O he had swooned

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.