Complete Poems Read Online
Into the dungeon core of that wild wood: | |
I fled three days – when lo! before me stood | |
Glaring the angry witch. O Dis! even now, | |
A clammy dew is beading on my brow, | |
At mere remembering her pale laugh, and curse. | |
570 | “Ha! ha! Sir Dainty! there must be a nurse |
Made of rose leaves and thistledown, express, | |
To cradle thee my sweet, and lull thee – yes, | |
I am too flinty-hard for thy nice touch: | |
My tenderest squeeze is but a giant’s clutch. | |
So, fairy-thing, it shall have lullabies | |
Unheard of yet: and it shall still its cries | |
Upon some breast more lily-feminine. | |
Oh, no – it shall not pine, and pine, and pine | |
More than one pretty, trifling thousand years; | |
580 | And then ’twere pity, but fate’s gentle shears |
Cut short its immortality. Sea-flirt! | |
Young dove of the waters! truly I’ll not hurt | |
One hair of thine: see how I weep and sigh, | |
That our heart-broken parting is so nigh. | |
And must we part? Ah, yes, it must be so. | |
Yet ere thou leavest me in utter woe, | |
Let me sob over thee my last adieus, | |
And speak a blessing. Mark me! Thou hast thews | |
Immortal, for thou art of heavenly race: | |
590 | But such a love is mine, that here I chase |
Eternally away from thee all bloom | |
Of youth, and destine thee towards a tomb. | |
Hence shalt thou quickly to the watery vast; | |
And there, ere many days be overpassed, | |
Disabled age shall seize thee; and even then | |
Thou shalt not go the way of agèd men; | |
But live and wither, cripple and still breathe | |
Ten hundred years – which gone, I then bequeath | |
Thy fragile bones to unknown burial. | |
600 | Adieu, sweet love, adieu!” – As shot stars fall, |
She fled ere I could groan for mercy. Stung | |
And poisoned was my spirit; despair sung | |
A war-song of defiance ’gainst all hell. | |
A hand was at my shoulder to compel | |
My sullen steps; another ’fore my eyes | |
Moved on with pointed finger. In this guise | |
Enforcèd, at the last by ocean’s foam | |
I found me – by my fresh, my native home. | |
Its tempering coolness, to my life akin, | |
610 | Came salutary as I waded in; |
And, with a blind voluptuous rage, I gave | |
Battle to the swollen billow-ridge, and drave | |
Large froth before me, while there yet remained | |
Hale strength, nor from my bones all marrow drained. | |
‘Young lover, I must weep – such hellish spite | |
With dry cheek who can tell? While thus my might | |
Proving upon this element, dismayed, | |
Upon a dead thing’s face my hand I laid. | |
I looked – ’twas Scylla! Cursèd, cursèd Circe! | |
620 | O vulture-witch, hast never heard of mercy? |
Could not thy harshest vengeance be content, | |
But thou must nip this tender innocent | |
Because I loved her? – Cold, O cold indeed | |
Were her fair limbs, and like a common weed | |
The sea-swell took her hair. Dead as she was | |
I clung about her waist, nor ceased to pass | |
Fleet as an arrow through unfathomed brine, | |
Until there shone a fabric crystalline, | |
Ribbed and inlaid with coral, pebble, and pearl. | |
630 | Headlong I darted; at one eager swirl |
Gained its bright portal, entered, and behold! | |
’Twas vast, and desolate, and icy-cold; | |
And all around – But wherefore this to thee | |
Who in few minutes more thyself shalt see? – | |
I left poor Scylla in a niche and fled. | |
My fevered parchings up, my scathing dread | |
Met palsy half-way: soon these limbs became | |
Gaunt, withered, sapless, feeble, cramped, and lame. | |
‘Now let me pass a cruel, cruel space, | |
640 | Without one hope, without one faintest trace |
Of mitigation, or redeeming bubble | |
Of coloured phantasy – for I fear ’twould trouble | |
Thy brain to loss of reason – and next tell | |
How a restoring chance came down to quell | |
One half of the witch in me. | |
‘On a day, | |
Sitting upon a rock above the spray, | |
