Complete Poems Read Online
‘Fair damsel, pity me! forgive that I | |
Thus violate thy bower’s sanctity! | |
O pardon me, for I am full of grief – | |
Grief born of thee, young angel! fairest thief! | |
Who stolen hast away the wings wherewith | |
110 | I was to top the heavens. Dear maid, sith |
Thou art my executioner, and I feel | |
Loving and hatred, misery and weal, | |
Will in a few short hours be nothing to me, | |
And all my story that much passion slew me, | |
Do smile upon the evening of my days. | |
And, for my tortured brain begins to craze, | |
Be thou my nurse; and let me understand | |
How dying I shall kiss that lily hand. | |
Dost weep for me? Then should I be content. | |
120 | Scowl on, ye fates! until the firmament |
Out-blackens Erebus, and the full-caverned earth | |
Crumbles into itself. By the cloud girth | |
Of Jove, those tears have given me a thirst | |
To meet oblivion.’ – As her heart would burst | |
The maiden sobbed awhile, and then replied: | |
‘Why must such desolation betide | |
As that thou speak’st of? Are not these green nooks | |
Empty of all misfortune? Do the brooks | |
Utter a gorgon voice? Does yonder thrush, | |
130 | Schooling its half-fledged little ones to brush |
About the dewy forest, whisper tales? – | |
Speak not of grief, young stranger, or cold snails | |
Will slime the rose tonight. Though if thou wilt, | |
Methinks ‘twould be a guilt – a very guilt – | |
Not to companion thee, and sigh away | |
The light – the dusk – the dark – till break of day!’ | |
‘Dear lady,’ said Endymion, ‘ ’tis past. | |
I love thee! and my days can never last. | |
That I may pass in patience still speak: | |
140 | Let me have music dying, and I seek |
No more delight – I bid adieu to all. | |
Didst thou not after other climates call, | |
And murmur about Indian streams?’ – Then she, | |
Sitting beneath the midmost forest tree, | |
For pity sang this roundelay: | |
‘O Sorrow, | |
Why dost borrow | |
The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips? – | |
To give maiden blushes | |
150 | To the white rose bushes? |
Or is’t thy dewy hand the daisy tips? | |
‘O Sorrow | |
Why dost borrow | |
The lustrous passion from a falcon-eye? – | |
To give the glow-worm light? | |
Or, on a moonless night, | |
To tinge, on syren shores, the salt sea-spry? | |
‘O Sorrow, | |
Why dost borrow | |
160 | The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue? – |
To give at evening pale | |
Unto the nightingale, | |
That thou mayst listen the cold dews among? | |
‘O Sorrow, | |
Why dost borrow | |
Heart’s lightness from the merriment of May? – | |
A lover would not tread | |
A cowslip on the head, | |
Though he should dance from eve till peep of day – | |
170 | Nor any drooping flower |
Held sacred for thy bower, | |
Wherever he may sport himself and play. | |
‘To Sorrow, | |
I bade good-morrow, | |
And thought to leave her far away behind. | |
But cheerly, cheerly, | |
She loves me dearly; | |
She is so constant to me, and so kind: | |
I would deceive her | |
180 | And so leave her, |
But ah! she is so constant and so kind. | |
‘Beneath my palm trees, by the river side, | |
I sat a-weeping: in the whole world wide | |
There was no one to ask me why I wept – | |
And so I kept | |
Brimming the water-lily cups with tears | |
Cold as my fears. | |
‘Beneath my palm trees, by the river side, | |
I sat a-weeping: what enamoured bride, | |
190 | Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds, |
But hides and shrouds | |
Beneath dark palm trees by a river-side? | |
‘And as I sat, over the light blue hills | |
There came a noise of revellers: the rills | |
Into the wide stream came of purple hue – | |
’Twas Bacchus and his crew! | |
The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrills | |
From kissing cymbals made a merry din – | |
’Twas Bacchus and his kin! | |
200 | Like to a moving vintage down they came, |
