John Keats: Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes and Other Poems (1820)

Part I

	Upon a time, before the faery broods
	Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods,
	Before King Oberon's bright diadem,
	Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem,
5	Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns
	From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip'd lawns,
	The ever-smitten Hermes empty left
	His golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft:
	From high Olympus had he stolen light,
10	On this side of Jove's clouds, to escape the sight
	Of his great summoner, and made retreat
	Into a forest on the shores of Crete.
	For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt
	A nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt;
15	At whose white feet the languid Tritons poured
	Pearls, while on land they wither'd and adored.
	Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont,
	And in those meads where sometime she might haunt,
	Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse,
20	Though Fancy's casket were unlock'd to choose.
	Ah, what a world of love was at her feet!
	So Hermes thought, and a celestial heat
	Burnt from his winged heels to either ear,
	That from a whiteness, as the lily clear,
25	Blush'd into roses 'mid his golden hair,
	Fallen in jealous curls about his shoulders bare.
	From vale to vale, from wood to wood, he flew,
	Breathing upon the flowers his passion new,
	And wound with many a river to its head,
30	To find where this sweet nymph prepar'd her secret bed:
	In vain; the sweet nymph might nowhere be found,
	And so he rested, on the lonely ground,
	Pensive, and full of painful jealousies
	Of the Wood-Gods, and even the very trees.
35	There as he stood, he heard a mournful voice,
	Such as once heard, in gentle heart, destroys
	All pain but pity: thus the lone voice spake:
	"When from this wreathed tomb shall I awake!
	When move in a sweet body fit for life,
40	And love, and pleasure, and the ruddy strife
	Of hearts and lips! Ah, miserable me!"
	The God, dove-footed, glided silently
	Round bush and tree, soft-brushing, in his speed,
	The taller grasses and full-flowering weed,
45	Until he found a palpitating snake,
	Bright, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake.
	She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,
	Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue;
	Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard,
50	Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd;
	And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed,
	Dissolv'd, or brighter shone, or interwreathed
	Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries -
	So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries,
55	She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf,
	Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.
	Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire
	Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar:
	Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet!
60	She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete:
	And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there
	But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?
	As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air.
	Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake
65	Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love's sake,
	And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay,
	Like a stoop'd falcon ere he takes his prey.
	"Fair Hermes, crown'd with feathers, fluttering light,
	I had a splendid dream of thee last night:
70	I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold,
	Among the Gods, upon Olympus old,
	The only sad one; for thou didst not hear
	The soft, lute-finger'd Muses chaunting clear,
	Nor even Apollo when he sang alone,
75	Deaf to his throbbing throat's long, long melodious moan.
	I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes,
	Break amorous through the clouds, as morning breaks,
	And, swiftly as a bright Phoebean dart,
	Strike for the Cretan isle; and here thou art!
80	Too gentle Hermes, hast thou found the maid?"
	Whereat the star of Lethe not delay'd
	His rosy eloquence, and thus inquired:
	"Thou smooth-lipp'd serpent, surely high inspired!
	Thou beauteous wreath, with melancholy eyes,
85	Possess whatever bliss thou canst devise,
	Telling me only where my nymph is fled, -
	Where she doth breathe!" "Bright planet, thou hast said,"
	Return'd the snake, "but seal with oaths, fair God!"
	"I swear," said Hermes, "by my serpent rod,
90	And by thine eyes, and by thy starry crown!"
	Light flew his earnest words, among the blossoms blown.
	Then thus again the brilliance feminine:
	"Too frail of heart! for this lost nymph of thine,
	Free as the air, invisibly, she strays
95	About these thornless wilds; her pleasant days
	She tastes unseen; unseen her nimble feet
	Leave traces in the grass and flowers sweet;
	From weary tendrils, and bow'd branches green,
	She plucks the fruit unseen, she bathes unseen:
100	And by my power is her beauty veil'd
	To keep it unaffronted, unassail'd
	By the love-glances of unlovely eyes,
	Of Satyrs, Fauns, and blear'd Silenus' sighs.
	Pale grew her immortality, for woe
105	Of all these lovers, and she grieved so
	I took compassion on her, bade her steep
	Her hair in weïrd syrops, that would keep
	Her loveliness invisible, yet free
	To wander as she loves, in liberty.
110	Thou shalt behold her, Hermes, thou alone,
	If thou wilt, as thou swearest, grant my boon!"
	Then, once again, the charmed God began
	An oath, and through the serpent's ears it ran
	Warm, tremulous, devout, psalterian.
115	Ravish'd, she lifted her Circean head,
	Blush'd a live damask, and swift-lisping said,
	"I was a woman, let me have once more
	A woman's shape, and charming as before.
	I love a youth of Corinth - O the bliss!
120	Give me my woman's form, and place me where he is.
	Stoop, Hermes, let me breathe upon thy brow,
	And thou shalt see thy sweet nymph even now."
	The God on half-shut feathers sank serene,
	She breath'd upon his eyes, and swift was seen
125	Of both the guarded nymph near-smiling on the green.
	It was no dream; or say a dream it was,
	Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass
	Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
	One warm, flush'd moment, hovering, it might seem
130	Dash'd by the wood-nymph's beauty, so he burn'd;
	Then, lighting on the printless verdure, turn'd
	To the swoon'd serpent, and with languid arm,
	Delicate, put to proof the lythe Caducean charm.
	So done, upon the nymph his eyes he bent
135	Full of adoring tears and blandishment,
	And towards her stept: she, like a moon in wane,
	Faded before him, cower'd, nor could restrain
	Her fearful sobs, self-folding like a flower
	That faints into itself at evening hour:
140	But the God fostering her chilled hand,
	She felt the warmth, her eyelids open'd bland,
	And, like new flowers at morning song of bees,
	Bloom'd, and gave up her honey to the lees.
	Into the green-recessed woods they flew;
145	Nor grew they pale, as mortal lovers do.
	Left to herself, the serpent now began
	To change; her elfin blood in madness ran,
	Her mouth foam'd, and the grass, therewith besprent,
	Wither'd at dew so sweet and virulent;
150	Her eyes in torture fix'd, and anguish drear,
	Hot, glaz'd, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear,
	Flash'd phosphor and sharp sparks, without one cooling tear.
	The colours all inflam'd throughout her train,
	She writh'd about, convuls'd with scarlet pain:
155	A deep volcanian yellow took the place
	Of all her milder-mooned body's grace;
	And, as the lava ravishes the mead,
	Spoilt all her silver mail, and golden brede;
	Made gloom of all her frecklings, streaks and bars,
160	Eclips'd her crescents, and lick'd up her stars:
	So that, in moments few, she was undrest
	Of all her sapphires, greens, and amethyst,
	And rubious-argent: of all these bereft,
	Nothing but pain and ugliness were left.
165	Still shone her crown; that vanish'd, also she
	Melted and disappear'd as suddenly;
	And in the air, her new voice luting soft,
	Cried, "Lycius! gentle Lycius!" - Borne aloft
	With the bright mists about the mountains hoar
170	These words dissolv'd: Crete's forests heard no more.
	Whither fled Lamia, now a lady bright,
	A full-born beauty new and exquisite?
	She fled into that valley they pass o'er
	Who go to Corinth from Cenchreas' shore;
175	And rested at the foot of those wild hills,
	The rugged founts of the Peræan rills,
	And of that other ridge whose barren back
	Stretches, with all its mist and cloudy rack,
	South-westward to Cleone. There she stood
180	About a young bird's flutter from a wood,
	Fair, on a sloping green of mossy tread,
	By a clear pool, wherein she passioned
	To see herself escap'd from so sore ills,
	While her robes flaunted with the daffodils.
185	Ah, happy Lycius! - for she was a maid
	More beautiful than ever twisted braid,
	Or sigh'd, or blush'd, or on spring-flowered lea
	Spread a green kirtle to the minstrelsy:
	A virgin purest lipp'd, yet in the lore
190	Of love deep learned to the red heart's core:
	Not one hour old, yet of sciential brain
	To unperplex bliss from its neighbour pain;
	Define their pettish limits, and estrange
	Their points of contact, and swift counterchange;
195	Intrigue with the specious chaos, and dispart
	Its most ambiguous atoms with sure art;
	As though in Cupid's college she had spent
	Sweet days a lovely graduate, still unshent,
	And kept his rosy terms in idle languishment.
200	Why this fair creature chose so fairily
	By the wayside to linger, we shall see;
	But first 'tis fit to tell how she could muse
	And dream, when in the serpent prison-house,
	Of all she list, strange or magnificent:
205	How, ever, where she will'd, her spirit went;
	Whether to faint Elysium, or where
	Down through tress-lifting waves the Nereids fair
	Wind into Thetis' bower by many a pearly stair;
	Or where God Bacchus drains his cups divine,
210	Stretch'd out, at ease, beneath a glutinous pine;
	Or where in Pluto's gardens palatine
	Mulciber's columns gleam in far piazzian line.
	And sometimes into cities she would send
	Her dream, with feast and rioting to blend;
215	And once, while among mortals dreaming thus,
	She saw the young Corinthian Lycius
	Charioting foremost in the envious race,
	Like a young Jove with calm uneager face,
	And fell into a swooning love of him.
220	Now on the moth-time of that evening dim
	He would return that way, as well she knew,
	To Corinth from the shore; for freshly blew
	The eastern soft wind, and his galley now
	Grated the quaystones with her brazen prow
225	In port Cenchreas, from Egina isle
	Fresh anchor'd; whither he had been awhile
	To sacrifice to Jove, whose temple there
	Waits with high marble doors for blood and incense rare.
	Jove heard his vows, and better'd his desire;
230	For by some freakful chance he made retire
	From his companions, and set forth to walk,
	Perhaps grown wearied of their Corinth talk:
	Over the solitary hills he fared,
	Thoughtless at first, but ere eve's star appeared
235	His phantasy was lost, where reason fades,
	In the calm'd twilight of Platonic shades.
	Lamia beheld him coming, near, more near -
	Close to her passing, in indifference drear,
	His silent sandals swept the mossy green;
240	So neighbour'd to him, and yet so unseen
	She stood: he pass'd, shut up in mysteries,
	His mind wrapp'd like his mantle, while her eyes
	Follow'd his steps, and her neck regal white
	Turn'd - syllabling thus, "Ah, Lycius bright,
245	And will you leave me on the hills alone?
	Lycius, look back! and be some pity shown."
	He did; not with cold wonder fearingly,
	But Orpheus-like at an Eurydice;
	For so delicious were the words she sung,
250	It seem'd he had lov'd them a whole summer long:
	And soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up,
	Leaving no drop in the bewildering cup,
	And still the cup was full, - while he, afraid
	Lest she should vanish ere his lip had paid
255	Due adoration, thus began to adore;
	Her soft look growing coy, she saw his chain so sure:
	"Leave thee alone! Look back! Ah, Goddess, see
	Whether my eyes can ever turn from thee!
	For pity do not this sad heart belie -
260	Even as thou vanishest so I shall die.
	Stay! though a Naiad of the rivers, stay!
	To thy far wishes will thy streams obey:
	Stay! though the greenest woods be thy domain,
	Alone they can drink up the morning rain:
265	Though a descended Pleiad, will not one
	Of thine harmonious sisters keep in tune
	Thy spheres, and as thy silver proxy shine?
	So sweetly to these ravish'd ears of mine
	Came thy sweet greeting, that if thou shouldst fade
270	Thy memory will waste me to a shade: -
	For pity do not melt!" - "If I should stay,"
	Said Lamia, "here, upon this floor of clay,
	And pain my steps upon these flowers too rough,
	What canst thou say or do of charm enough
275	To dull the nice remembrance of my home?
	Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam
	Over these hills and vales, where no joy is, -
	Empty of immortality and bliss!
	Thou art a scholar, Lycius, and must know
280	That finer spirits cannot breathe below
	In human climes, and live: Alas! poor youth,
	What taste of purer air hast thou to soothe
	My essence? What serener palaces,
	Where I may all my many senses please,
285	And by mysterious sleights a hundred thirsts appease?
	It cannot be - Adieu!" So said, she rose
	Tiptoe with white arms spread. He, sick to lose
	The amorous promise of her lone complain,
	Swoon'd, murmuring of love, and pale with pain.
290	The cruel lady, without any show
	Of sorrow for her tender favourite's woe,
	But rather, if her eyes could brighter be,
	With brighter eyes and slow amenity,
	Put her new lips to his, and gave afresh
295	The life she had so tangled in her mesh:
	And as he from one trance was wakening
	Into another, she began to sing,
	Happy in beauty, life, and love, and every thing,
	A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres,
300	While, like held breath, the stars drew in their panting fires.
	And then she whisper'd in such trembling tone,
	As those who, safe together met alone
	For the first time through many anguish'd days,
	Use other speech than looks; bidding him raise
305	His drooping head, and clear his soul of doubt,
	For that she was a woman, and without
	Any more subtle fluid in her veins
	Than throbbing blood, and that the self-same pains
	Inhabited her frail-strung heart as his.
310	And next she wonder'd how his eyes could miss
	Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said,
	She dwelt but half retir'd, and there had led
	Days happy as the gold coin could invent
	Without the aid of love; yet in content
315	Till she saw him, as once she pass'd him by,
	Where 'gainst a column he leant thoughtfully
	At Venus' temple porch, 'mid baskets heap'd
	Of amorous herbs and flowers, newly reap'd
	Late on that eve, as 'twas the night before
320	The Adonian feast; whereof she saw no more,
	But wept alone those days, for why should she adore?
	Lycius from death awoke into amaze,
	To see her still, and singing so sweet lays;
	Then from amaze into delight he fell
325	To hear her whisper woman's lore so well;
	And every word she spake entic'd him on
	To unperplex'd delight and pleasure known.
	Let the mad poets say whate'er they please
	Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses,
330	There is not such a treat among them all,
	Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall,
	As a real woman, lineal indeed
	From Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed.
	Thus gentle Lamia judg'd, and judg'd aright,
335	That Lycius could not love in half a fright,
	So threw the goddess off, and won his heart
	More pleasantly by playing woman's part,
	With no more awe than what her beauty gave,
	That, while it smote, still guaranteed to save.
340	Lycius to all made eloquent reply,
	Marrying to every word a twinborn sigh;
	And last, pointing to Corinth, ask'd her sweet,
	If 'twas too far that night for her soft feet.
	The way was short, for Lamia's eagerness
345	Made, by a spell, the triple league decrease
	To a few paces; not at all surmised
	By blinded Lycius, so in her comprized.
	They pass'd the city gates, he knew not how,
	So noiseless, and he never thought to know.
350	As men talk in a dream, so Corinth all,
	Throughout her palaces imperial,
	And all her populous streets and temples lewd,
	Mutter'd, like tempest in the distance brew'd,
	To the wide-spreaded night above her towers.
355	Men, women, rich and poor, in the cool hours,
	Shuffled their sandals o'er the pavement white,
	Companion'd or alone; while many a light
	Flared, here and there, from wealthy festivals,
	And threw their moving shadows on the walls,
360	Or found them cluster'd in the corniced shade
	Of some arch'd temple door, or dusky colonnade.
	Muffling his face, of greeting friends in fear,
	Her fingers he press'd hard, as one came near
	With curl'd gray beard, sharp eyes, and smooth bald crown,
365	Slow-stepp'd, and robed in philosophic gown:
	Lycius shrank closer, as they met and past,
	Into his mantle, adding wings to haste,
	While hurried Lamia trembled: "Ah," said he,
	"Why do you shudder, love, so ruefully?
370	Why does your tender palm dissolve in dew?" -
	"I'm wearied," said fair Lamia: "tell me who
	Is that old man? I cannot bring to mind
	His features: - Lycius! wherefore did you blind
	Yourself from his quick eyes?" Lycius replied,
375	"'Tis Apollonius sage, my trusty guide
	And good instructor; but to-night he seems
	The ghost of folly haunting my sweet dreams."
	While yet he spake they had arrived before
	A pillar'd porch, with lofty portal door,
380	Where hung a silver lamp, whose phosphor glow
	Reflected in the slabbed steps below,
	Mild as a star in water; for so new,
	And so unsullied was the marble hue,
	So through the crystal polish, liquid fine,
385	Ran the dark veins, that none but feet divine
	Could e'er have touch'd there. Sounds Æolian
	Breath'd from the hinges, as the ample span
	Of the wide doors disclos'd a place unknown
	Some time to any, but those two alone,
390	And a few Persian mutes, who that same year
	Were seen about the markets: none knew where
	They could inhabit; the most curious
	Were foil'd, who watch'd to trace them to their house:
	And but the flitter-winged verse must tell,
395	For truth's sake, what woe afterwards befel,
	'Twould humour many a heart to leave them thus,
	Shut from the busy world of more incredulous.

