opened a chasm
In the rocks ;—with the spasm All Erymanthus shook.
And the black south wind
It concealed behind The urns of the silent snow,
And earthquake and thunder
Did rend in sunder
The beard and the hair
Of the river God were Seen through the torrent's sweep,
As he followed the light
Of the fleet nymph's flight To the brink of the Dorian deep.
“Oh, save me! Oh, guide me !
And bid the deep hide me, For he grasps me now by the hair!”
The loud Ocean heard,
To its blue depth stirred, And divided at her prayer;
And under the water
The Earth's white daughter Fled like a sunny beam;
Behind her descended
Her billows, unblended With the brackish Dorian stream:
Like a gloomy stain
On the emerald main Alpheus rushed behind,
As an eagle pursuing
A dove to its ruin Down the streams of the cloudy wind.
Under the bowers
Where the Ocean Powers Sit on their pearled thrones.
Through the coral woods
Of the weltering floods, Over heaps of unvalued stones;
Through the dim beams
Which amid the streams Weave a net-work of coloured light;
And under the caves,
Where the shadowy waves Are as green as the forest's night :
Outspeeding the shark,
And the sword-fish dark, Under the ocean foam,
And up through the rifts
Of the mountain clifts They passed to their Dorian home.
And now from their fountains
In Enna's mountains, Down one vale where the morning basks,
Like friends once parted
Grown single-hearted, They ply their watery tasks.
At sunrise they leap
From their cradles steep In the cave of the shelving hill;
At noon-tide they flow
Through the woods below And the meadows of Asphodel ;
And at night they sleep
In the rocking deep Beneath the Ortygian shore;
Like spirits that lie
In the azure sky
SONG OF PROSERPINE,
WHILE GATHERING FLOWERS ON THE PLAIN OF ENNA.
SACRED Goddess, Mother Earth,
Thou from whose immortal bosom,
Leaf and blade, and bud and blossom,
If with mists of evening dew
Fairest children of the hours,
HYMN OF APOLLO.
The sleepless Hours who watch me as I lie,
Curtained with star-enwoven 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. 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.
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
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.
I stand at noon upon the peak of Heaven,
For grief that I depart they weep and frown:
I am the eye with which the Universe
Beholds itself and knows itself divine;
All prophecy, all medicine are mine,