Crowned with green leaves, and faces all on flame – | |
All madly dancing through the pleasant valley, | |
To scare thee, Melancholy! | |
O then, O then, thou wast a simple name! | |
And I forgot thee, as the berried holly | |
By shepherds is forgotten, when, in June, | |
Tall chestnuts keep away the sun and moon – | |
I rushed into the folly! | |
‘Within his car, aloft, young Bacchus stood, | |
210 | Trifling his ivy-dart, in dancing mood, |
With sidelong laughing; | |
And little rills of crimson wine imbrued | |
His plump white arms, and shoulders, enough white | |
For Venus’ pearly bite; | |
And near him rode Silenus on his ass, | |
Pelted with flowers as he on did pass | |
Tipsily quaffing. | |
‘Whence came ye, merry Damsels! whence came ye! | |
So many, and so many, and such glee? | |
220 | Why have ye left your bowers desolate, |
Your lutes and gentler fate? – | |
“We follow Bacchus! Bacchus on the wing, | |
A-conquering! | |
Bacchus, young Bacchus! good or ill betide, | |
We dance before him thorough kingdoms wide – | |
Come hither, lady fair, and joined be | |
To our wild minstrelsy!” | |
‘Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs! whence came ye! | |
So many, and so many, and such glee? | |
230 | Why have ye left your forest haunts, why left |
Your nuts in oak-tree cleft? – | |
“For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree; | |
For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms, | |
And cold mushrooms; | |
For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth – | |
Great God of breathless cups and chirping mirth! | |
Come hither, lady fair, and joinèd be | |
To our mad minstrelsy!” | |
‘Over wide streams and mountains great we went, | |
240 | And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy tent, |
Onward the tiger and the leopard pants, | |
With Asian elephants: | |
Onward these myriads – with song and dance, | |
With zebras striped, and sleek Arabians’ prance, | |
Web-footed alligators, crocodiles, | |
Bearing upon their scaly backs, in files, | |
Plump infant laughers mimicking the coil | |
Of seamen, and stout galley-rowers’ toil – | |
With toying oars and silken sails they glide, | |
250 | Nor care for wind and tide. |
‘Mounted on panthers’ furs and lions’ manes, | |
From rear to van they scour about the plains; | |
A three days’ journey in a moment done: | |
And always, at the rising of the sun, | |
About the wilds they hunt with spear and horn, | |
On spleenful unicorn. | |
‘I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adown | |
Before the vine-wreath crown! | |
I saw parched Abyssinia rouse and sing | |
260 | To the silver cymbals’ ring! |
I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierce | |
Old Tartary the fierce! | |
The kings of Ind their jewel-sceptres vail, | |
And from their treasures scatter pearlèd hail. | |
Great Brahma from his mystic heaven groans, | |
And all his priesthood moans; | |
Before young Bacchus’ eye-wink turning pale. – | |
Into these regions came I following him, | |
Sick hearted, weary – so I took a whim | |
270 | To stray away into these forests drear |
Alone, without a peer: | |
And I have told thee all thou mayest hear. | |
‘Young stranger! | |
I’ve been a ranger | |
In search of pleasure throughout every clime: | |
Alas, ’tis not for me! | |
Bewitched I sure must be, | |
To lose in grieving all my maiden prime. | |
‘Come then, Sorrow! | |
280 | Sweetest Sorrow! |
Like an own babe I nurse thee on my breast: | |
I thought to leave thee | |
And deceive thee, | |
But now of all the world I love thee best. | |
‘There is not one, | |
No, no, not one | |
But thee to comfort a poor lonely maid: | |
Thou art her mother, | |
And her brother, | |
290 | Her playmate, and her wooer in the shade. |
O what a sigh she gave in finishing, | |
And look, quite dead to every worldly thing! | |
Endymion could not speak, but gazed on her; | |
And listened to the wind that now did stir | |