Part II

	Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
	Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust;
	Love in a palace is perhaps at last
	More grievous torment than a hermit's fast: -
5	That is a doubtful tale from faery land,
	Hard for the non-elect to understand.
	Had Lycius liv'd to hand his story down,
	He might have given the moral a fresh frown,
	Or clench'd it quite: but too short was their bliss
10	To breed distrust and hate, that make the soft voice hiss.
	Besides, there, nightly, with terrific glare,
	Love, jealous grown of so complete a pair,
	Hover'd and buzz'd his wings, with fearful roar,
	Above the lintel of their chamber door,
15	And down the passage cast a glow upon the floor.
	For all this came a ruin: side by side
	They were enthroned, in the even tide,
	Upon a couch, near to a curtaining
	Whose airy texture, from a golden string,
20	Floated into the room, and let appear
	Unveil'd the summer heaven, blue and clear,
	Betwixt two marble shafts: - there they reposed,
	Where use had made it sweet, with eyelids closed,
	Saving a tythe which love still open kept,
25	That they might see each other while they almost slept;
	When from the slope side of a suburb hill,
	Deafening the swallow's twitter, came a thrill
	Of trumpets - Lycius started - the sounds fled,
	But left a thought, a buzzing in his head.
30	For the first time, since first he harbour'd in
	That purple-lined palace of sweet sin,
	His spirit pass'd beyond its golden bourn
	Into the noisy world almost forsworn.
	The lady, ever watchful, penetrant,
35	Saw this with pain, so arguing a want
	Of something more, more than her empery
	Of joys; and she began to moan and sigh
	Because he mused beyond her, knowing well
	That but a moment's thought is passion's passing bell.
40	"Why do you sigh, fair creature?" whisper'd he:
	"Why do you think?" return'd she tenderly:
	"You have deserted me; - where am I now?
	Not in your heart while care weighs on your brow:
	No, no, you have dismiss'd me; and I go
45	From your breast houseless: ay, it must be so.
	He answer'd, bending to her open eyes,
	Where he was mirror'd small in paradise,
	"My silver planet, both of eve and morn!
	Why will you plead yourself so sad forlorn,
50	While I am striving how to fill my heart
	With deeper crimson, and a double smart?
	How to entangle, trammel up and snare
	Your soul in mine, and labyrinth you there
	Like the hid scent in an unbudded rose?
55	Ay, a sweet kiss - you see your mighty woes.
	My thoughts! shall I unveil them? Listen then!
	What mortal hath a prize, that other men
	May be confounded and abash'd withal,
	But lets it sometimes pace abroad majestical,
60	And triumph, as in thee I should rejoice
	Amid the hoarse alarm of Corinth's voice.
	Let my foes choke, and my friends shout afar,
	While through the thronged streets your bridal car
	Wheels round its dazzling spokes." - The lady's cheek
65	Trembled; she nothing said, but, pale and meek,
	Arose and knelt before him, wept a rain
	Of sorrows at his words; at last with pain
	Beseeching him, the while his hand she wrung,
	To change his purpose. He thereat was stung,
70	Perverse, with stronger fancy to reclaim
	Her wild and timid nature to his aim:
	Besides, for all his love, in self despite,
	Against his better self, he took delight
	Luxurious in her sorrows, soft and new.
75	His passion, cruel grown, took on a hue
	Fierce and sanguineous as 'twas possible
	In one whose brow had no dark veins to swell.
	Fine was the mitigated fury, like
	Apollo's presence when in act to strike
80	The serpent - Ha, the serpent! certes, she
	Was none. She burnt, she lov'd the tyranny,
	And, all subdued, consented to the hour
	When to the bridal he should lead his paramour.
	Whispering in midnight silence, said the youth,
85	"Sure some sweet name thou hast, though, by my truth,
	I have not ask'd it, ever thinking thee
	Not mortal, but of heavenly progeny,
	As still I do. Hast any mortal name,
	Fit appellation for this dazzling frame?
90	Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth,
	To share our marriage feast and nuptial mirth?"
	"I have no friends," said Lamia, "no, not one;
	My presence in wide Corinth hardly known:
	My parents' bones are in their dusty urns
95	Sepulchred, where no kindled incense burns,
	Seeing all their luckless race are dead, save me,
	And I neglect the holy rite for thee.
	Even as you list invite your many guests;
	But if, as now it seems, your vision rests
100	With any pleasure on me, do not bid
	Old Apollonius - from him keep me hid."
	Lycius, perplex'd at words so blind and blank,
	Made close inquiry; from whose touch she shrank,
	Feigning a sleep; and he to the dull shade
105	Of deep sleep in a moment was betray'd.
	It was the custom then to bring away
	The bride from home at blushing shut of day,
	Veil'd, in a chariot, heralded along
	By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage song,
110	With other pageants: but this fair unknown
	Had not a friend. So being left alone,
	(Lycius was gone to summon all his kin)
	And knowing surely she could never win
	His foolish heart from its mad pompousness,
115	She set herself, high-thoughted, how to dress
	The misery in fit magnificence.
	She did so, but 'tis doubtful how and whence
	Came, and who were her subtle servitors.
	About the halls, and to and from the doors,
120	There was a noise of wings, till in short space
	The glowing banquet-room shone with wide-arched grace.
	A haunting music, sole perhaps and lone
	Supportress of the faery-roof, made moan
	Throughout, as fearful the whole charm might fade.
125	Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a glade
	Of palm and plantain, met from either side,
	High in the midst, in honour of the bride:
	Two palms and then two plantains, and so on,
	From either side their stems branch'd one to one
130	All down the aisled place; and beneath all
	There ran a stream of lamps straight on from wall to wall.
	So canopied, lay an untasted feast
	Teeming with odours. Lamia, regal drest,
	Silently paced about, and as she went,
135	In pale contented sort of discontent,
	Mission'd her viewless servants to enrich
	The fretted splendour of each nook and niche.
	Between the tree-stems, marbled plain at first,
	Came jasper pannels; then, anon, there burst
140	Forth creeping imagery of slighter trees,
	And with the larger wove in small intricacies.
	Approving all, she faded at self-will,
	And shut the chamber up, close, hush'd and still,
	Complete and ready for the revels rude,
145	When dreadful guests would come to spoil her solitude.
	The day appear'd, and all the gossip rout.
	O senseless Lycius! Madman! wherefore flout
	The silent-blessing fate, warm cloister'd hours,
	And show to common eyes these secret bowers?
150	The herd approach'd; each guest, with busy brain,
	Arriving at the portal, gaz'd amain,
	And enter'd marveling: for they knew the street,
	Remember'd it from childhood all complete
	Without a gap, yet ne'er before had seen
155	That royal porch, that high-built fair demesne;
	So in they hurried all, maz'd, curious and keen:
	Save one, who look'd thereon with eye severe,
	And with calm-planted steps walk'd in austere;
	'Twas Apollonius: something too he laugh'd,
160	As though some knotty problem, that had daft
	His patient thought, had now begun to thaw,
	And solve and melt: - 'twas just as he foresaw.
	He met within the murmurous vestibule
	His young disciple. "'Tis no common rule,
165	Lycius," said he, "for uninvited guest
	To force himself upon you, and infest
	With an unbidden presence the bright throng
	Of younger friends; yet must I do this wrong,
	And you forgive me." Lycius blush'd, and led
170	The old man through the inner doors broad-spread;
	With reconciling words and courteous mien
	Turning into sweet milk the sophist's spleen.
	Of wealthy lustre was the banquet-room,
	Fill'd with pervading brilliance and perfume:
175	Before each lucid pannel fuming stood
	A censer fed with myrrh and spiced wood,
	Each by a sacred tripod held aloft,
	Whose slender feet wide-swerv'd upon the soft
	Wool-woofed carpets: fifty wreaths of smoke
180	From fifty censers their light voyage took
	To the high roof, still mimick'd as they rose
	Along the mirror'd walls by twin-clouds odorous.
	Twelve sphered tables, by silk seats insphered,
	High as the level of a man's breast rear'd
185	On libbard's paws, upheld the heavy gold
	Of cups and goblets, and the store thrice told
	Of Ceres' horn, and, in huge vessels, wine
	Come from the gloomy tun with merry shine.
	Thus loaded with a feast the tables stood,
190	Each shrining in the midst the image of a God.
	When in an antichamber every guest
	Had felt the cold full sponge to pleasure press'd,
	By minist'ring slaves, upon his hands and feet,
	And fragrant oils with ceremony meet
195	Pour'd on his hair, they all mov'd to the feast
	In white robes, and themselves in order placed
	Around the silken couches, wondering
	Whence all this mighty cost and blaze of wealth could spring.
	Soft went the music the soft air along,
200	While fluent Greek a vowel'd undersong
	Kept up among the guests discoursing low
	At first, for scarcely was the wine at flow;
	But when the happy vintage touch'd their brains,
	Louder they talk, and louder come the strains
205	Of powerful instruments: - the gorgeous dyes,
	The space, the splendour of the draperies,
	The roof of awful richness, nectarous cheer,
	Beautiful slaves, and Lamia's self, appear,
	Now, when the wine has done its rosy deed,
210	And every soul from human trammels freed,
	No more so strange; for merry wine, sweet wine,
	Will make Elysian shades not too fair, too divine.
	Soon was God Bacchus at meridian height;
	Flush'd were their cheeks, and bright eyes double bright:
215	Garlands of every green, and every scent
	From vales deflower'd, or forest-trees branch rent,
	In baskets of bright osier'd gold were brought
	High as the handles heap'd, to suit the thought
	Of every guest; that each, as he did please,
220	Might fancy-fit his brows, silk-pillow'd at his ease.
	What wreath for Lamia? What for Lycius?
	What for the sage, old Apollonius?
	Upon her aching forehead be there hung
	The leaves of willow and of adder's tongue;
225	And for the youth, quick, let us strip for him
	The thyrsus, that his watching eyes may swim
	Into forgetfulness; and, for the sage,
	Let spear-grass and the spiteful thistle wage
	War on his temples. Do not all charms fly
230	At the mere touch of cold philosophy?
	There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
	We know her woof, her texture; she is given
	In the dull catalogue of common things.
	Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings,
235	Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
	Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine -
	Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made
	The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.
	By her glad Lycius sitting, in chief place,
240	Scarce saw in all the room another face,
	Till, checking his love trance, a cup he took
	Full brimm'd, and opposite sent forth a look
	'Cross the broad table, to beseech a glance
	From his old teacher's wrinkled countenance,
245	And pledge him. The bald-head philosopher
	Had fix'd his eye, without a twinkle or stir
	Full on the alarmed beauty of the bride,
	Brow-beating her fair form, and troubling her sweet pride.
	Lycius then press'd her hand, with devout touch,
250	As pale it lay upon the rosy couch:
	'Twas icy, and the cold ran through his veins;
	Then sudden it grew hot, and all the pains
	Of an unnatural heat shot to his heart.
	"Lamia, what means this? Wherefore dost thou start?
255	Know'st thou that man?" Poor Lamia answer'd not.
	He gaz'd into her eyes, and not a jot
	Own'd they the lovelorn piteous appeal:
	More, more he gaz'd: his human senses reel:
	Some hungry spell that loveliness absorbs;
260	There was no recognition in those orbs.
	"Lamia!" he cried - and no soft-toned reply.
	The many heard, and the loud revelry
	Grew hush; the stately music no more breathes;
	The myrtle sicken'd in a thousand wreaths.
265	By faint degrees, voice, lute, and pleasure ceased;
	A deadly silence step by step increased,
	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
270	With its sad echo did the silence break.
	"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
	Misted the cheek; no passion to illume
275	The deep-recessed vision: - all was blight;
	Lamia, no longer fair, there sat a deadly white.
	"Shut, shut those juggling eyes, thou ruthless man!
	Turn them aside, wretch! or the righteous ban
	Of all the Gods, whose dreadful images
280	Here represent their shadowy presences,
	May pierce them on the sudden with the thorn
	Of painful blindness; leaving thee forlorn,
	In trembling dotage to the feeblest fright
	Of conscience, for their long offended might,
285	For all thine impious proud-heart sophistries,
	Unlawful magic, and enticing lies.
	Corinthians! look upon that gray-beard wretch!
	Mark how, possess'd, his lashless eyelids stretch
	Around his demon eyes! Corinthians, see!
290	My sweet bride withers at their potency."
	"Fool!" said the sophist, in an under-tone
	Gruff with contempt; which a death-nighing moan
	From Lycius answer'd, as heart-struck and lost,
	He sank supine beside the aching ghost.
295	"Fool! Fool!" repeated he, while his eyes still
	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,
300	Like a sharp spear, went through her utterly,
	Keen, cruel, perceant, stinging: she, as well
	As her weak hand could any meaning tell,
	Motion'd him to be silent; vainly so,
	He look'd and look'd again a level - No!
305	"A Serpent!" echoed he; no sooner said,
	Than with a frightful scream she vanished:
	And Lycius' arms were empty of delight,
	As were his limbs of life, from that same night.
	On the high couch he lay! - his friends came round -
310	Supported him - no pulse, or breath they found,
	And, in its marriage robe, the heavy body wound.

