The palace rang;

The Nereids danced; the Sirens faintly sang;

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And the great Sea-King bowed his dripping head.

Then Love took wing, and from his pinions shed

On all the multitude a nectarous dew.

The ooze-born Goddess beckonèd and drew

Fair Scylla and her guides to conference;

And when they reached the thronèd eminence

She kissed the sea-nymph’s cheek – who sat her down

A-toying with the doves. Then – ‘Mighty crown

And sceptre of this kingdom!’ Venus said,

‘Thy vows were on a time to Naïs paid –

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Behold!’ – Two copious tear-drops instant fell

From the God’s large eyes; he smiled delectable,

And over Glaucus held his blessing hands.

‘Endymion! Ah! still wandering in the bands

Of love? Now this is cruel. Since the hour

I met thee in earth’s bosom, all my power

Have I put forth to serve thee. What, not yet

Escaped from dull mortality’s harsh net?

A little patience, youth! ’twill not be long,

Or I am skilless quite. An idle tongue,

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A humid eye, and steps luxurious,

Where these are new and strange, are ominous.

Ay, I have seen these signs in one of heaven,

When others were all blind: and were I given

To utter secrets, haply I might say

Some pleasant words – but Love will have his day.

So wait awhile expectant. Prithee soon,

E’en in the passing of thine honeymoon,

Visit thou my Cythera: thou wilt find

Cupid well-natured, my Adonis kind.

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And pray persuade with thee – ah, I have done,

All blisses be upon thee, my sweet son!’ –

Thus the fair goddess, while Endymion

Knelt to receive those accents halcyon.

Meantime a glorious revelry began

Before the Water-Monarch. Nectar ran

In courteous fountains to all cups outreached;

And plundered vines, teeming exhaustless, pleached

New growth about each shell and pendent lyre;

The which, in disentangling for their fire,

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Pulled down fresh foliage and coverture

For dainty toying. Cupid, empire-sure,

Fluttered and laughed, and oft-times through the throng

Made a delighted way. Then dance, and song,

And garlanding grew wild; and pleasure reigned.

In harmless tendril they each other chained,

And strove who should be smothered deepest in

Fresh crush of leaves.

O ’tis a very sin

For one so weak to venture his poor verse

In such a place as this. O do not curse,

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High Muses! let him hurry to the ending.

All suddenly were silent. A soft blending

Of dulcet instruments came charmingly;

And then a hymn.

‘King of the stormy sea!

Brother of Jove, and co-inheritor

Of elements! Eternally before

Thee the waves awful bow. Fast, stubborn rock,

At thy feared trident shrinking, doth unlock

Its deep foundations, hissing into foam.

All mountain-rivers, lost in the wide home

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Of thy capacious bosom, ever flow.

Thou frownest, and old Aeolus thy foe

Skulks to his cavern, ’mid the gruff complaint

Of all his rebel tempests. Dark clouds faint

When, from thy diadem, a silver gleam

Slants over blue dominion. Thy bright team

Gulfs in the morning light, and scuds along

To bring thee nearer to that golden song

Apollo singeth, while his chariot

Waits at the doors of heaven. Thou art not

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For scenes like this: an empire stern hast thou,

And it hath furrowed that large front. Yet now,

As newly come of heaven, dost thou sit

To blend and interknit

Subduèd majesty with this glad time.

O shell-borne King sublime!

We lay our hearts before thee evermore –

We sing, and we adore!

‘Breathe softly, flutes;

Be tender of your strings, ye soothing lutes;

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Nor be the trumpet heard! O vain, O vain –

Not flowers budding in an April rain,

Nor breath of sleeping dove, nor river’s flow –

No, nor the Aeolian twang of Love’s own bow,

Can mingle music fit for the soft ear

Of goddess Cytherea!

Yet deign, white Queen of Beauty, thy fair eyes

On our souls’ sacrifice.

‘Bright-wingèd Child!

Who has another care when thou hast smiled?

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Unfortunates on earth, we see at last

All death-shadows, and glooms that overcast

Our spirits, fanned away by thy light pinions.

O sweetest essence! sweetest of all minions!

God of warm pulses, and dishevelled hair,

And panting bosoms bare!

Dear unseen light in darkness! eclipser

Of light in light! delicious poisoner!

Thy venomed goblet will we quaff until

We fill – we fill!

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And by thy Mother’s lips –’

Was heard no more

For clamour, when the golden palace door

Opened again, and from without, in shone

A new magnificence. On oozy throne

Smooth-moving came Oceanus the old,

To take a latest glimpse at his sheep-fold,

Before he went into his quiet cave

To muse for ever. Then a lucid wave,

Scooped from its trembling sisters of mid-sea,

Afloat, and pillowing up the majesty

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Of Doris, and the Aegean seer, her spouse –

Next, on a dolphin, clad in laurel boughs,

Theban Amphion leaning on his lute:

His fingers went across it – all were mute

To gaze on Amphitrite, queen of pearls,

And Thetis pearly too.

The palace whirls

Around giddy Endymion, seeing he

Was there far strayèd from mortality.

He could not bear it – shut his eyes in vain;

Imagination gave a dizzier pain.

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‘O I shall die! sweet Venus, be my stay!

Where is my lovely mistress? Well-away!