About the crispèd oaks full drearily, | |
Yet with as sweet a softness as might be | |
Remembered from its velvet summer song. | |
At last he said: ‘Poor lady, how thus long | |
Have I been able to endure that voice? | |
300 | Fair Melody! kind Siren! I’ve no choice – |
I must be thy sad servant evermore: | |
I cannot choose but kneel here and adore. | |
Alas, I must not think – by Phoebe, no! | |
Let me not think, soft Angel! shall it be so? | |
Say, beautifullest, shall I never think? | |
O thou couldst foster me beyond the brink | |
Of recollection! make my watchful care | |
Close up its bloodshot eyes, nor see despair! | |
Do gently murder half my soul, and I | |
310 | Shall feel the other half so utterly! – |
I’m giddy at that cheek so fair and smooth; | |
O let it blush so ever! let it soothe | |
My madness! let it mantle rosy-warm | |
With the tinge of love, panting in safe alarm. – | |
This cannot be thy hand, and yet it is; | |
And this is sure thine other softling – this | |
Thine own fair bosom, and I am so near! | |
Wilt fall asleep? O let me sip that tear! | |
And whisper one sweet word that I may know | |
320 | This is this world – sweet dewy blossom!’ – ‘Woe! |
Woe! Woe to that Endymion! Where is he?’ – | |
Even these words went echoing dismally | |
Through the wide forest – a most fearful tone, | |
Like one repenting in his latest moan; | |
And while it died away a shade passed by, | |
As of a thunder-cloud. When arrows fly | |
Through the thick branches, poor ring-doves sleek forth | |
Their timid necks and tremble; so these both | |
Leant to each other trembling, and sat so | |
330 | Waiting for some destruction – when lo, |
Foot-feathered Mercury appeared sublime | |
Beyond the tall tree tops; and in less time | |
Than shoots the slanted hail-storm, down he dropped | |
Towards the ground, but rested not, nor stopped | |
One moment from his home: only the sward | |
He with his wand light touched, and heavenward | |
Swifter than sight was gone – even before | |
The teeming earth a sudden witness bore | |
Of his swift magic. Diving swans appear | |
340 | Above the crystal circlings white and clear; |
And catch the cheated eye in wide surprise, | |
How they can dive in sight and unseen rise – | |
So from the turf outsprang two steeds jet-black, | |
Each with large dark blue wings upon his back. | |
The youth of Caria placed the lovely dame | |
On one, and felt himself in spleen to tame | |
The other’s fierceness. Through the air they flew, | |
High as the eagles. Like two drops of dew | |
Exhaled to Phoebus’ lips, away they’re gone, | |
350 | Far from the earth away – unseen, alone, |
Among cool clouds and winds, but that the free, | |
The buoyant life of song can floating be | |
Above their heads, and follow them untired. – | |
Muse of my native land, am I inspired? | |
This is the giddy air, and I must spread | |
Wide pinions to keep here; nor do I dread | |
Or height, or depth, or width, or any chance | |
Precipitous. I have beneath my glance | |
Those towering horses and their mournful freight. | |
360 | Could I thus sail, and see, and thus await |
Fearless for power of thought, without thine aid? | |
There is a sleepy dusk, an odorous shade | |
From some approaching wonder, and behold | |
Those wingèd steeds, with snorting nostrils bold, | |
Snuff at its faint extreme, and seem to tire, | |
Dying to embers from their native fire! | |
There curled a purple mist around them; soon, | |
It seemed as when around the pale new moon | |
Sad Zephyr droops the clouds like weeping willow – | |
370 | ’Twas Sleep slow journeying with head on pillow. |
For the first time, since he came nigh dead-born | |
From the old womb of night, his cave forlorn | |
Had he left more forlorn; for the first time, | |
He felt aloof the day and morning’s prime – | |
Because into his depth Cimmerian | |
There came a dream, showing how a young man, | |