Isabella; or, The Pot of Basil

	1
	Fair Isabel, poor simple Isabel!
	Lorenzo, a young palmer in Love's eye!
	They could not in the self-same mansion dwell
	Without some stir of heart, some malady;
5	They could not sit at meals but feel how well
	It soothed each to be the other by;
	They could not, sure, beneath the same roof sleep
	But to each other dream, and nightly weep.
	2
	With every morn their love grew tenderer,
10	With every eve deeper and tenderer still;
	He might not in house, field, or garden stir,
	But her full shape would all his seeing fill;
	And his continual voice was pleasanter
	To her, than noise of trees or hidden rill;
15	Her lute-string gave an echo of his name,
	She spoilt her half-done broidery with the same.
	3
	He knew whose gentle hand was at the latch,
	Before the door had given her to his eyes;
	And from her chamber-window he would catch
20	Her beauty farther than the falcon spies;
	And constant as her vespers would he watch,
	Because her face was turn'd to the same skies;
	And with sick longing all the night outwear,
	To hear her morning-step upon the stair.
	4
25	A whole long month of May in this sad plight
	Made their cheeks paler by the break of June:
	"To-morrow will I bow to my delight,
	To-morrow will I ask my lady's boon." -
	"O may I never see another night,
30	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;
	5
	Until sweet Isabella's untouch'd cheek
	Fell sick within the rose's just domain,
35	Fell thin as a young mother's, who doth seek
	By every lull to cool her infant's pain:
	"How ill she is," said he, "I may not speak,
	And yet I will, and tell my love all plain:
	If looks speak love-laws, I will drink her tears,
40	And at the least 'twill startle off her cares."
	6
	So said he one fair morning, and all day
	His heart beat awfully against his side;
	And to his heart he inwardly did pray
	For power to speak; but still the ruddy tide
45	Stifled his voice, and puls'd resolve away -
	Fever'd his high conceit of such a bride,
	Yet brought him to the meekness of a child:
	Alas! when passion is both meek and wild!
	7
	So once more he had wak'd and anguished
50	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,
55	"Lorenzo!" - here she ceas'd her timid quest,
	But in her tone and look he read the rest.
	8
	"O Isabella, I can half perceive
	That I may speak my grief into thine ear;
	If thou didst ever any thing believe,
60	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
	Another night, and not my passion shrive.
	9
65	"Love! thou art leading me from wintry cold,
	Lady! thou leadest me to summer clime,
	And I must taste the blossoms that unfold
	In its ripe warmth this gracious morning time."
	So said, his erewhile timid lips grew bold,
70	And poesied with hers in dewy rhyme:
	Great bliss was with them, and great happiness
	Grew, like a lusty flower in June's caress.
	10
	Parting they seem'd to tread upon the air,
	Twin roses by the zephyr blown apart
75	Only to meet again more close, and share
	The inward fragrance of each other's heart.
	She, to her chamber gone, a ditty fair
	Sang, of delicious love and honey'd dart;
	He with light steps went up a western hill,
80	And bade the sun farewell, and joy'd his fill.
	11
	All close they met again, before the dusk
	Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
	All close they met, all eves, before the dusk
	Had taken from the stars its pleasant veil,
85	Close in a bower of hyacinth and musk,
	Unknown of any, free from whispering tale.
	Ah! better had it been for ever so,
	Than idle ears should pleasure in their woe.
	12
	Were they unhappy then? - It cannot be -
90	Too many tears for lovers have been shed,
	Too many sighs give we to them in fee,
	Too much of pity after they are dead,
	Too many doleful stories do we see,
	Whose matter in bright gold were best be read;
95	Except in such a page where Theseus' spouse
	Over the pathless waves towards him bows.
	13
	But, for the general award of love,
	The little sweet doth kill much bitterness;
	Though Dido silent is in under-grove,
100	And Isabella's was a great distress,
	Though young Lorenzo in warm Indian clove
	Was not embalm'd, this truth is not the less -
	Even bees, the little almsmen of spring-bowers,
	Know there is richest juice in poison-flowers.
	14
105	With her two brothers this fair lady dwelt,
	Enriched from ancestral merchandize,
	And for them many a weary hand did swelt
	In torched mines and noisy factories,
	And many once proud-quiver'd loins did melt
110	In blood from stinging whip; - with hollow eyes
	Many all day in dazzling river stood,
	To take the rich-ored driftings of the flood.
	15
	For them the Ceylon diver held his breath,
	And went all naked to the hungry shark;
115	For them his ears gush'd blood; for them in death
	The seal on the cold ice with piteous bark
	Lay full of darts; for them alone did seethe
	A thousand men in troubles wide and dark:
	Half-ignorant, they turn'd an easy wheel,
120	That set sharp racks at work, to pinch and peel.
	16
	Why were they proud? Because their marble founts
	Gush'd with more pride than do a wretch's tears? -
	Why were they proud? Because fair orange-mounts
	Were of more soft ascent than lazar stairs? -
125	Why were they proud? Because red-lin'd accounts
	Were richer than the songs of Grecian years? -
	Why were they proud? again we ask aloud,
	Why in the name of Glory were they proud?
	17
	Yet were these Florentines as self-retired
130	In hungry pride and gainful cowardice,
	As two close Hebrews in that land inspired,
	Paled in and vineyarded from beggar-spies,
	The hawks of ship-mast forests - the untired
	And pannier'd mules for ducats and old lies -
135	Quick cat's-paws on the generous stray-away, -
	Great wits in Spanish, Tuscan, and Malay.
	18
	How was it these same ledger-men could spy
	Fair Isabella in her downy nest?
	How could they find out in Lorenzo's eye
140	A straying from his toil? Hot Egypt's pest
	Into their vision covetous and sly!
	How could these money-bags see east and west? -
	Yet so they did - and every dealer fair
	Must see behind, as doth the hunted hare.
	19
145	O eloquent and famed Boccaccio!
	Of thee we now should ask forgiving boon,
	And of thy spicy myrtles as they blow,
	And of thy roses amorous of the moon,
	And of thy lilies, that do paler grow
150	Now they can no more hear thy ghittern's tune,
	For venturing syllables that ill beseem
	The quiet glooms of such a piteous theme.
	20
	Grant thou a pardon here, and then the tale
	Shall move on soberly, as it is meet;
155	There is no other crime, no mad assail
	To make old prose in modern rhyme more sweet:
	But it is done - succeed the verse or fail -
	To honour thee, and thy gone spirit greet;
	To stead thee as a verse in English tongue,
160	An echo of thee in the north-wind sung.
	21
	These brethren having found by many signs
	What love Lorenzo for their sister had,
	And how she lov'd him too, each unconfines
	His bitter thoughts to other, well nigh mad
165	That he, the servant of their trade designs,
	Should in their sister's love be blithe and glad,
	When 'twas their plan to coax her by degrees
	To some high noble and his olive-trees.
	22
	And many a jealous conference had they,
170	And many times they bit their lips alone,
	Before they fix'd upon a surest way
	To make the youngster for his crime atone;
	And at the last, these men of cruel clay
	Cut Mercy with a sharp knife to the bone;
175	For they resolved in some forest dim
	To kill Lorenzo, and there bury him.
	23
	So on a pleasant morning, as he leant
	Into the sun-rise, o'er the balustrade
	Of the garden-terrace, towards him they bent
180	Their footing through the dews; and to him said,
	"You seem there in the quiet of content,
	Lorenzo, and we are most loth to invade
	Calm speculation; but if you are wise,
	Bestride your steed while cold is in the skies.
	24
185	"To-day we purpose, ay, this hour we mount
	To spur three leagues towards the Apennine;
	Come down, we pray thee, ere the hot sun count
	His dewy rosary on the eglantine."
	Lorenzo, courteously as he was wont,
190	Bow'd a fair greeting to these serpents' whine;
	And went in haste, to get in readiness,
	With belt, and spur, and bracing huntsman's dress.
	25
	And as he to the court-yard pass'd along,
	Each third step did he pause, and listen'd oft
195	If he could hear his lady's matin-song,
	Or the light whisper of her footstep soft;
	And as he thus over his passion hung,
	He heard a laugh full musical aloft;
	When, looking up, he saw her features bright
200	Smile through an in-door lattice, all delight.
	26
	"Love, Isabel!" said he, "I was in pain
	Lest I should miss to bid thee a good morrow:
	Ah! what if I should lose thee, when so fain
	I am to stifle all the heavy sorrow
205	Of a poor three hours' absence? but we'll gain
	Out of the amorous dark what day doth borrow.
	Good bye! I'll soon be back." - "Good bye!" said she: -
	And as he went she chanted merrily.
	27
	So the two brothers and their murder'd man
210	Rode past fair Florence, to where Arno's stream
	Gurgles through straiten'd banks, and still doth fan
	Itself with dancing bulrush, and the bream
	Keeps head against the freshets. Sick and wan
	The brothers' faces in the ford did seem,
215	Lorenzo's flush with love. - They pass'd the water
	Into a forest quiet for the slaughter.
	28
	There was Lorenzo slain and buried in,
	There in that forest did his great love cease;
	Ah! when a soul doth thus its freedom win,
220	It aches in loneliness - is ill at peace
	As the break-covert blood-hounds of such sin:
	They dipp'd their swords in the water, and did tease
	Their horses homeward, with convulsed spur,
	Each richer by his being a murderer.
	29
225	They told their sister how, with sudden speed,
	Lorenzo had ta'en ship for foreign lands,
	Because of some great urgency and need
	In their affairs, requiring trusty hands.
	Poor Girl! put on thy stifling widow's weed,
230	And 'scape at once from Hope's accursed bands;
	To-day thou wilt not see him, nor to-morrow,
	And the next day will be a day of sorrow.
	30
	She weeps alone for pleasures not to be;
	Sorely she wept until the night came on,
235	And then, instead of love, O misery!
	She brooded o'er the luxury alone:
	His image in the dusk she seem'd to see,
	And to the silence made a gentle moan,
	Spreading her perfect arms upon the air,
240	And on her couch low murmuring, "Where? O where?"
	31
	But Selfishness, Love's cousin, held not long
	Its fiery vigil in her single breast;
	She fretted for the golden hour, and hung
	Upon the time with feverish unrest -
245	Not long - for soon into her heart a throng
	Of higher occupants, a richer zest,
	Came tragic; passion not to be subdued,
	And sorrow for her love in travels rude.
	32
	In the mid days of autumn, on their eves
250	The breath of Winter comes from far away,
	And the sick west continually bereaves
	Of some gold tinge, and plays a roundelay
	Of death among the bushes and the leaves,
	To make all bare before he dares to stray
255	From his north cavern. So sweet Isabel
	By gradual decay from beauty fell,
