Complete Poems Read Online
Drunken from Pleasure’s nipple; and his love | |
870 | Henceforth was dove-like. Loth was he to move |
From the imprinted couch, and when he did, | |
’Twas with slow, languid paces, and face hid | |
In muffling hands. So tempered, out he strayed | |
Half seeing visions that might have dismayed | |
Alecto’s serpents; ravishments more keen | |
Than Hermes’ pipe, when anxious he did lean | |
Over eclipsing eyes; and at the last | |
It was a sounding grotto, vaulted vast, | |
O’er-studded with a thousand, thousand pearls, | |
880 | And crimson-mouthèd shells with stubborn curls, |
Of every shape and size, even to the bulk | |
In which whales arbour close, to brood and sulk | |
Against an endless storm. Moreover too, | |
Fish-semblances, of green and azure hue, | |
Ready to snort their streams. In this cool wonder | |
Endymion sat down, and ’gan to ponder | |
On all his life: his youth, up to the day | |
When ’mid acclaim, and feasts, and garlands gay, | |
He stepped upon his shepherd throne; the look | |
890 | Of his white palace in wild forest nook, |
And all the revels he had lorded there; | |
Each tender maiden whom he once thought fair, | |
With every friend and fellow-woodlander – | |
Passed like a dream before him. Then the spur | |
Of the old bards to mighty deeds; his plans | |
To nurse the golden age ’mong shepherd clans; | |
That wondrous night; the great Pan-festival; | |
His sister’s sorrow; and his wanderings all, | |
Until into the earth’s deep maw he rushed; | |
900 | Then all its buried magic, till it flushed |
High with excessive love. ‘And now’, thought he, | |
‘How long must I remain in jeopardy | |
Of blank amazements that amaze no more? | |
Now I have tasted her sweet soul to the core | |
All other depths are shallow: essences, | |
Once spiritual, are like muddy lees, | |
Meant but to fertilize my earthly root, | |
And make my branches lift a golden fruit | |
Into the bloom of heaven. Other light, | |
910 | Though it be quick and sharp enough to blight |
The Olympian eagle’s vision, is dark, | |
Dark as the parentage of chaos. Hark! | |
My silent thoughts are echoing from these shells; | |
Or they are but the ghosts, the dying swells | |
Of noises far away? – list!’ – Hereupon | |
He kept an anxious ear. The humming tone | |
Came louder, and behold, there as he lay, | |
On either side out-gushed, with misty spray, | |
A copious spring; and both together dashed | |
920 | Swift, mad, fantastic round the rocks, and lashed |
Among the conches and shells of the lofty grot, | |
Leaving a trickling dew. At last they shot | |
Down from the ceiling’s height, pouring a noise | |
As of some breathless racers whose hopes poise | |
Upon the last few steps, and with spent force | |
Along the ground they took a winding course. | |
Endymion followed – for it seemed that one | |
Ever pursued, the other strove to shun – | |
Followed their languid mazes, till well nigh | |
930 | He had left thinking of the mystery, |
And was now rapt in tender hoverings | |
Over the vanished bliss. Ah! what is it sings | |
His dream away? What melodies are these? | |
They sound as through the whispering of trees, | |
Not native in such barren vaults. Give ear! | |
‘O Arethusa, peerless nymph! why fear | |
Such tenderness as mine? Great Dian, why, | |
Why didst thou hear her prayer? O that I | |
Were rippling round her dainty fairness now, | |
940 | Circling about her waist, and striving how |
To entice her to a dive! then stealing in | |
Between her luscious lips and eyelids thin! | |
O that her shining hair was in the sun, | |
And I distilling from it thence to run | |
In amorous rillets down her shrinking form! | |
To linger on her lily shoulders, warm | |
Between her kissing breasts, and every charm | |
Touch-raptured! – See how painfully I flow; | |
Fair maid, be pitiful to my great woe. | |
950 | Stay, stay thy weary course, and let me lead, |
A happy wooer, to the flowery mead | |
Where all that beauty snared me.’ – ‘Cruel god, | |
Desist! or my offended mistress’ nod | |
Will stagnate all thy fountains – tease me not | |
With siren words – Ah, have I really got | |
Such power to madden thee? And is it true – | |
Away, away, or I shall dearly rue | |