Ere a lean bat could plump its wintry skin, | |
Would at high Jove’s empyreal footstool win | |
An immortality, and how espouse | |
380 | Jove’s daughter, and be reckoned of his house. |
Now was he slumbering towards heaven’s gate, | |
That he might at the threshold one hour wait | |
To hear the marriage melodies, and then | |
Sink downward to his dusky cave again. | |
His litter of smooth semi-lucent mist, | |
Diversely tinged with rose and amethyst, | |
Puzzled those eyes that for the centre sought; | |
And scarcely for one moment could be caught | |
His sluggish form reposing motionless. | |
390 | Those two on wingèd steeds, with all the stress |
Of vision searched for him, as one would look | |
Athwart the sallows of a river nook | |
To catch a glance at silver-throated eels – | |
Or from old Skiddaw’s top, when fog conceals | |
His rugged forehead in a mantle pale, | |
With an eye-guess towards some pleasant vale | |
Descry a favourite hamlet faint and far. | |
These raven horses, though they fostered are | |
Of earth’s splenetic fire, dully drop | |
400 | Their full-veined ears, nostrils blood wide, and stop. |
Upon the spiritless mist have they outspread | |
Their ample feathers, are in slumber dead – | |
And on those pinions, level in mid-air, | |
Endymion sleepeth and the lady fair. | |
Slowly they sail, slowly as icy isle | |
Upon a calm sea drifting: and meanwhile | |
The mournful wanderer dreams. Behold! he walks | |
On heaven’s pavement; brotherly he talks | |
To divine powers; from his hand full fain | |
410 | Juno’s proud birds are pecking pearly grain; |
He tries the nerve of Phoebus’ golden bow, | |
And asketh where the golden apples grow; | |
Upon his arm he braces Pallas’ shield, | |
And strives in vain to unsettle and wield | |
A Jovian thunderbolt; arch Hebe brings | |
A full-brimmed goblet, dances lightly, sings | |
And tantalizes long; at last he drinks, | |
And lost in pleasure at her feet he sinks, | |
Touching with dazzled lips her starlight hand. | |
420 | He blows a bugle – an ethereal band |
Are visible above: the Seasons four – | |
Green-kirtled Spring, flush Summer, golden store | |
In Autumn’s sickle, Winter frosty hoar – | |
Join dance with shadowy Hours; while still the blast, | |
In swells unmitigated, still doth last | |
To sway their floating morris. ‘Whose is this? | |
Whose bugle?’ he inquires. They smile – ‘O Dis! | |
Why is this mortal here? Dost thou not know | |
Its mistress’ lips? Not thou? – ’Tis Dian’s: lo! | |
430 | She rises crescented!’ He looks, ’tis she, |
His very goddess: good-bye earth, and sea, | |
And air, and pains, and care, and suffering; | |
Good-bye to all but love! Then doth he spring | |
Towards her, and awakes – and, strange, o’erhead, | |
Of those same fragrant exhalations bred, | |
Beheld awake his very dream: the gods | |
Stood smiling; merry Hebe laughs and nods; | |
And Phoebe bends towards him crescented. | |
O state perplexing! On the pinion bed, | |
440 | Too well awake, he feels the panting side |
Of his delicious lady. He who died | |
For soaring too audacious in the sun, | |
When that same treacherous wax began to run, | |
Felt not more tongue-tied than Endymion. | |
His heart leapt up as to its rightful throne, | |
To that fair shadowed passion pulsed its way – | |
Ah, what perplexity! Ah, welladay! | |
So fond, so beauteous was his bed-fellow, | |
He could not help but kiss her: then he grew | |
450 | A while forgetful of all beauty save |
Young Phoebe’s, golden haired; and so ’gan crave | |
Forgiveness: yet he turned once more to look | |
At the sweet sleeper – all his soul was shook: | |
She pressed his hand in slumber; so once more | |
He could not help but kiss her and adore. | |
At this the shadow wept, melting away. | |
The Latmian started up: ‘Bright goddess, stay! | |
Search my most hidden breast! By truth’s own tongue, | |
I have no daedal heart. Why is it wrung | |