I saw grow up from the horizon’s brink | |
A gallant vessel: soon she seemed to sink | |
Away from me again, as though her course | |
650 | Had been resumed in spite of hindering force – |
So vanished; and not long, before arose | |
Dark clouds, and muttering of winds morose. | |
Old Aeolus would stifle his mad spleen, | |
But could not: therefore all the billows green | |
Tossed up the silver spume against the clouds. | |
The tempest came: I saw that vessel’s shrouds | |
In perilous bustle; while upon the deck | |
Stood trembling creatures. I beheld the wreck; | |
The final gulfing; the poor struggling souls: | |
660 | I heard their cries amid loud thunder-rolls. |
O they had all been saved but crazèd eld | |
Annulled my vigorous cravings: and thus quelled | |
And curbed, think on’t, O Latmian! did I sit | |
Writhing with pity, and a cursing fit | |
Against that hell-born Circe. The crew had gone, | |
By one and one, to pale oblivion; | |
And I was gazing on the surges prone, | |
With many a scalding tear and many a groan, | |
When at my feet emerged an old man’s hand, | |
670 | Grasping this scroll, and this same slender wand. |
I knelt with pain – reached out my hand – had grasped | |
These treasures – touched the knuckles – they unclasped – | |
I caught a finger: but the downward weight | |
O’erpowered me – it sank. Then ’gan abate | |
The storm, and through chill aguish gloom outburst | |
The comfortable sun. I was athirst | |
To search the book, and in the warming air | |
Parted its dripping leaves with eager care. | |
Strange matters did it treat of, and drew on | |
680 | My soul page after page, till well-nigh won |
Into forgetfulness – when, stupefied, | |
I read these words, and read again, and tried | |
My eyes against the heavens, and read again. | |
O what a load of misery and pain | |
Each Atlas-line bore off! – a shine of hope | |
Came gold around me, cheering me to cope | |
Strenuous with hellish tyranny. Attend! | |
For thou hast brought their promise to an end. | |
“In the wide sea there lives a forlorn wretch, | |
690 | Doomed with enfeeblèd carcase to outstretch |
His loathed existence through ten centuries, | |
And then to die alone. Who can devise | |
A total opposition? No one. So | |
One million times ocean must ebb and flow, | |
And he oppressed. Yet he shall not die, | |
These things accomplished. If he utterly | |
Scans all the depths of magic, and expounds | |
The meanings of all motions, shapes and sounds; | |
If he explores all forms and substances | |
700 | Straight homeward to their symbol-essences; |
He shall not die. Moreover, and in chief, | |
He must pursue this task of joy and grief | |
Most piously – all lovers tempest-tossed, | |
And in the savage overwhelming lost, | |
He shall deposit side by side, until | |
Time’s creeping shall the dreary space fulfil: | |
Which done, and all these labours ripened, | |
A youth, by heavenly power loved and led, | |
Shall stand before him, whom he shall direct | |
710 | How to consummate all. The youth elect |
Must do the thing, or both will be destroyed.” ’ | |
‘Then,’ cried the young Endymion, overjoyed, | |
‘We are twin brothers in this destiny! | |
Say, I entreat thee, what achievement high | |
Is, in this restless world, for me reserved? | |
What! if from thee my wandering feet had swerved, | |
Had we both perish’d? ’ – ‘Look!’ the sage replied, | |
‘Dost thou not mark a gleaming through the tide, | |
Of diverse brilliances? ’tis the edifice | |
720 | I told thee of, where lovely Scylla lies; |
And where I have enshrinèd piously | |
All lovers, whom fell storms have doomed to die | |
Throughout my bondage.’ Thus discoursing, on | |
They went till unobscured the porches shone; | |
Which hurryingly they gained, and entered straight. | |
Sure never since king Neptune held his state | |
Was seen such wonder underneath the stars. | |