My very thoughts: in mercy then away, | |
Kindest Alpheus, for should I obey | |
960 | My own dear will, ’twould be a deadly bane. |
O, Oread-Queen! would that thou hadst a pain | |
Like this of mine, then would I fearless turn | |
And be a criminal. Alas, I burn, | |
I shudder – gentle river, get thee hence. | |
Alpheus! thou enchanter! every sense | |
Of mine was once made perfect in these woods. | |
Fresh breezes, bowery lawns, and innocent floods, | |
Ripe fruits, and lonely couch, contentment gave; | |
But ever since I heedlessly did lave | |
970 | In thy deceitful stream, a panting glow |
Grew strong within me: wherefore serve me so, | |
And call it love? Alas, ’twas cruelty. | |
Not once more did I close my happy eye | |
Amid the thrushes’ song. Away! Avaunt! | |
O ’twas a cruel thing.’ – ‘Now thou dost taunt | |
So softly, Arethusa, that I think | |
If thou wast playing on my shady brink, | |
Thou wouldst bathe once again. Innocent maid! | |
Stifle thine heart no more; nor be afraid | |
980 | Of angry powers – there are deities |
Will shade us with their wings. Those fitful sighs | |
’Tis almost death to hear. O let me pour | |
A dewy balm upon them! – fear no more, | |
Sweet Arethusa! Dian’s self must feel | |
Sometimes these very pangs. Dear maiden, steal | |
Blushing into my soul, and let us fly | |
These dreary caverns for the open sky. | |
I will delight thee all my winding course, | |
From the green sea up to my hidden source | |
990 | About Arcadian forests; and will show |
The channels where my coolest waters flow | |
Through mossy rocks; where, ’mid exuberant green, | |
I roam in pleasant darkness, more unseen | |
Than Saturn in his exile; where I brim | |
Round flowery islands, and take thence a skim | |
Of mealy sweets, which myriads of bees | |
Buzz from their honeyed wings: and thou shouldst please | |
Thyself to choose the richest, where we might | |
Be incense-pillowed every summer night. | |
1000 | Doff all sad fears, thou white deliciousness, |
And let us be thus comforted; unless | |
Thou couldst rejoice to see my hopeless stream | |
Hurry distracted from Sol’s temperate beam, | |
And pour to death along some hungry sands.’ – | |
‘What can I do, Alpheus? Dian stands | |
Severe before me. Persecuting fate! | |
Unhappy Arethusa! thou wast late | |
A huntress free in –’ At this, sudden fell | |
Those two sad streams adown a fearful dell. | |
1010 | The Latmian listened, but he heard no more, |
Save echo, faint repeating o’er and o’er | |
The name of Arethusa. On the verge | |
Of that dark gulf he wept, and said: ‘I urge | |
Thee, gentle Goddess of my pilgrimage, | |
By our eternal hopes, to soothe, to assuage, | |
If thou art powerful, these lovers’ pains; | |
And make them happy in some happy plains.’ | |
He turned – there was a whelming sound – he stepped – | |
There was a cooler light; and so he kept | |
1020 | Towards it by a sandy path, and lo! |
More suddenly than doth a moment go, | |
The visions of the earth were gone and fled – | |
He saw the giant sea above his head. |
BOOK III | |
There are who lord it o’er their fellow-men | |
With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen | |
Their baaing vanities, to browse away | |
The comfortable green and juicy hay | |
From human pastures; or – O torturing fact! – | |
Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpacked | |
Fire-branded foxes to sear up and singe | |
Our gold and ripe-eared hopes. With not one tinge | |
Of sanctuary splendour, not a sight | |
10 | Able to face an owl’s, they still are dight |
By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests, | |
And crowns, and turbans. With unladen breasts, | |
Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mount | |
To their spirit’s perch, their being’s high account, | |
Their tip-top nothings, their dull skies, their thrones – | |
Amid the fierce intoxicating tones | |
Of trumpets, shoutings, and belaboured drums, | |
And sudden cannon. Ah! how all this hums, | |
In wakeful ears, like uproar passed and gone – | |
20 | Like thunder clouds that spake to Babylon, |
And set those old Chaldeans to their tasks. – | |
Are then regalities all gilded masks? | |
No, there are thronèd seats unscalable | |