460 | To desperation? Is there naught for me, |
Upon the bourne of bliss, but misery?’ | |
These words awoke the stranger of dark tresses: | |
Her dawning love-look rapt Endymion blesses | |
With ’haviour soft. Sleep yawned from underneath. | |
‘Thou swan of Ganges, let us no more breathe | |
This murky phantasm! thou contented seem’st | |
Pillowed in lovely idleness, nor dream’st | |
What horrors may discomfort thee and me. | |
Ah, shouldst thou die from my heart-treachery! – | |
470 | Yet did she merely weep – her gentle soul |
Hath no revenge in it. As it is whole | |
In tenderness, would I were whole in love! | |
Can I prize thee, fair maid, all price above, | |
Even when I feel as true as innocence? | |
I do, I do. – What is this soul then? Whence | |
Came it? It does not seem my own, and I | |
Have no self-passion or identity. | |
Some fearful end must be: where, where is it? | |
By Nemesis, I see my spirit flit | |
480 | Alone about the dark. Forgive me, sweet – |
Shall we away?’ He roused the steeds: they beat | |
Their wings chivàlrous into the clear air, | |
Leaving old Sleep within his vapoury lair. | |
The good-night blush of eve was waning slow, | |
And Vesper, risen star, began to throe | |
In the dusk heavens silverly, when they | |
Thus sprang direct towards the Galaxy. | |
Nor did speed hinder converse soft and strange – | |
Eternal oaths and vows they interchange, | |
490 | In such wise, in such temper, so aloof |
Up in the winds, beneath a starry roof, | |
So witless of their doom, that verily | |
’Tis well nigh past man’s search their hearts to see, | |
Whether they wept, or laughed, or grieved, or toyed – | |
Most like with joy gone mad, with sorrow cloyed. | |
Full facing their swift flight, from ebon streak, | |
The moon put forth a little diamond peak, | |
No bigger than an unobservèd star, | |
Or tiny point of fairy scimitar; | |
500 | Bright signal that she only stooped to tie |
Her silver sandals, ere deliciously | |
She bowed into the heavens her timid head. | |
Slowly she rose, as though she would have fled, | |
While to his lady meek the Carian turned, | |
To mark if her dark eyes had yet discerned | |
This beauty in its birth – Despair! despair! | |
He saw her body fading gaunt and spare | |
In the cold moonshine. Straight he seized her wrist; | |
It melted from his grasp: her hand he kissed, | |
510 | And, horror! kissed his own – he was alone. |
Her steed a little higher soared, and then | |
Dropped hawkwise to the earth. | |
There lies a den, | |
Beyond the seeming confines of the space | |
Made for the soul to wander in and trace | |
Its own existence, of remotest glooms. | |
Dark regions are around it, where the tombs | |
Of buried griefs the spirit sees, but scarce | |
One hour doth linger weeping, for the pierce | |
Of new-born woe it feels more inly smart: | |
520 | And in these regions many a venomed dart |
At random flies; they are the proper home | |
Of every ill: the man is yet to come | |
Who hath not journeyed in this native hell. | |
But few have ever felt how calm and well | |
Sleep may be had in that deep den of all. | |
There anguish does not sting; nor pleasure pall: | |
Woe-hurricanes beat ever at the gate, | |
Yet all is still within and desolate. | |
Beset with plainful gusts, within ye hear, | |
530 | No sound so loud as when on curtained bier |
The death-watch tick is stifled. Enter none | |
Who strive therefore: on the sudden it is won. | |
Just when the sufferer begins to burn, | |
Then it is free to him; and from an urn, | |
Still fed by melting ice, he takes a draught – | |
Young Semele such richness never quaffed | |
In her maternal longing! Happy gloom! | |
Dark Paradise! where pale becomes the bloom | |
Of health by due; where silence dreariest | |
540 | Is most articulate; where hopes infest; |
Where those eyes are the brightest far that keep | |
Their lids shut longest in a dreamless sleep. | |