	33
	Because Lorenzo came not. Oftentimes
	She ask'd her brothers, with an eye all pale,
	Striving to be itself, what dungeon climes
260	Could keep him off so long? They spake a tale
	Time after time, to quiet her. Their crimes
	Came on them, like a smoke from Hinnom's vale;
	And every night in dreams they groan'd aloud,
	To see their sister in her snowy shroud.
	34
265	And she had died in drowsy ignorance,
	But for a thing more deadly dark than all;
	It came like a fierce potion, drunk by chance,
	Which saves a sick man from the feather'd pall
	For some few gasping moments; like a lance,
270	Waking an Indian from his cloudy hall
	With cruel pierce, and bringing him again
	Sense of the gnawing fire at heart and brain.
	35
	It was a vision. - In the drowsy gloom,
	The dull of midnight, at her couch's foot
275	Lorenzo stood, and wept: the forest tomb
	Had marr'd his glossy hair which once could shoot
	Lustre into the sun, and put cold doom
	Upon his lips, and taken the soft lute
	From his lorn voice, and past his loamed ears
280	Had made a miry channel for his tears.
	36
	Strange sound it was, when the pale shadow spake;
	For there was striving, in its piteous tongue,
	To speak as when on earth it was awake,
	And Isabella on its music hung:
285	Languor there was in it, and tremulous shake,
	As in a palsied Druid's harp unstrung;
	And through it moan'd a ghostly under-song,
	Like hoarse night-gusts sepulchral briars among.
	37
	Its eyes, though wild, were still all dewy bright
290	With love, and kept all phantom fear aloof
	From the poor girl by magic of their light,
	The while it did unthread the horrid woof
	Of the late darken'd time, - the murderous spite
	Of pride and avarice, - the dark pine roof
295	In the forest, - and the sodden turfed dell,
	Where, without any word, from stabs he fell.
	38
	Saying moreover, "Isabel, my sweet!
	Red whortle-berries droop above my head,
	And a large flint-stone weighs upon my feet;
300	Around me beeches and high chestnuts shed
	Their leaves and prickly nuts; a sheep-fold bleat
	Comes from beyond the river to my bed:
	Go, shed one tear upon my heather-bloom,
	And it shall comfort me within the tomb.
	39
305	"I am a shadow now, alas! alas!
	Upon the skirts of human-nature dwelling
	Alone: I chant alone the holy mass,
	While little sounds of life are round me knelling,
	And glossy bees at noon do fieldward pass,
310	And many a chapel bell the hour is telling,
	Paining me through: those sounds grow strange to me,
	And thou art distant in Humanity.
	40
	"I know what was, I feel full well what is,
	And I should rage, if spirits could go mad;
315	Though I forget the taste of earthly bliss,
	That paleness warms my grave, as though I had
	A Seraph chosen from the bright abyss
	To be my spouse: thy paleness makes me glad;
	Thy beauty grows upon me, and I feel
320	A greater love through all my essence steal."
	41
	The Spirit mourn'd "Adieu!" - dissolv'd, and left
	The atom darkness in a slow turmoil;
	As when of healthful midnight sleep bereft,
	Thinking on rugged hours and fruitless toil,
325	We put our eyes into a pillowy cleft,
	And see the spangly gloom froth up and boil:
	It made sad Isabella's eyelids ache,
	And in the dawn she started up awake;
	42
	"Ha! ha!" said she, "I knew not this hard life,
330	I thought the worst was simple misery;
	I thought some Fate with pleasure or with strife
	Portion'd us - happy days, or else to die;
	But there is crime - a brother's bloody knife!
	Sweet Spirit, thou hast school'd my infancy:
335	I'll visit thee for this, and kiss thine eyes,
	And greet thee morn and even in the skies."
	43
	When the full morning came, she had devised
	How she might secret to the forest hie;
	How she might find the clay, so dearly prized,
340	And sing to it one latest lullaby;
	How her short absence might be unsurmised,
	While she the inmost of the dream would try.
	Resolv'd, she took with her an aged nurse,
	And went into that dismal forest-hearse.
	44
345	See, as they creep along the river side,
	How she doth whisper to that aged Dame,
	And, after looking round the champaign wide,
	Shows her a knife. - "What feverous hectic flame
	Burns in thee, child? - What good can thee betide,
350	That thou should'st smile again?" - The evening came,
	And they had found Lorenzo's earthy bed;
	The flint was there, the berries at his head.
	45
	Who hath not loiter'd in a green church-yard,
	And let his spirit, like a demon-mole,
355	Work through the clayey soil and gravel hard,
	To see skull, coffin'd bones, and funeral stole;
	Pitying each form that hungry Death hath marr'd,
	And filling it once more with human soul?
	Ah! this is holiday to what was felt
360	When Isabella by Lorenzo knelt.
	46
	She gaz'd into the fresh-thrown mould, as though
	One glance did fully all its secrets tell;
	Clearly she saw, as other eyes would know
	Pale limbs at bottom of a crystal well;
365	Upon the murderous spot she seem'd to grow,
	Like to a native lily of the dell:
	Then with her knife, all sudden, she began
	To dig more fervently than misers can.
	47
	Soon she turn'd up a soiled glove, whereon
370	Her silk had play'd in purple phantasies,
	She kiss'd it with a lip more chill than stone,
	And put it in her bosom, where it dries
	And freezes utterly unto the bone
	Those dainties made to still an infant's cries:
375	Then 'gan she work again; nor stay'd her care,
	But to throw back at times her veiling hair.
	48
	That old nurse stood beside her wondering,
	Until her heart felt pity to the core
	At sight of such a dismal labouring,
380	And so she kneeled, with her locks all hoar,
	And put her lean hands to the horrid thing:
	Three hours they labour'd at this travail sore;
	At last they felt the kernel of the grave,
	And Isabella did not stamp and rave.
	49
385	Ah! wherefore all this wormy circumstance?
	Why linger at the yawning tomb so long?
	O for the gentleness of old Romance,
	The simple plaining of a minstrel's song!
	Fair reader, at the old tale take a glance,
390	For here, in truth, it doth not well belong
	To speak: - O turn thee to the very tale,
	And taste the music of that vision pale.
	50
	With duller steel than the Perséan sword
	They cut away no formless monster's head,
395	But one, whose gentleness did well accord
	With death, as life. The ancient harps have said,
	Love never dies, but lives, immortal Lord:
	If Love impersonate was ever dead,
	Pale Isabella kiss'd it, and low moan'd.
400	'Twas love; cold, - dead indeed, but not dethroned.
	51
	In anxious secrecy they took it home,
	And then the prize was all for Isabel:
	She calm'd its wild hair with a golden comb,
	And all around each eye's sepulchral cell
405	Pointed each fringed lash; the smeared loam
	With tears, as chilly as a dripping well,
	She drench'd away: - and still she comb'd, and kept
	Sighing all day - and still she kiss'd, and wept.
	52
	Then in a silken scarf, - sweet with the dews
410	Of precious flowers pluck'd in Araby,
	And divine liquids come with odorous ooze
	Through the cold serpent pipe refreshfully, -
	She wrapp'd it up; and for its tomb did choose
	A garden-pot, wherein she laid it by,
415	And cover'd it with mould, and o'er it set
	Sweet basil, which her tears kept ever wet.
	53
	And she forgot the stars, the moon, and sun,
	And she forgot the blue above the trees,
	And she forgot the dells where waters run,
420	And she forgot the chilly autumn breeze;
	She had no knowledge when the day was done,
	And the new morn she saw not: but in peace
	Hung over her sweet basil evermore,
	And moisten'd it with tears unto the core.
	54
425	And so she ever fed it with thin tears,
	Whence thick, and green, and beautiful it grew,
	So that it smelt more balmy than its peers
	Of basil-tufts in Florence; for it drew
	Nurture besides, and life, from human fears,
430	From the fast mouldering head there shut from view:
	So that the jewel, safely casketed,
	Came forth, and in perfumed leafits spread.
	55
	O Melancholy, linger here awhile!
	O Music, Music, breathe despondingly!
435	O Echo, Echo, from some sombre isle,
	Unknown, Lethean, sigh to us - O sigh!
	Spirits in grief, lift up your heads, and smile;
	Lift up your heads, sweet Spirits, heavily,
	And make a pale light in your cypress glooms,
440	Tinting with silver wan your marble tombs.
	56
	Moan hither, all ye syllables of woe,
	From the deep throat of sad Melpomene!
	Through bronzed lyre in tragic order go,
	And touch the strings into a mystery;
445	Sound mournfully upon the winds and low;
	For simple Isabel is soon to be
	Among the dead: She withers, like a palm
	Cut by an Indian for its juicy balm.
	57
	O leave the palm to wither by itself;
450	Let not quick Winter chill its dying hour! -
	It may not be - those Baälites of pelf,
	Her brethren, noted the continual shower
	From her dead eyes; and many a curious elf,
	Among her kindred, wonder'd that such dower
455	Of youth and beauty should be thrown aside
	By one mark'd out to be a noble's bride.
	58
	And, furthermore, her brethren wonder'd much
	Why she sat drooping by the basil green,
	And why it flourish'd, as by magic touch;
460	Greatly they wonder'd what the thing might mean:
	They could not surely give belief, that such
	A very nothing would have power to wean
	Her from her own fair youth, and pleasures gay,
	And even remembrance of her love's delay.
	59
465	Therefore they watch'd a time when they might sift
	This hidden whim; and long they watch'd in vain;
	For seldom did she go to chapel-shrift,
	And seldom felt she any hunger-pain;
	And when she left, she hurried back, as swift
470	As bird on wing to breast its eggs again;
	And, patient as a hen-bird, sat her there
	Beside her basil, weeping through her hair.
	60
	Yet they contriv'd to steal the basil-pot,
	And to examine it in secret place:
475	The thing was vile with green and livid spot,
	And yet they knew it was Lorenzo's face:
	The guerdon of their murder they had got,
	And so left Florence in a moment's space,
	Never to turn again. - Away they went,
480	With blood upon their heads, to banishment.
	61
	O Melancholy, turn thine eyes away!
	O Music, Music, breathe despondingly!
	O Echo, Echo, on some other day,
	From isles Lethean, sigh to us - O sigh!
485	Spirits of grief, sing not your "Well-a-way!"
	For Isabel, sweet Isabel, will die;
	Will die a death too lone and incomplete,
	Now they have ta'en away her basil sweet.
	62
	Piteous she look'd on dead and senseless things,
490	Asking for her lost basil amorously:
	And with melodious chuckle in the strings
	Of her lorn voice, she oftentimes would cry
	After the Pilgrim in his wanderings,
	To ask him where her basil was; and why
495	'Twas hid from her: "For cruel 'tis," said she,
	"To steal my basil-pot away from me."
	63
	And so she pined, and so she died forlorn,
	Imploring for her basil to the last.
	No heart was there in Florence but did mourn
500	In pity of her love, so overcast.
	And a sad ditty of this story born
	From mouth to mouth through all the country pass'd:
	Still is the burthen sung - "O cruelty,
	To steal my basil-pot away from me!"

