Lamia | Page 5

see;
But first 'tis fit to tell how she could muse
And dream,
when in the serpent prison-house,
Of all she list, strange or
magnificent:
How, ever, where she will'd, her spirit went;
Whether
to faint Elysium, or where
Down through tress-lifting waves the
Nereids fair
Wind into Thetis' bower by many a pearly stair;
Or
where God Bacchus drains his cups divine,
Stretch'd out, at ease,
beneath a glutinous pine;
Or where in Pluto's gardens palatine

Mulciber's columns gleam in far piazzian line.
And sometimes into
cities she would send
Her dream, with feast and rioting to blend;

And once, while among mortals dreaming thus,
She saw the young
Corinthian Lycius
Charioting foremost in the envious race,
Like a
young Jove with calm uneager face,
And fell into a swooning love of
him.
Now on the moth-time of that evening dim
He would return
that way, as well she knew,
To Corinth from the shore; for freshly
blew
The eastern soft wind, and his galley now
Grated the
quaystones with her brazen prow
In port Cenchreas, from Egina isle

Fresh anchor'd; whither he had been awhile
To sacrifice to Jove,
whose temple there
Waits with high marble doors for blood and
incense rare.
Jove heard his vows, and better'd his desire;
For by
some freakful chance he made retire
From his companions, and set
forth to walk,
Perhaps grown wearied of their Corinth talk:

Over the
solitary hills he fared,
Thoughtless at first, but ere eve's star appeared

His phantasy was lost, where reason fades,
In the calm'd twilight of
Platonic shades.
Lamia beheld him coming, near, more near -
Close
to her passing, in indifference drear,
His silent sandals swept the
mossy green;
So neighbour'd to him, and yet so unseen
She stood:

he pass'd, shut up in mysteries,
His mind wrapp'd like his mantle,
while her eyes
Follow'd his steps, and her neck regal white
Turn'd -
syllabling thus, "Ah, Lycius bright,
And will you leave me on the
hills alone?
Lycius, look back! and be some pity shown."
He did;
not with cold wonder fearingly,
But Orpheus-like at an Eurydice;

For so delicious were the words she sung,
It seem'd he had lov'd them
a whole summer long:
And soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up,

Leaving no drop in the bewildering cup,
And still the cup was full, -
while he afraid
Lest she should vanish ere his lip had paid
Due
adoration, thus began to adore;
Her soft look growing coy, she saw
his chain so sure:
"Leave thee alone! Look back! Ah, Goddess, see

Whether my eyes can ever turn from thee!
For pity do not this sad
heart belie -
Even as thou vanishest so I shall die.
Stay! though a
Naiad of the rivers, stay!
To thy far wishes will thy streams obey:

Stay! though the greenest woods be thy domain,
Alone they can drink
up the morning rain:
Though a descended Pleiad, will not one
Of
thine harmonious sisters keep in tune
Thy spheres, and as thy silver
proxy shine?
So sweetly to these ravish'd ears of mine
Came thy
sweet greeting, that if thou shouldst fade
Thy memory will waste me
to a shade -
For pity do not melt!" - "If I should stay,"
Said Lamia,
"here, upon this floor of clay,
And pain my steps upon these flowers
too rough,
What canst thou say or do of charm enough
To dull the
nice remembrance of my home?
Thou canst not ask me with thee here
to roam
Over these hills and vales, where no joy is, -
Empty of
immortality and bliss!
Thou art a scholar, Lycius, and must know

That finer spirits cannot breathe below
In human climes, and live:
Alas! poor youth,
What taste of purer air hast thou to soothe
My
essence? What serener palaces,
Where I may all my many senses
please,
And by mysterious sleights a hundred thirsts appease?
It
cannot be - Adieu!" So said, she rose
Tiptoe with white arms spread.
He, sick to lose
The amorous promise of her lone complain,

Swoon'd, murmuring of love, and pale with pain.
The cruel lady,
without any show
Of sorrow for her tender favourite's woe,
But

rather, if her eyes could brighter be,
With brighter eyes and slow
amenity,
Put her new lips to his, and gave afresh
The life she had so
tangled in her mesh:
And as he from one trance was wakening
Into
another, she began to sing,
Happy in beauty, life, and love, and every
thing,
A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres,
While, like held
breath, the stars drew in their panting fires And then she whisper'd in
such trembling tone,
As those who, safe together met alone
For the
first time through many anguish'd days,
Use other speech than looks;
bidding him raise
His drooping head, and clear his soul of doubt,

For that she was a woman, and without
Any more subtle fluid in her
veins
Than throbbing blood, and that the self-same pains
Inhabited
her frail-strung heart as his.
And next she wonder'd how his eyes
could miss
Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said,
She dwelt
but half retir'd, and there had led
Days happy as the gold coin could
invent
Without the aid of love; yet in content
Till she saw him, as
once she pass'd him by,
Where 'gainst a column he leant thoughtfully

At Venus' temple porch, 'mid baskets heap'd
Of amorous herbs