O happy spirit-home! O wondrous soul! | |
Pregnant with such a den to save the whole | |
In thine own depth. Hail, gentle Carian! | |
For, never since thy griefs and woes began, | |
Hast thou felt so content: a grievous feud | |
Hath led thee to this Cave of Quietude. | |
Ay, his lulled soul was there, although upborne | |
550 | With dangerous speed, and so he did not mourn |
Because he knew not whither he was going. | |
So happy was he, not the aerial blowing | |
Of trumpets at clear parley from the east | |
Could rouse from that fine relish, that high feast. | |
They stung the feathered horse: with fierce alarm | |
He flapped towards the sound. Alas, no charm | |
Could lift Endymion’s head, or he had viewed | |
A skyey masque, a pinioned multitude – | |
And silvery was its passing: voices sweet | |
560 | Warbling the while as if to lull and greet |
The wanderer in his path. Thus warbled they, | |
While past the vision went in bright array. | |
‘Who, who from Dian’s feast would be away? | |
For all the golden bowers of the day | |
Are empty left? Who, who away would be | |
From Cynthia’s wedding and festivity? | |
Not Hesperus – lo! upon his silver wings | |
He leans away for highest heaven and sings, | |
Snapping his lucid fingers merrily! – | |
570 | Ah, Zephyrus! art here, and Flora too! |
Ye tender bibbers of the rain and dew, | |
Young playmates of the rose and daffodil, | |
Be careful, ere ye enter in, to fill | |
Your baskets high | |
With fennel green, and balm, and golden pines, | |
Savory, latter-mint, and columbines, | |
Cool parsley, basil sweet, and sunny thyme – | |
Yea, every flower and leaf of every clime, | |
All gathered in the dewy morning. Hie | |
580 | Away! fly, fly! – |
Crystalline brother of the belt of heaven, | |
Aquarius! to whom king Jove has given | |
Two liquid pulse streams ’stead of feathered wings, | |
Two fan-like fountains – thine illuminings | |
For Dian play: | |
Dissolve the frozen purity of air; | |
Let thy white shoulders silvery and bare | |
Show cold through watery pinions; make more bright | |
The Star-Queen’s crescent on her marriage night. | |
590 | Haste, haste away! – |
Castor has tamed the planet Lion, see! | |
And of the Bear has Pollux mastery. | |
A third is in the race! who is the third | |
Speeding away swift as the eagle bird? | |
The ramping Centaur! | |
The Lion’s mane’s on end – the Bear how fierce! | |
The Centaur’s arrow ready seems to pierce | |
Some enemy – far forth his bow is bent | |
Into the blue of heaven. He’ll be shent, | |
600 | Pale unrelenter, |
When he shall hear the wedding lutes a-playing! – | |
Andromeda! sweet woman! why delaying | |
So timidly among the stars? Come hither! | |
Join this bright throng, and nimbly follow whither | |
They all are going. | |
Danae’s Son, before Jove newly bowed, | |
Has wept for thee, calling to Jove aloud. | |
Thee, gentle lady, did he disenthrall: | |
Ye shall for ever live and love, for all | |
610 | Thy tears are flowing. – |
By Daphne’s fright, behold Apollo! – ’ | |
More | |
Endymion heard not: down his steed him bore, | |
Prone to the green head of a misty hill. | |
His first touch of the earth went nigh to kill. | |
‘Alas!’ said he, ‘were I but always borne | |
Through dangerous winds, had but my footsteps worn | |
A path in hell, for ever would I bless | |
Horrors which nourish an uneasiness | |
For my own sullen conquering: to him | |
620 | Who lives beyond earth’s boundary, grief is dim, |
Sorrow is but a shadow. Now I see | |
The grass, I feel the solid ground – Ah, me! | |
It is thy voice – divinest! Where? – who? who | |
Left thee so quiet on this bed of dew? | |
Behold upon this happy earth we are; | |
Let us aye love each other; let us fare | |
On forest-fruits, and never, never go | |
Among the abodes of mortals here below, | |
Or be by phantoms duped. |
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