The Eve of St. Agnes

	1
	St. Agnes' Eve - Ah, bitter chill it was!
	The owl, for all his feathers, was a-cold;
	The hare limp'd trembling through the frozen grass,
	And silent was the flock in woolly fold:
5	Numb were the Beadsman's fingers, while he told
	His rosary, and while his frosted breath,
	Like pious incense from a censer old,
	Seem'd taking flight for heaven, without a death,
	Past the sweet Virgin's picture, while his prayer he saith.
	2
10	His prayer he saith, this patient, holy man;
	Then takes his lamp, and riseth from his knees,
	And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, wan,
	Along the chapel aisle by slow degrees:
	The sculptur'd dead, on each side, seem to freeze,
15	Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails:
	Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'ries,
	He passeth by; and his weak spirit fails
	To think how they may ache in icy hoods and mails.
	3
	Northward he turneth through a little door,
20	And scarce three steps, ere Music's golden tongue
	Flatter'd to tears this aged man and poor;
	But no - already had his deathbell rung;
	The joys of all his life were said and sung:
	His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' Eve:
25	Another way he went, and soon among
	Rough ashes sat he for his soul's reprieve,
	And all night kept awake, for sinners' sake to grieve.
	4
	That ancient Beadsman heard the prelude soft;
	And so it chanc'd, for many a door was wide,
30	From hurry to and fro. Soon, up aloft,
	The silver, snarling trumpets 'gan to chide:
	The level chambers, ready with their pride,
	Were glowing to receive a thousand guests:
	The carved angels, ever eager-eyed,
35	Star'd, where upon their heads the cornice rests,
	With hair blown back, and wings put cross-wise on their breasts.
	5
	At length burst in the argent revelry,
	With plume, tiara, and all rich array,
	Numerous as shadows haunting fairily
40	The brain, new stuff'd, in youth, with triumphs gay
	Of old romance. These let us wish away,
	And turn, sole-thoughted, to one Lady there,
	Whose heart had brooded, all that wintry day,
	On love, and wing'd St. Agnes' saintly care,
45	As she had heard old dames full many times declare.
	6
	They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,
	Young virgins might have visions of delight,
	And soft adorings from their loves receive
	Upon the honey'd middle of the night,
50	If ceremonies due they did aright;
	As, supperless to bed they must retire,
	And couch supine their beauties, lily white;
	Nor look behind, nor sideways, but require
	Of heaven with upward eyes for all that they desire.
	7
55	Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:
	The music, yearning like a god in pain,
	She scarcely heard: her maiden eyes divine,
	Fix'd on the floor, saw many a sweeping train
	Pass by - she heeded not at all: in vain
60	Came many a tiptoe, amorous cavalier,
	And back retir'd; not cool'd by high disdain,
	But she saw not: her heart was otherwhere:
	She sigh'd for Agnes' dreams, the sweetest of the year.
	8
	She danc'd along with vague, regardless eyes,
65	Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and short:
	The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she sighs
	Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort
	Of whisperers in anger, or in sport;
	'Mid looks of love, defiance, hate, and scorn,
70	Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort,
	Save to St. Agnes and her lambs unshorn,
	And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.
	9
	So, purposing each moment to retire,
	She linger'd still. Meantime, across the moors,
75	Had come young Porphyro, with heart on fire
	For Madeline. Beside the portal doors,
	Buttress'd from moonlight, stands he, and implores
	All saints to give him sight of Madeline,
	But for one moment in the tedious hours,
80	That he might gaze and worship all unseen;
	Perchance speak, kneel, touch, kiss - in sooth such things have been.
	10
	He ventures in: let no buzz'd whisper tell:
	All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords
	Will storm his heart, Love's fev'rous citadel:
85	For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes,
	Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords,
	Whose very dogs would execrations howl
	Against his lineage: not one breast affords
	Him any mercy, in that mansion foul,
90	Save one old beldame, weak in body and in soul.
	11
	Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came,
	Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand,
	To where he stood, hid from the torch's flame,
	Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond
95	The sound of merriment and chorus bland:
	He startled her; but soon she knew his face,
	And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand,
	Saying, "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from this place;
	They are all here to-night, the whole blood-thirsty race!
	12
100	"Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand;
	He had a fever late, and in the fit
	He cursed thee and thine, both house and land:
	Then there 's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit
	More tame for his gray hairs - Alas me! flit!
105	Flit like a ghost away." - "Ah, Gossip dear,
	We're safe enough; here in this arm-chair sit,
	And tell me how" - "Good Saints! not here, not here;
	Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier."
	13
	He follow'd through a lowly arched way,
110	Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume;
	And as she mutter'd "Well-a - well-a-day!"
	He found him in a little moonlight room,
	Pale, lattic'd, chill, and silent as a tomb.
	"Now tell me where is Madeline," said he,
115	"O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom
	Which none but secret sisterhood may see,
	When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving piously."
	14
	"St. Agnes! Ah! it is St. Agnes' Eve -
	Yet men will murder upon holy days:
120	Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve,
	And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays,
	To venture so: it fills me with amaze
	To see thee, Porphyro! - St. Agnes' Eve!
	God's help! my lady fair the conjuror plays
125	This very night: good angels her deceive!
	But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to grieve."
	15
	Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon,
	While Porphyro upon her face doth look,
	Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone
130	Who keepeth clos'd a wond'rous riddle-book,
	As spectacled she sits in chimney nook.
	But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she told
	His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook
	Tears, at the thought of those enchantments cold,
135	And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.
	16
	Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,
	Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart
	Made purple riot: then doth he propose
	A stratagem, that makes the beldame start:
140	"A cruel man and impious thou art:
	Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream
	Alone with her good angels, far apart
	From wicked men like thee. Go, go! - I deem
	Thou canst not surely be the same that thou didst seem."
	17
145	"I will not harm her, by all saints I swear,"
	Quoth Porphyro: "O may I ne'er find grace
	When my weak voice shall whisper its last prayer,
	If one of her soft ringlets I displace,
	Or look with ruffian passion in her face:
150	Good Angela, believe me by these tears;
	Or I will, even in a moment's space,
	Awake, with horrid shout, my foemen's ears,
	And beard them, though they be more fang'd than wolves and bears."
	18
	"Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul?
155	A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard thing,
	Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll;
	Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,
	Were never miss'd." - Thus plaining, doth she bring
	A gentler speech from burning Porphyro;
160	So woful, and of such deep sorrowing,
	That Angela gives promise she will do
	Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or woe.
	19
	Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy,
	Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide
165	Him in a closet, of such privacy
	That he might see her beauty unespied,
	And win perhaps that night a peerless bride,
	While legion'd fairies pac'd the coverlet,
	And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed.
170	Never on such a night have lovers met,
	Since Merlin paid his Demon all the monstrous debt.
	20
	"It shall be as thou wishest," said the Dame:
	"All cates and dainties shall be stored there
	Quickly on this feast-night: by the tambour frame
175	Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare,
	For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dare
	On such a catering trust my dizzy head.
	Wait here, my child, with patience; kneel in prayer
	The while: Ah! thou must needs the lady wed,
180	Or may I never leave my grave among the dead."
	21
	So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear.
	The lover's endless minutes slowly pass'd;
	The dame return'd, and whisper'd in his ear
	To follow her; with aged eyes aghast
185	From fright of dim espial. Safe at last,
	Through many a dusky gallery, they gain
	The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd, and chaste;
	Where Porphyro took covert, pleas'd amain.
	His poor guide hurried back with agues in her brain.
	22
190	Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade,
	Old Angela was feeling for the stair,
	When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid,
	Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware:
	With silver taper's light, and pious care,
195	She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led
	To a safe level matting. Now prepare,
	Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed;
	She comes, she comes again, like ring-dove fray'd and fled.
	23
	Out went the taper as she hurried in;
200	Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died:
	She clos'd the door, she panted, all akin
	To spirits of the air, and visions wide:
	No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!
	But to her heart, her heart was voluble,
205	Pavining with eloquence her balmy side;
	As though a tongueless nightingale should swell
	Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stifled, in her dell.
	24
	A casement high and triple-arch'd there was,
	All garlanded with carven imag'ries
210	Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knot-grass,
	And diamonded with panes of quaint device,
	Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes,
	As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings;
	And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldries,
215	And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings,
	A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood of queens and kings.
	25
	Full on this casement shone the wintry moon,
	And threw warm gules on Madeline's fair breast,
	As down she knelt for heaven's grace and boon;
220	Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together prest,
	And on her silver cross soft amethyst,
	And on her hair a glory, like a saint:
	She seem'd a splendid angel, newly drest,
	Save wings, for heaven: - Porphyro grew faint:
225	She knelt, so pure a thing, so free from mortal taint.
	26
	Anon his heart revives: her vespers done,
	Of all its wreathed pearls her hair she frees;
	Unclasps her warmed jewels one by one;
	Loosens her fragrant boddice; by degrees
230	Her rich attire creeps rustling to her knees:
	Half-hidden, like a mermaid in sea-weed,
	Pensive awhile she dreams awake, and sees,
	In fancy, fair St. Agnes in her bed,
	But dares not look behind, or all the charm is fled.
	27
235	Soon, trembling in her soft and chilly nest,
	In sort of wakeful swoon, perplex'd she lay,
	Until the poppied warmth of sleep oppress'd
	Her soothed limbs, and soul fatigued away;
	Flown, like a thought, until the morrow-day;
240	Blissfully haven'd both from joy and pain;
	Clasp'd like a missal where swart Paynims pray;
	Blinded alike from sunshine and from rain,
	As though a rose should shut, and be a bud again.
	28
	Stol'n to this paradise, and so entranced,
245	Porphyro gazed upon her empty dress,
	And listen'd to her breathing, if it chanced
	To wake into a slumberous tenderness;
	Which when he heard, that minute did he bless,
	And breath'd himself: then from the closet crept,
250	Noiseless as fear in a wide wilderness,
	And over the hush'd carpet, silent, stept,
	And 'tween the curtains peep'd, where, lo! - how fast she slept.
	29
	Then by the bed-side, where the faded moon
	Made a dim, silver twilight, soft he set
255	A table, and, half anguish'd, threw thereon
	A cloth of woven crimson, gold, and jet: -
	O for some drowsy Morphean amulet!
	The boisterous, midnight, festive clarion,
	The kettle-drum, and far-heard clarionet,
260	Affray his ears, though but in dying tone: -
	The hall door shuts again, and all the noise is gone.
	30
	And still she slept an azure-lidded sleep,
	In blanched linen, smooth, and lavender'd,
	While he from forth the closet brought a heap
265	Of candied apple, quince, and plum, and gourd;
	With jellies soother than the creamy curd,
	And lucent syrops, tinct with cinnamon;
	Manna and dates, in argosy transferr'd
	From Fez; and spiced dainties, every one,
270	From silken Samarcand to cedar'd Lebanon.
	31
	These delicates he heap'd with glowing hand
	On golden dishes and in baskets bright
	Of wreathed silver: sumptuous they stand
	In the retired quiet of the night,
275	Filling the chilly room with perfume light. -
	"And now, my love, my seraph fair, awake!
	Thou art my heaven, and I thine eremite:
	Open thine eyes, for meek St. Agnes' sake,
	Or I shall drowse beside thee, so my soul doth ache."
	32
280	Thus whispering, his warm, unnerved arm
	Sank in her pillow. Shaded was her dream
	By the dusk curtains: - 'twas a midnight charm
	Impossible to melt as iced stream:
	The lustrous salvers in the moonlight gleam;
285	Broad golden fringe upon the carpet lies:
	It seem'd he never, never could redeem
	From such a stedfast spell his lady's eyes;
	So mus'd awhile, entoil'd in woofed phantasies.
	33
	Awakening up, he took her hollow lute, -
290	Tumultuous, - and, in chords that tenderest be,
	He play'd an ancient ditty, long since mute,
	In Provence call'd, "La belle dame sans mercy":
	Close to her ear touching the melody; -
	Wherewith disturb'd, she utter'd a soft moan:
295	He ceased - she panted quick - and suddenly
	Her blue affrayed eyes wide open shone:
	Upon his knees he sank, pale as smooth-sculptured stone.
	34
	Her eyes were open, but she still beheld,
	Now wide awake, the vision of her sleep:
300	There was a painful change, that nigh expell'd
	The blisses of her dream so pure and deep:
	At which fair Madeline began to weep,
	And moan forth witless words with many a sigh;
	While still her gaze on Porphyro would keep;
305	Who knelt, with joined hands and piteous eye,
	Fearing to move or speak, she look'd so dreamingly.
	35
	"Ah, Porphyro!" said she, "but even now
	Thy voice was at sweet tremble in mine ear,
	Made tuneable with every sweetest vow;
310	And those sad eyes were spiritual and clear:
	How chang'd thou art! how pallid, chill, and drear!
	Give me that voice again, my Porphyro,
	Those looks immortal, those complainings dear!
	Oh leave me not in this eternal woe,
315	For if thou diest, my love, I know not where to go."
	36
	Beyond a mortal man impassion'd far
	At these voluptuous accents, he arose,
	Ethereal, flush'd, and like a throbbing star
	Seen mid the sapphire heaven's deep repose;
320	Into her dream he melted, as the rose
	Blendeth its odour with the violet, -
	Solution sweet: meantime the frost-wind blows
	Like Love's alarum pattering the sharp sleet
	Against the window-panes; St. Agnes' moon hath set.
	37
325	'Tis dark: quick pattereth the flaw-blown sleet:
	"This is no dream, my bride, my Madeline!"
	'Tis dark: the iced gusts still rave and beat:
	"No dream, alas! alas! and woe is mine!
	Porphyro will leave me here to fade and pine. -
330	Cruel! what traitor could thee hither bring?
	I curse not, for my heart is lost in thine,
	Though thou forsakest a deceived thing; -
	A dove forlorn and lost with sick unpruned wing."
	38
	"My Madeline! sweet dreamer! lovely bride!
335	Say, may I be for aye thy vassal blest?
	Thy beauty's shield, heart-shap'd and vermeil dyed?
	Ah, silver shrine, here will I take my rest
	After so many hours of toil and quest,
	A famish'd pilgrim, - saved by miracle.
340	Though I have found, I will not rob thy nest
	Saving of thy sweet self; if thou think'st well
	To trust, fair Madeline, to no rude infidel.
	39
	"Hark! 'tis an elfin-storm from faery land,
	Of haggard seeming, but a boon indeed:
345	Arise - arise! the morning is at hand; -
	The bloated wassaillers will never heed: -
	Let us away, my love, with happy speed;
	There are no ears to hear, or eyes to see, -
	Drown'd all in Rhenish and the sleepy mead:
350	Awake! arise! my love, and fearless be,
	For o'er the southern moors I have a home for thee."
	40
	She hurried at his words, beset with fears,
	For there were sleeping dragons all around,
	At glaring watch, perhaps, with ready spears -
355	Down the wide stairs a darkling way they found. -
	In all the house was heard no human sound.
	A chain-droop'd lamp was flickering by each door;
	The arras, rich with horseman, hawk, and hound,
	Flutter'd in the besieging wind's uproar;
360	And the long carpets rose along the gusty floor.
	41
	They glide, like phantoms, into the wide hall;
	Like phantoms, to the iron porch, they glide;
	Where lay the Porter, in uneasy sprawl,
	With a huge empty flaggon by his side;
365	The wakeful bloodhound rose, and shook his hide,
	But his sagacious eye an inmate owns:
	By one, and one, the bolts full easy slide: -
	The chains lie silent on the footworn stones; -
	The key turns, and the door upon its hinges groan.
	42
370	And they are gone: ay, ages long ago
	These lovers fled away into the storm.
	That night the Baron dreamt of many a woe,
	And all his warrior-guests, with shade and form
	Of witch, and demon, and large coffin-worm,
375	Were long be-nightmar'd. Angela the old
	Died palsy-twitch'd, with meagre face deform;
	The Beadsman, after thousand aves told,
	For aye unsought for slept among his ashes cold.