Turn to some level plain where haughty Mars | |
Has legioned all his battle; and behold | |
730 | How every soldier, with firm foot, doth hold |
His even breast. See, many steelèd squares, | |
And rigid ranks of iron – whence who dares | |
One step? Imagine further, line by line, | |
These warrior thousands on the field supine – | |
So in that crystal place, in silent rows, | |
Poor lovers lay at rest from joys and woes. | |
The stranger from the mountains, breathless, traced | |
Such thousands of shut eyes in order placed; | |
Such ranges of white feet, and patient lips | |
740 | All ruddy – for here death no blossom nips. |
He marked their brows and foreheads; saw their hair | |
Put sleekly on one side with nicest care; | |
And each one’s gentle wrists, with reverence, | |
Put cross-wise to its heart. | |
‘Let us commence,’ | |
Whispered the guide, stuttering with joy, ‘even now.’ | |
He spake, and, trembling like an aspen-bough, | |
Began to tear his scroll in pieces small, | |
Uttering the while some mumblings funeral. | |
He tore it into pieces small as snow | |
750 | That drifts unfeathered when bleak northerns blow; |
And having done it, took his dark blue cloak | |
And bound it round Endymion: then stroke | |
His wand against the empty air times nine. | |
‘What more there is to do, young man, is thine: | |
But first a little patience. First undo | |
This tangled thread, and wind it to a clue. | |
Ah, gentle! ’tis as weak as spider’s skein; | |
And shouldst thou break it – What, is it done so clean? | |
A power overshadows thee! O, brave! | |
760 | The spite of hell is tumbling to its grave. |
Here is a shell; ’tis pearly blank to me, | |
Nor marked with any sign or charactery – | |
Canst thou read aught? O read for pity’s sake! | |
Olympus! we are safe! Now, Carian, break | |
This wand against yon lyre on the pedestal.’ | |
’Twas done: and straight with sudden swell and fall | |
Sweet music breathed her soul away, and sighed | |
A lullaby to silence. ‘Youth! now strew | |
These mincèd leaves on me, and passing through | |
770 | Those files of dead, scatter the same around, |
And thou wilt see the issue.’ | |
‘Mid the sound | |
Of flutes and viols, ravishing his heart, | |
Endymion from Glaucus stood apart, | |
And scattered in his face some fragments light. | |
How lightning-swift the change! a youthful wight | |
Smiling beneath a coral diadem, | |
Out-sparkling sudden like an upturned gem, | |
Appeared, and, stepping to a beauteous corse, | |
Kneeled down beside it, and with tenderest force | |
780 | Pressed its cold hand, and wept – and Scylla sighed! |
Endymion, with quick hand, the charm applied – | |
The nymph arose. He left them to their joy, | |
And onward went upon his high employ, | |
Showering those powerful fragments on the dead. | |
And, as he passed, each lifted up its head, | |
As doth a flower at Apollo’s touch. | |
Death felt it to his inwards – ’twas too much: | |
Death fell a-weeping in his charnel-house. | |
The Latmian persevered along, and thus | |
790 | All were re-animated. There arose |
A noise of harmony, pulses and throes | |
Of gladness in the air – while many, who | |
Had died in mutual arms devout and true, | |
Sprang to each other madly; and the rest | |
Felt a high certainty of being blessed. | |
They gazed upon Endymion. Enchantment | |
Grew drunken, and would have its head and bent. | |
Delicious symphonies, like airy flowers, | |
Budded, and swelled, and, full-blown, shed full showers | |
800 | Of light, soft, unseen leaves of sounds divine. |
The two deliverers tasted a pure wine | |
Of happiness, from fairy-press oozed out. | |
Speechless they eyed each other, and about | |
The fair assembly wandered to and fro, | |
Distracted with the richest overflow | |
Of joy that ever poured from heaven. | |
– ‘Away!’ | |
Shouted the new born god; ‘Follow, and pay | |