But by a patient wing, a constant spell, | |
Or by ethereal things that, unconfined, | |
Can make a ladder of the eternal wind, | |
And poise about in cloudy thunder-tents | |
To watch the abysm-birth of elements. | |
Ay, ’bove the withering of old-lipped Fate | |
30 | A thousand Powers keep religious state, |
In water, fiery realm, and airy bourne, | |
And, silent as a consecrated urn, | |
Hold sphery sessions for a season due. | |
Yet few of these far majesties – ah, few! – | |
Have bared their operations to this globe – | |
Few, who with gorgeous pageantry enrobe | |
Our piece of heaven – whose benevolence | |
Shakes hand with our own Ceres, every sense | |
Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude, | |
40 | As bees gorge full their cells. And, by the feud |
’Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear, | |
Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair | |
Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest. | |
When thy gold breath is misting in the west, | |
She unobservèd steals unto her throne, | |
And there she sits most meek and most alone; | |
As if she had not pomp subservient; | |
As if thine eye, high Poet, was not bent | |
Towards her with the Muses in thine heart; | |
50 | As if the ministering stars kept not apart, |
Waiting for silver-footed messages. | |
O Moon! the oldest shades ’mong oldest trees | |
Feel palpitations when thou lookest in: | |
O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din | |
The while they feel thine airy fellowship. | |
Thou dost bless everywhere, with silver lip | |
Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine, | |
Couched in thy brightness, dream of fields divine: | |
Innumerable mountains rise, and rise, | |
60 | Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes; |
And yet thy benediction passeth not | |
One obscure hiding-place, one little spot | |
Where pleasure may be sent. The nested wren | |
Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken, | |
And from beneath a sheltering ivy leaf | |
Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief | |
To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps | |
Within its pearly house. The mighty deeps, | |
The monstrous sea is thine – the myriad sea! | |
70 | O Moon! far-spooming Ocean bows to thee, |
And Tellus feels his forehead’s cumbrous load. | |
Cynthia! where art thou now? What far abode | |
Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine | |
Such utmost beauty? Alas, thou dost pine | |
For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale | |
For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail | |
His tears, who weeps for thee. Where dost thou sigh? | |
Ah! surely that light peeps from Vesper’s eye, | |
Or what a thing is love! ’Tis She, but lo! | |
80 | How changed, how full of ache, how gone in woe! |
She dies at the thinnest cloud; her loveliness | |
Is wan on Neptune’s blue: yet there’s a stress | |
Of love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees, | |
Dancing upon the waves, as if to please | |
The curly foam with amorous influence. | |
O, not so idle – for down-glancing thence | |
She fathoms eddies, and runs wild about | |
O’erwhelming water-courses; scaring out | |
The thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and frightening | |
90 | Their savage eyes with unaccustomed lightning. |
Where will the splendour be content to reach? | |
O love! how potent hast thou been to teach | |
Strange journeyings! Wherever beauty dwells, | |
In gulf or eyrie, mountains or deep dells, | |
In light, in gloom, in star or blazing sun, | |
Thou pointest out the way, and straight ’tis won. | |
Amid his toil thou gav’st Leander breath; | |
Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death; | |
Thou madest Pluto bear thin element; | |
100 | And now, O wingèd Chieftain! thou hast sent |
A moon-beam to the deep, deep water-world, | |
To find Endymion. | |
On gold sand impearled | |
With lily shells, and pebbles milky-white, | |
Poor Cynthia greeted him, and soothed her light | |
Against his pallid face: he felt the charm | |
To breathlessness, and suddenly a warm | |
Of his heart’s blood. |
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