Ode to a Nightingale

	1
	My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
	My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
	Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
	One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
5	'Tis not through envy of thy happy lot,
	But being too happy in thine happiness, -
	That thou, light-winged Dryad of the trees,
	In some melodious plot
	Of beechen green, and shadows numberless,
10	Singest of summer in full-throated ease.
	2
	O for a draught of vintage, that hath been
	Cool'd a long age in the deep-delved earth,
	Tasting of Flora and the country green,
	Dance, and Provençal song, and sunburnt mirth!
15	O for a beaker full of the warm South,
	Full of the true, the blushful Hippocrene,
	With beaded bubbles winking at the brim,
	And purple-stained mouth;
	That I might drink, and leave the world unseen,
20	And with thee fade away into the forest dim:
	3
	Fade far away, dissolve, and quite forget
	What thou among the leaves hast never known,
	The weariness, the fever, and the fret
	Here, where men sit and hear each other groan;
25	Where palsy shakes a few, sad, last gray hairs,
	Where youth grows pale, and spectre-thin, and dies;
	Where but to think is to be full of sorrow
	And leaden-eyed despairs,
	Where Beauty cannot keep her lustrous eyes,
30	Or new Love pine at them beyond to-morrow.
	4
	Away! away! for I will fly to thee,
	Not charioted by Bacchus and his pards,
	But on the viewless wings of Poesy,
	Though the dull brain perplexes and retards:
35	Already with thee! tender is the night,
	And haply the Queen-Moon is on her throne,
	Cluster'd around by all her starry Fays;
	But here there is no light,
	Save what from heaven is with the breezes blown
40	Through verdurous glooms and winding mossy ways.
	5
	I cannot see what flowers are at my feet,
	Nor what soft incense hangs upon the boughs,
	But, in embalmed darkness, guess each sweet
	Wherewith the seasonable month endows
45	The grass, the thicket, and the fruit-tree wild;
	White hawthorn, and the pastoral eglantine;
	Fast-fading violets cover'd up in leaves;
	And mid-May's eldest child,
	The coming musk-rose, full of dewy wine,
50	The murmurous haunt of flies on summer eves.
	6
	Darkling I listen; and for many a time
	I have been half in love with easeful Death,
	Call'd him soft names in many a mused rhyme,
	To take into the air my quiet breath;
55	Now more than ever seems it rich to die,
	To cease upon the midnight with no pain,
	While thou art pouring forth thy soul abroad
	In such an ecstasy!
	Still wouldst thou sing, and I have ears in vain -
60	To thy high requiem become a sod.
	7
	Thou wast not born for death, immortal Bird!
	No hungry generations tread thee down;
	The voice I hear this passing night was heard
	In ancient days by emperor and clown:
65	Perhaps the self-same song that found a path
	Through the sad heart of Ruth, when, sick for home,
	She stood in tears amid the alien corn;
	The same that oft-times hath
	Charmed magic casements, opening on the foam
70	Of perilous seas, in faery lands forlorn.
	8
	Forlorn! the very word is like a bell
	To toll me back from thee to my sole self!
	Adieu! the fancy cannot cheat so well
	As she is fam'd to do, deceiving elf.
75	Adieu! adieu! thy plaintive anthem fades
	Past the near meadows, over the still stream,
	Up the hill-side; and now 'tis buried deep
	In the next valley-glades:
	Was it a vision, or a waking dream?
80	Fled is that music: - Do I wake or sleep?

Ode on a Grecian Urn

	1
	Thou still unravish'd bride of quietness,
	Thou foster-child of silence and slow time,
	Sylvan historian, who canst thus express
	A flowery tale more sweetly than our rhyme:
5	What leaf-fring'd legend haunts about thy shape
	Of deities or mortals, or of both,
	In Tempe or the dales of Arcady?
	What men or gods are these? What maidens loth?
	What mad pursuit? What struggle to escape?
10	What pipes and timbrels? What wild ecstasy?
	2
	Heard melodies are sweet, but those unheard
	Are sweeter; therefore, ye soft pipes, play on;
	Not to the sensual ear, but, more endear'd,
	Pipe to the spirit ditties of no tone:
15	Fair youth, beneath the trees, thou canst not leave
	Thy song, nor ever can those trees be bare;
	Bold lover, never, never canst thou kiss,
	Though winning near the goal - yet, do not grieve;
	She cannot fade, though thou hast not thy bliss,
20	For ever wilt thou love, and she be fair!
	3
	Ah, happy, happy boughs! that cannot shed
	Your leaves, nor ever bid the spring adieu;
	And, happy melodist, unwearied,
	For ever piping songs for ever new;
25	More happy love! more happy, happy love!
	For ever warm and still to be enjoy'd,
	For ever panting, and for ever young;
	All breathing human passion far above,
	That leaves a heart high-sorrowful and cloy'd,
30	A burning forehead, and a parching tongue.
	4
	Who are these coming to the sacrifice?
	To what green altar, O mysterious priest,
	Lead'st thou that heifer lowing at the skies,
	And all her silken flanks with garlands drest?
35	What little town by river or sea shore,
	Or mountain-built with peaceful citadel,
	Is emptied of this folk, this pious morn?
	And, little town, thy streets for evermore
	Will silent be; and not a soul to tell
40	Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.
	5
	O Attic shape! Fair attitude! with brede
	Of marble men and maidens overwrought,
	With forest branches and the trodden weed;
	Thou, silent form, dost tease us out of thought
45	As doth eternity: Cold Pastoral!
	When old age shall this generation waste,
	Thou shalt remain, in midst of other woe
	Than ours, a friend to man, to whom thou say'st,
	"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all
50	Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.

Ode to Psyche

	O Goddess! hear these tuneless numbers, wrung
	By sweet enforcement and remembrance dear,
	And pardon that thy secrets should be sung
	Even into thine own soft-conched ear:
5	Surely I dreamt to-day, or did I see
	The winged Psyche with awaken'd eyes?
	I wander'd in a forest thoughtlessly,
	And, on the sudden, fainting with surprise,
	Saw two fair creatures, couched side by side
10	In deepest grass, beneath the whisp'ring roof
	Of leaves and trembled blossoms, where there ran
	A brooklet, scarce espied:
	'Mid hush'd, cool-rooted flowers, fragrant-eyed,
	Blue, silver-white, and budded Tyrian,
15	They lay calm-breathing on the bedded grass;
	Their arms embraced, and their pinions too;
	Their lips touch'd not, but had not bade adieu,
	As if disjoined by soft-handed slumber,
	And ready still past kisses to outnumber
20	At tender eye-dawn of aurorean love:
	The winged boy I knew;
	But who wast thou, O happy, happy dove?
	His Psyche true!
	O latest born and loveliest vision far
25	Of all Olympus' faded hierarchy!
	Fairer than Phoebe's sapphire-region'd star,
	Or Vesper, amorous glow-worm of the sky;
	Fairer than these, though temple thou hast none,
	Nor altar heap'd with flowers;
30	Nor virgin-choir to make delicious moan
	Upon the midnight hours;
	No voice, no lute, no pipe, no incense sweet
	From chain-swung censer teeming;
	No shrine, no grove, no oracle, no heat
35	Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
	O brightest! though too late for antique vows,
	Too, too late for the fond believing lyre,
	When holy were the haunted forest boughs,
	Holy the air, the water, and the fire;
40	Yet even in these days so far retir'd
	From happy pieties, thy lucent fans,
	Fluttering among the faint Olympians,
	I see, and sing, by my own eyes inspired.
	So let me be thy choir, and make a moan
45	Upon the midnight hours;
	Thy voice, thy lute, thy pipe, thy incense sweet
	From swinged censer teeming;
	Thy shrine, thy grove, thy oracle, thy heat
	Of pale-mouth'd prophet dreaming.
50	Yes, I will be thy priest, and build a fane
	In some untrodden region of my mind,
	Where branched thoughts, new grown with pleasant pain,
	Instead of pines shall murmur in the wind:
	Far, far around shall those dark-cluster'd trees
55	Fledge the wild-ridged mountains steep by steep;
	And there by zephyrs, streams, and birds, and bees,
	The moss-lain Dryads shall be lull'd to sleep;
	And in the midst of this wide quietness
	A rosy sanctuary will I dress
60	With the wreath'd trellis of a working brain,
	With buds, and bells, and stars without a name,
	With all the gardener Fancy e'er could feign,
	Who breeding flowers, will never breed the same:
	And there shall be for thee all soft delight
65	That shadowy thought can win,
	A bright torch, and a casement ope at night,
	To let the warm Love in!