Our piety to Neptunus supreme!’ – | |
Then Scylla, blushing sweetly from her dream, | |
810 | They led on first, bent to her meek surprise, |
Through portal columns of a giant size, | |
Into the vaulted, boundless emerald. | |
Joyous all followed as the leader called, | |
Down marble steps, pouring as easily | |
As hour-glass sand – and fast, as you might see | |
Swallows obeying the south summer’s call, | |
Or swans upon a gentle waterfall. | |
Thus went that beautiful multitude, nor far, | |
Ere from among some rocks of glittering spar, | |
820 | Just within ken, they saw descending thick |
Another multitude. Whereat more quick | |
Moved either host. On a wide sand they met, | |
And of those numbers every eye was wet, | |
For each their old love found. A murmuring rose, | |
Like what was never heard in all the throes | |
Of wind and waters – ’tis past human wit | |
To tell; ’tis dizziness to think of it. | |
This mighty consummation made, the host | |
Moved on for many a league; and gained, and lost | |
830 | Huge sea-marks, vanward swelling in array, |
And from the rear diminishing away – | |
Till a faint dawn surprised them. Glaucus cried, | |
‘Behold! behold, the palace of his pride! | |
God Neptune’s palaces!’ With noise increased, | |
They shouldered on towards that brightening east. | |
At every onward step proud domes arose | |
In prospect – diamond gleams, and golden glows | |
Of amber ’gainst their faces levelling. | |
Joyous, and many as the leaves in spring, | |
840 | Still onward, still the splendour gradual swelled. |
Rich opal domes were seen, on high upheld | |
By jasper pillars, letting through their shafts | |
A blush of coral. Copious wonder-draughts | |
Each gazer drank; and deeper drank more near. | |
For what poor mortals fragment up as mere | |
As marble, was there lavish, to the vast | |
Of one fair palace, that far far surpassed, | |
Even for common bulk, those olden three, | |
Memphis, and Babylon, and Nineveh. | |
850 | As large, as bright, as coloured as the bow |
Of Iris, when unfading it doth show | |
Beyond a silvery shower, was the arch | |
Through which this Paphian army took its march, | |
Into the outer courts of Neptune’s state, | |
Whence could be seen, direct, a golden gate, | |
To which the leaders sped; but not half-raught | |
Ere it burst open swift as fairy thought, | |
And made those dazzlèd thousands veil their eyes | |
Like callow eagles at the first sunrise. | |
860 | Soon with an eagle nativeness their gaze |
Ripe from hue-golden swoons took all the blaze, | |
And then, behold! large Neptune on his throne | |
Of emerald deep – yet not exalt alone; | |
At his right hand stood wingèd Love, and on | |
His left sat smiling Beauty’s paragon. | |
Far as the mariner on highest mast | |
Can see all round upon the calmèd vast, | |
So wide was Neptune’s hall: and as the blue | |
Doth vault the waters, so the waters drew | |
870 | Their doming curtains, high, magnificent, |
Awed from the throne aloof. And when storm-rent | |
Disclosed the thunder-gloomings in Jove’s air | |
(But soothed as now), flashed sudden everywhere, | |
Noiseless, sub-marine cloudlets, glittering | |
Death to a human eye: for there did spring | |
From natural west, and east, and south, and north, | |
A light as of four sunsets, blazing forth | |
A gold-green zenith ’bove the Sea-God’s head. | |
Of lucid depth the floor, and far outspread | |
880 | As breezeless lake, on which the slim canoe |
Of feathered Indian darts about, as through | |
The delicatest air – air verily, | |
But for the portraiture of clouds and sky: | |
This palace floor breath-air, but for the amaze | |
Of deep-seen wonders motionless and blaze | |
Of the dome pomp, reflected in extremes, | |
Globing a golden sphere. | |
They stood in dreams | |
Till Triton blew his horn. |
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