I die – I hear her voice – I feel my wing –’

At Neptune’s feet he sank. A sudden ring

Of Nereids were about him, in kind strife

To usher back his spirit into life:

But still he slept. At last they interwove

Their cradling arms, and purposed to convey

Towards a crystal bower far away.

Lo! while slow carried through the pitying crowd,

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To his inward senses these words spake aloud;

Written in star-light on the dark above:

‘Dearest Endymion! my entire love!

How have I dwelt in fear of fate! ’tis done –

Immortal bliss for me too hast thou won.

Arise then! for the hen-dove shall not hatch

Her ready eggs, before I’ll kissing snatch

Thee into endless heaven. Awake! awake!’

The youth at once arose: a placid lake

Came quiet to his eyes; and forest green,

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Cooler than all the wonders he had seen,

Lulled with its simple song his fluttering breast.

How happy once again in grassy nest!

BOOK IV

Muse of my native land! loftiest Muse!

O first-born on the mountains! by the hues

Of heaven on the spiritual air begot!

Long didst thou sit alone in northern grot,

While yet our England was a wolfish den;

Before our forests heard the talk of men;

Before the first of Druids was a child,

Long didst thou sit amid our regions wild

Rapt in a deep prophetic solitude.

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There came an eastern voice of solemn mood –

Yet wast thou patient. Then sang forth the Nine,

Apollo’s garland – yet didst thou divine

Such home-bred glory, that they cried in vain,

‘Come hither, Sister of the Island!’ Plain

Spake fair Ausonia; and once more she spake

A higher summons – still didst thou betake

Thee to thy native hopes. O thou hast won

A full accomplishment! The thing is done,

Which undone, these our latter days had risen

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On barren souls. Great Muse, thou know’st what prison,

Of flesh and bone, curbs, and confines, and frets

Our spirit’s wings. Despondency besets

Our pillows, and the fresh tomorrow morn

Seems to give forth its light in very scorn

Of our dull, uninspired, snail-pacèd lives.

Long have I said, how happy he who shrives

To thee! But then I thought on poets gone,

And could not pray – nor could I now – so on

I move to the end in lowliness of heart.

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‘Ah, woe is me! that I should fondly part

From my dear native land! Ah, foolish maid!

Glad was the hour, when, with thee, myriads bade

Adieu to Ganges and their pleasant fields!

To one so friendless the clear freshet yields

A bitter coolness; the ripe grape is sour:

Yet I would have, great gods! but one short hour

Of native air – let me but die at home.’

Endymion to heaven’s airy dome

Was offering up a hecatomb of vows,

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When these words reached him. Whereupon he bows

His head through thorny-green entanglement

Of underwood, and to the sound is bent,

Anxious as hind towards her hidden fawn.

‘Is no one near to help me? No fair dawn

Of life from charitable voice? No sweet saying

To set my dull and saddened spirit playing?

No hand to toy with mine? No lips so sweet

That I may worship them? No eyelids meet

To twinkle on my bosom? No one dies

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Before me, till from these enslaving eyes

Redemption sparkles! – I am sad and lost.’

Thou, Carian lord, hadst better have been tossed

Into a whirlpool. Vanish into air,

Warm mountaineer! for canst thou only bear

A woman’s sigh alone and in distress?

See not her charms! Is Phoebe passionless?

Phoebe is fairer far – O gaze no more. –

Yet if thou wilt behold all beauty’s store,

Behold her panting in the forest grass!

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Do not those curls of glossy jet surpass

For tenderness the arms so idly lain

Amongst them? Feelest not a kindred pain,

To see such lovely eyes in swimming search

After some warm delight, that seems to perch

Dovelike in the dim cell lying beyond

Their upper lids? – Hist!

‘O for Hermes’ wand,

To touch this flower into human shape!

That woodland Hyacinthus could escape

From his green prison, and here kneeling down

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Call me his queen, his second life’s fair crown!

Ah me, how I could love! – My soul doth melt

For the unhappy youth – Love! I have felt

So faint a kindness, such a meek surrender

To what my own full thoughts had made too tender,

That but for tears my life had fled away! –

Ye deaf and senseless minutes of the day,

And thou, old forest, hold ye this for true,

There is no lightning, no authentic dew

But in the eye of love: there’s not a sound,

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Melodious howsoever, can confound

The heavens and earth in one to such a death

As doth the voice of love: there’s not a breath

Will mingle kindly with the meadow air,

Till it has panted round, and stolen a share

Of passion from the heart!’

Upon a bough

He leant, wretched. He surely cannot now

Thirst for another love. O impious,

That he can even dream upon it thus! –

Thought he, ‘Why am I not as are the dead,

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Since to a woe like this I have been led

Through the dark earth, and through the wondrous sea?

Goddess! I love thee not the less! from thee

By Juno’s smile I turn not – no, no, no –

While the great waters are at ebb and flow.

I have a triple soul! O fond pretence –

For both, for both my love is so immense,

I feel my heart is cut for them in twain.’

And so he groaned, as one by beauty slain.

The lady’s heart beat quick, and he could see

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Her gentle bosom heave tumultuously.

He sprang from his green covert: there she lay,

Sweet as a musk-rose upon new-made hay;

With all her limbs on tremble, and her eyes

Shut softly up alive.