Fancy

	Ever let the Fancy roam,
	Pleasure never is at home:
	At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth,
	Like to bubbles when rain pelteth;
5	Then let winged Fancy wander
	Through the thought still spread beyond her:
	Open wide the mind's cage-door,
	She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar.
	O sweet Fancy! let her loose;
10	Summer's joys are spoilt by use,
	And the enjoying of the spring
	Fades as does its blossoming;
	Autumn's red-lipp'd fruitage too,
	Blushing through the mist and dew,
15	Cloys with tasting: What do then?
	Sit thee by the ingle, when
	The sear faggot blazes bright,
	Spirit of a winter's night;
	When the soundless earth is muffled,
20	And the caked snow is shuffled
	From the ploughboy's heavy shoon;
	When the Night doth meet the Noon
	In a dark conspiracy
	To banish Even from her sky.
25	Sit thee there, and send abroad,
	With a mind self-overaw'd,
	Fancy, high-commission'd: - send her!
	She has vassals to attend her:
	She will bring, in spite of frost,
30	Beauties that the earth hath lost;
	She will bring thee, all together,
	All delights of summer weather;
	All the buds and bells of May,
	From dewy sward or thorny spray;
35	All the heaped autumn's wealth,
	With a still, mysterious stealth:
	She will mix these pleasures up
	Like three fit wines in a cup,
	And thou shalt quaff it: - thou shalt hear
40	Distant harvest-carols clear;
	Rustle of the reaped corn;
	Sweet birds antheming the morn:
	And, in the same moment - hark!
	'Tis the early April lark,
45	Or the rooks, with busy caw,
	Foraging for sticks and straw.
	Thou shalt, at one glance, behold
	The daisy and the marigold;
	White-plum'd lilies, and the first
50	Hedge-grown primrose that hath burst;
	Shaded hyacinth, alway
	Sapphire queen of the mid-May;
	And every leaf, and every flower
	Pearled with the self-same shower.
55	Thou shalt see the field-mouse peep
	Meagre from its celled sleep;
	And the snake all winter-thin
	Cast on sunny bank its skin;
	Freckled nest-eggs thou shalt see
60	Hatching in the hawthorn-tree,
	When the hen-bird's wing doth rest
	Quiet on her mossy nest;
	Then the hurry and alarm
	When the bee-hive casts its swarm;
65	Acorns ripe down-pattering,
	While the autumn breezes sing.
	Oh, sweet Fancy! let her loose;
	Every thing is spoilt by use:
	Where's the cheek that doth not fade,
70	Too much gaz'd at? Where's the maid
	Whose lip mature is ever new?
	Where's the eye, however blue,
	Doth not weary? Where's the face
	One would meet in every place?
75	Where's the voice, however soft,
	One would hear so very oft?
	At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth
	Like to bubbles when rain pelteth.
	Let, then, winged Fancy find
80	Thee a mistress to thy mind:
	Dulcet-eyed as Ceres' daughter,
	Ere the God of Torment taught her
	How to frown and how to chide;
	With a waist and with a side
85	White as Hebe's, when her zone
	Slipt its golden clasp, and down
	Fell her kirtle to her feet,
	While she held the goblet sweet,
	And Jove grew languid. - Break the mesh
90	Of the Fancy's silken leash;
	Quickly break her prison-string
	And such joys as these she'll bring. -
	Let the winged Fancy roam,
	Pleasure never is at home.

Bards of passion and of mirth

	Bards of passion and of mirth,
	Ye have left your souls on earth!
	Have ye souls in heaven too,
	Double-lived in regions new?
5	Yes, and those of heaven commune
	With the spheres of sun and moon;
	With the noise of fountains wond'rous,
	And the parle of voices thund'rous;
	With the whisper of heaven's trees
10	And one another, in soft ease
	Seated on Elysian lawns
	Brows'd by none but Dian's fawns;
	Underneath large blue-bells tented,
	Where the daisies are rose-scented,
15	And the rose herself has got
	Perfume which on earth is not;
	Where the nightingale doth sing
	Not a senseless, tranced thing,
	But divine melodious truth;
20	Philosophic numbers smooth;
	Tales and golden histories
	Of heaven and its mysteries.
	Thus ye live on high, and then
	On the earth ye live again;
25	And the souls ye left behind you
	Teach us, here, the way to find you,
	Where your other souls are joying,
	Never slumber'd, never cloying.
	Here, your earth-born souls still speak
30	To mortals, of their little week;
	Of their sorrows and delights;
	Of their passions and their spites;
	Of their glory and their shame;
	What doth strengthen and what maim.
35	Thus ye teach us, every day,
	Wisdom, though fled far away.
	Bards of passion and of mirth,
	Ye have left your souls on earth!
	Ye have souls in heaven too,
40	Double-lived in regions new!

Lines on the Mermaid Tavern

	Souls of poets dead and gone,
	What elysium have ye known,
	Happy field or mossy cavern,
	Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?
5	Have ye tippled drink more fine
	Than mine host's Canary wine?
	Or are fruits of Paradise
	Sweeter than those dainty pies
	Of venison? O generous food!
10	Drest as though bold Robin Hood
	Would, with his maid Marian,
	Sup and bowse from horn and can.
	I have heard that on a day
	Mine host's sign-board flew away,
15	Nobody knew whither, till
	An astrologer's old quill
	To a sheepskin gave the story,
	Said he saw you in your glory,
	Underneath a new old sign
20	Sipping beverage divine,
	And pledging with contented smack
	The Mermaid in the zodiac.
	Souls of poets dead and gone,
	What elysium have ye known,
25	Happy field or mossy cavern,
	Choicer than the Mermaid Tavern?

Robin Hood

	No! those days are gone away,
	And their hours are old and gray,
	And their minutes buried all
	Under the down-trodden pall
5	Of the leaves of many years:
	Many times have winter's shears,
	Frozen north, and chilling east,
	Sounded tempests to the feast
	Of the forest's whispering fleeces,
10	Since men knew nor rent nor leases.
	No, the bugle sounds no more,
	And the twanging bow no more;
	Silent is the ivory shrill
	Past the heath and up the hill;
15	There is no mid-forest laugh,
	Where lone Echo gives the half
	To some wight, amaz'd to hear
	Jesting, deep in forest drear.
	On the fairest time of June
20	You may go, with sun or moon,
	Or the seven stars to light you,
	Or the polar ray to right you;
	But you never may behold
	Little John, or Robin bold;
25	Never one, of all the clan,
	Thrumming on an empty can
	Some old hunting ditty, while
	He doth his green way beguile
	To fair hostess Merriment,
30	Down beside the pasture Trent;
	For he left the merry tale
	Messenger for spicy ale.
	Gone, the merry morris din;
	Gone, the song of Gamelyn;
35	Gone, the tough-belted outlaw
	Idling in the "grenè shawe";
	All are gone away and past!
	And if Robin should be cast
	Sudden from his turfed grave,
40	And if Marian should have
	Once again her forest days,
	She would weep, and he would craze:
	He would swear, for all his oaks,
	Fall'n beneath the dockyard strokes,
45	Have rotted on the briny seas;
	She would weep that her wild bees
	Sang not to her - strange! that honey
	Can't be got without hard money!
	So it is: yet let us sing,
50	Honour to the old bow-string!
	Honour to the bugle-horn!
	Honour to the woods unshorn!
	Honour to the Lincoln green!
	Honour to the archer keen!
55	Honour to tight little John,
	And the horse he rode upon!
	Honour to bold Robin Hood,
	Sleeping in the underwood!
	Honour to Maid Marian,
60	And to all the Sherwood-clan!
	Though their days have hurried by,
	Let us two a burden try.

To Autumn

	1
	Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness,
	Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun;
	Conspiring with him how to load and bless
	With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eves run;
5	To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees,
	And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core;
	To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells
	With a sweet kernel; to set budding more,
	And still more, later flowers for the bees,
10	Until they think warm days will never cease,
	For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells.
	2
	Who hath not seen thee oft amid thy store?
	Sometimes whoever seeks abroad may find
	Thee sitting careless on a granary floor,
15	Thy hair soft-lifted by the winnowing wind;
	Or on a half-reap'd furrow sound asleep,
	Drows'd with the fume of poppies, while thy hook
	Spares the next swath and all its twined flowers:
	And sometimes like a gleaner thou dost keep
20	Steady thy laden head across a brook;
	Or by a cyder-press, with patient look,
	Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours.
	3
	Where are the songs of spring? Ay, where are they?
	Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, -
25	While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day,
	And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue;
	Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn
	Among the river sallows, borne aloft
	Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies;
30	And full-grown lambs loud bleat from hilly bourn;
	Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft
	The red-breast whistles from a garden-croft;
	And gathering swallows twitter in the skies.

Ode on Melancholy

	1
	No, no, go not to Lethe, neither twist
	Wolf's-bane, tight-rooted, for its poisonous wine;
	Nor suffer thy pale forehead to be kiss'd
	By nightshade, ruby grape of Proserpine;
5	Make not your rosary of yew-berries,
	Nor let the beetle, nor the death-moth be
	Your mournful Psyche, nor the downy owl
	A partner in your sorrow's mysteries;
	For shade to shade will come too drowsily,
10	And drown the wakeful anguish of the soul.
	2
	But when the melancholy fit shall fall
	Sudden from heaven like a weeping cloud,
	That fosters the droop-headed flowers all,
	And hides the green hill in an April shroud;
15	Then glut thy sorrow on a morning rose,
	Or on the rainbow of the salt sand-wave,
	Or on the wealth of globed peonies;
	Or if thy mistress some rich anger shows,
	Emprison her soft hand, and let her rave,
20	And feed deep, deep upon her peerless eyes.
	3
	She dwells with Beauty - Beauty that must die;
	And Joy, whose hand is ever at his lips
	Bidding adieu; and aching Pleasure nigh,
	Turning to poison while the bee-mouth sips:
25	Ay, in the very temple of Delight
	Veil'd Melancholy has her sovran shrine,
	Though seen of none save him whose strenuous tongue
	Can burst Joy's grape against his palate fine;
	His soul shall taste the sadness of her might,
30	And be among her cloudy trophies hung.

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BOOK I

	Deep in the shady sadness of a vale
	Far sunken from the healthy breath of morn,
	Far from the fiery noon, and eve's one star,
	Sat gray-hair'd Saturn, quiet as a stone,
5	Still as the silence round about his lair;
	Forest on forest hung above his head
	Like cloud on cloud. No stir of air was there,
	Not so much life as on a summer's day
	Robs not one light seed from the feather'd grass,
10	But where the dead leaf fell, there did it rest.
	A stream went voiceless by, still deadened more
	By reason of his fallen divinity
	Spreading a shade: the Naiad 'mid her reeds
	Press'd her cold finger closer to her lips.
15	Along the margin-sand large foot-marks went,
	No further than to where his feet had stray'd,
	And slept there since. Upon the sodden ground
	His old right hand lay nerveless, listless, dead,
	Unsceptred; and his realmless eyes were closed;
20	While his bow'd head seem'd list'ning to the Earth,
	His ancient mother, for some comfort yet.
	It seem'd no force could wake him from his place;
	But there came one, who with a kindred hand
	Touch'd his wide shoulders, after bending low
25	With reverence, though to one who knew it not.
	She was a Goddess of the infant world;
	By her in stature the tall Amazon
	Had stood a pigmy's height: she would have ta'en
	Achilles by the hair and bent his neck;
30	Or with a finger stay'd Ixion's wheel.
	Her face was large as that of Memphian sphinx,
	Pedestal'd haply in a palace court,
	When sages look'd to Egypt for their lore.
	But oh! how unlike marble was that face:
35	How beautiful, if sorrow had not made
	Sorrow more beautiful than Beauty's self.
	There was a listening fear in her regard,
	As if calamity had but begun;
	As if the vanward clouds of evil days
40	Had spent their malice, and the sullen rear
	Was with its stored thunder labouring up.
	One hand she press'd upon that aching spot
	Where beats the human heart, as if just there,
	Though an immortal, she felt cruel pain:
45	The other upon Saturn's bended neck
	She laid, and to the level of his ear
	Leaning with parted lips, some words she spake
	In solemn tenour and deep organ tone:
	Some mourning words, which in our feeble tongue
50	Would come in these like accents; O how frail
	To that large utterance of the early Gods!
	"Saturn, look up! - though wherefore, poor old King?
	I have no comfort for thee, no not one:
	I cannot say, 'O wherefore sleepest thou?'
55	For heaven is parted from thee, and the earth
	Knows thee not, thus afflicted, for a God;
	And ocean too, with all its solemn noise,
	Has from thy sceptre pass'd; and all the air
	Is emptied of thine hoary majesty.
60	Thy thunder, conscious of the new command,
	Rumbles reluctant o'er our fallen house;
	And thy sharp lightning in unpractised hands
	Scorches and burns our once serene domain.
	O aching time! O moments big as years!
65	All as ye pass swell out the monstrous truth,
	And press it so upon our weary griefs
	That unbelief has not a space to breathe.
	Saturn, sleep on: - O thoughtless, why did I
	Thus violate thy slumbrous solitude?
70	Why should I ope thy melancholy eyes?
	Saturn, sleep on! while at thy feet I weep."
	As when, upon a tranced summer-night,
	Those green-rob'd senators of mighty woods,
	Tall oaks, branch-charmed by the earnest stars,
75	Dream, and so dream all night without a stir,
	Save from one gradual solitary gust
	Which comes upon the silence, and dies off,
	As if the ebbing air had but one wave;
	So came these words and went; the while in tears
80	She touch'd her fair large forehead to the ground,
	Just where her falling hair might be outspread,
	A soft and silken mat for Saturn's feet.
	One moon, with alteration slow, had shed
	Her silver seasons four upon the night,
85	And still these two were postured motionless,
	Like natural sculpture in cathedral cavern;
	The frozen God still couchant on the earth,
	And the sad Goddess weeping at his feet:
	Until at length old Saturn lifted up
90	His faded eyes, and saw his kingdom gone,
	And all the gloom and sorrow of the place,
	And that fair kneeling Goddess; and then spake,
	As with a palsied tongue, and while his beard
	Shook horrid with such aspen-malady:
95	"O tender spouse of gold Hyperion,
	Thea, I feel thee ere I see thy face;
	Look up, and let me see our doom in it;
	Look up, and tell me if this feeble shape
	Is Saturn's; tell me, if thou hear'st the voice
100	Of Saturn; tell me, if this wrinkling brow,
	Naked and bare of its great diadem,
	Peers like the front of Saturn. Who had power
	To make me desolate? whence came the strength?
	How was it nurtur'd to such bursting forth,
105	While Fate seem'd strangled in my nervous grasp?
	But it is so; and I am smother'd up,
	And buried from all godlike exercise
	Of influence benign on planets pale,
	Of admonitions to the winds and seas,
110	Of peaceful sway above man's harvesting,
	And all those acts which Deity supreme
	Doth ease its heart of love in. - I am gone
	Away from my own bosom: I have left
	My strong identity, my real self,
115	Somewhere between the throne, and where I sit
	Here on this spot of earth. Search, Thea, search!
	Open thine eyes eterne, and sphere them round
	Upon all space: space starr'd, and lorn of light;
	Space region'd with life-air; and barren void;
120	Spaces of fire, and all the yawn of hell. -
	Search, Thea, search! and tell me, if thou seest
	A certain shape or shadow, making way
	With wings or chariot fierce to repossess
	A heaven he lost erewhile: it must - it must
125	Be of ripe progress - Saturn must be King.
	Yes, there must be a golden victory;
	There must be Gods thrown down, and trumpets blown
	Of triumph calm, and hymns of festival
	Upon the gold clouds metropolitan,
130	Voices of soft proclaim, and silver stir
	Of strings in hollow shells; and there shall be
	Beautiful things made new, for the surprise
	Of the sky-children; I will give command:
	Thea! Thea! Thea! where is Saturn?
135	This passion lifted him upon his feet,
	And made his hands to struggle in the air,
	His Druid locks to shake and ooze with sweat,
	His eyes to fever out, his voice to cease.
	He stood, and heard not Thea's sobbing deep;
140	A little time, and then again he snatch'd
	Utterance thus. - "But cannot I create?
	Cannot I form? Cannot I fashion forth
	Another world, another universe,
	To overbear and crumble this to nought?
145	Where is another Chaos? Where?" - That word
	Found way unto Olympus, and made quake
	The rebel three. - Thea was startled up,
	And in her bearing was a sort of hope,
	As thus she quick-voic'd spake, yet full of awe.
150	"This cheers our fallen house: come to our friends,
	O Saturn! come away, and give them heart;
	I know the covert, for thence came I hither."
	Thus brief; then with beseeching eyes she went
	With backward footing through the shade a space:
155	He follow'd, and she turn'd to lead the way
	Through aged boughs, that yielded like the mist
	Which eagles cleave upmounting from their nest.
	Meanwhile in other realms big tears were shed,
	More sorrow like to this, and such like woe,
160	Too huge for mortal tongue or pen of scribe:
	The Titans fierce, self hid, or prison-bound,
	Groan'd for the old allegiance once more,
	And listen'd in sharp pain for Saturn's voice.
	But one of the whole mammoth-brood still kept
165	His sov'reignty, and rule, and majesty; -
	Blazing Hyperion on his orbed fire
	Still sat, still snuff'd the incense, teeming up
	From man to the sun's God; yet unsecure:
	For as among us mortals omens drear
170	Fright and perplex, so also shuddered he -
	Not at dog's howl, or gloom-bird's hated screech,
	Or the familiar visiting of one
	Upon the first toll of his passing-bell,
	Or prophesyings of the midnight lamp;
175	But horrors, portion'd to a giant nerve,
	Oft made Hyperion ache. His palace bright
	Bastion'd with pyramids of glowing gold,
	And touch'd with shade of bronzed obelisks,
	Glar'd a blood-red through all its thousand courts,
180	Arches, and domes, and fiery galleries;
	And all its curtains of Aurorian clouds
	Flush'd angerly: while sometimes eagle's wings,
	Unseen before by Gods or wondering men,
	Darken'd the place; and neighing steeds were heard,
185	Not heard before by Gods or wondering men.
	Also, when he would taste the spicy wreaths
	Of incense, breath'd aloft from sacred hills,
	Instead of sweets, his ample palate took
	Savour of poisonous brass and metal sick:
190	And so, when harbour'd in the sleepy west,
	After the full completion of fair day, -
	For rest divine upon exalted couch
	And slumber in the arms of melody,
	He pac'd away the pleasant hours of ease
195	With stride colossal, on from hall to hall;
	While far within each aisle and deep recess,
	His winged minions in close clusters stood,
	Amaz'd and full of fear; like anxious men
	Who on wide plains gather in panting troops,
200	When earthquakes jar their battlements and towers.
	Even now, while Saturn, rous'd from icy trance,
	Went step for step with Thea through the woods,
	Hyperion, leaving twilight in the rear,
	Came slope upon the threshold of the west;
205	Then, as was wont, his palace-door flew ope
	In smoothest silence, save what solemn tubes,
	Blown by the serious Zephyrs, gave of sweet
	And wandering sounds, slow-breathed melodies;
	And like a rose in vermeil tint and shape,
210	In fragrance soft, and coolness to the eye,
	That inlet to severe magnificence
	Stood full blown, for the God to enter in.
	He enter'd, but he enter'd full of wrath;
	His flaming robes stream'd out beyond his heels,
215	And gave a roar, as if of earthly fire,
	That scar'd away the meek ethereal Hours
	And made their dove-wings tremble. On he flared,
	From stately nave to nave, from vault to vault,
	Through bowers of fragrant and enwreathed light,
220	And diamond-paved lustrous long arcades,
	Until he reach'd the great main cupola;
	There standing fierce beneath, he stampt his foot,
	And from the basements deep to the high towers
	Jarr'd his own golden region; and before
225	The quavering thunder thereupon had ceas'd,
	His voice leapt out, despite of godlike curb,
	To this result: "O dreams of day and night!
	O monstrous forms! O effigies of pain!
	O spectres busy in a cold, cold gloom!
230	O lank-ear'd Phantoms of black-weeded pools!
	Why do I know ye? why have I seen ye? why
	Is my eternal essence thus distraught
	To see and to behold these horrors new?
	Saturn is fallen, am I too to fall?
235	Am I to leave this haven of my rest,
	This cradle of my glory, this soft clime,
	This calm luxuriance of blissful light,
	These crystalline pavilions, aud pure fanes,
	Of all my lucent empire? It is left
240	Deserted, void, nor any haunt of mine.
	The blaze, the splendor, and the symmetry,
	I cannot see - but darkness, death and darkness.
	Even here, into my centre of repose,
	The shady visions come to domineer,
245	Insult, and blind, and stifle up my pomp. -
	Fall! - No, by Tellus and her briny robes!
	Over the fiery frontier of my realms
	I will advance a terrible right arm
	Shall scare that infant thunderer, rebel Jove,
250	And bid old Saturn take his throne again." -
	He spake, and ceas'd, the while a heavier threat
	Held struggle with his throat but came not forth;
	For as in theatres of crowded men
	Hubbub increases more they call out "Hush!"
255	So at Hyperion's words the Phantoms pale
	Bestirr'd themselves, thrice horrible and cold;
	And from the mirror'd level where he stood
	A mist arose, as from a scummy marsh.
	At this, through all his bulk an agony
260	Crept gradual, from the feet unto the crown,
	Like a lithe serpent vast and muscular
	Making slow way, with head and neck convuls'd
	From over-strained might. Releas'd, he fled
	To the eastern gates, and full six dewy hours
265	Before the dawn in season due should blush,
	He breath'd fierce breath against the sleepy portals,
	Clear'd them of heavy vapours, burst them wide
	Suddenly on the ocean's chilly streams.
	The planet orb of fire, whereon he rode
270	Each day from east to west the heavens through,
	Spun round in sable curtaining of clouds;
	Not therefore veiled quite, blindfold, and hid,
	But ever and anon the glancing spheres,
	Circles, and arcs, and broad-belting colure,
275	Glow'd through, and wrought upon the muffling dark
	Sweet-shaped lightnings from the nadir deep
	Up to the zenith, - hieroglyphics old,
	Which sages and keen-eyed astrologers
	Then living on the earth, with labouring thought
280	Won from the gaze of many centuries:
	Now lost, save what we find on remnants huge
	Of stone, or marble swart; their import gone,
	Their wisdom long since fled. - Two wings this orb
	Possess'd for glory, two fair argent wings,
285	Ever exalted at the God's approach:
	And now, from forth the gloom their plumes immense
	Rose, one by one, till all outspreaded were;
	While still the dazzling globe maintain'd eclipse,
	Awaiting for Hyperion's command.
290	Fain would he have commanded, fain took throne
	And bid the day begin, if but for change.
	He might not: - No, though a primeval God:
	The sacred seasons might not be disturb'd.
	Therefore the operations of the dawn
295	Stay'd in their birth, even as here 'tis told.
	Those silver wings expanded sisterly,
	Eager to sail their orb; the porches wide
	Open'd upon the dusk demesnes of night;
	And the bright Titan, phrenzied with new woes,
300	Unus'd to bend, by hard compulsion bent
	His spirit to the sorrow of the time;
	And all along a dismal rack of clouds,
	Upon the boundaries of day and night,
	He stretch'd himself in grief and radiance faint.
305	There as he lay, the heaven with its stars
	Look'd down on him with pity, and the voice
	Of Coelus, from the universal space,
	Thus whisper'd low and solemn in his ear.
	"O brightest of my children dear, earth-born
310	And sky-engendered, Son of Mysteries
	All unrevealed even to the powers
	Which met at thy creating; at whose joys
	And palpitations sweet, and pleasures soft,
	I, Coelus, wonder, how they came and whence;
315	And at the fruits thereof what shapes they be,
	Distinct, and visible; symbols divine,
	Manifestations of that beauteous life
	Diffus'd unseen throughout eternal space:
	Of these new-form'd art thou, oh brightest child!
320	Of these, thy brethren and the Goddesses!
	There is sad feud among ye, and rebellion
	Of son against his sire. I saw him fall,
	I saw my first-born tumbled from his throne!
	To me his arms were spread, to me his voice
325	Found way from forth the thunders round his head!
	Pale wox I, and in vapours hid my face.
	Art thou, too, near such doom? vague fear there is:
	For I have seen my sons most unlike Gods.
	Divine ye were created, and divine
330	In sad demeanour, solemn, undisturb'd,
	Unruffled, like high Gods, ye liv'd and ruled:
	Now I behold in you fear, hope, and wrath;
	Actions of rage and passion; even as
	I see them, on the mortal world beneath,
335	In men who die. - This is the grief, O Son!
	Sad sign of ruin, sudden dismay, and fall!
	Yet do thou strive; as thou art capable,
	As thou canst move about, an evident God;
	And canst oppose to each malignant hour
340	Ethereal presence: - I am but a voice;
	My life is but the life of winds and tides,
	No more than winds and tides can I avail: -
	But thou canst. - Be thou therefore in the van
	Of circumstance; yea, seize the arrow's barb
345	Before the tense string murmur. - To the earth!
	For there thou wilt find Saturn, and his woes.
	Meantime I will keep watch on thy bright sun,
	And of thy seasons be a careful nurse." -
	Ere half this region-whisper had come down,
350	Hyperion arose, and on the stars
	Lifted his curved lids, and kept them wide
	Until it ceas'd; and still he kept them wide:
	And still they were the same bright, patient stars.
	Then with a slow incline of his broad breast,
355	Like to a diver in the pearly seas,
	Forward he stoop'd over the airy shore,
	And plung'd all noiseless into the deep night.