Lamia | Page 6

and
flowers, newly reap'd
Late on that eve, as 'twas the night before
The
Adonian feast; whereof she saw no more,
But wept alone those days,
for why should she adore?
Lycius from death awoke into amaze,
To
see her still, and singing so sweet lays;
Then from amaze into delight
he fell
To hear her whisper woman's lore so well;
And every word
she spake entic'd him on
To unperplex'd delight and pleasure known.

Let the mad poets say whate'er they please
Of the sweets of Fairies,
Peris, Goddesses,
There is not such a treat among them all,

Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall,
As a real woman, lineal
indeed

From Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed.
Thus gentle
Lamia judg'd, and judg'd aright,
That Lycius could not love in half a
fright,
So threw the goddess off, and won his heart
More pleasantly
by playing woman's part,
With no more awe than what her beauty
gave,
That, while it smote, still guaranteed to save.
Lycius to all
made eloquent reply,
Marrying to every word a twinborn sigh;
And
last, pointing to Corinth, ask'd her sweet,
If 'twas too far that night for

her soft feet.
The way was short, for Lamia's eagerness
Made, by a
spell, the triple league decrease
To a few paces; not at all surmised

By blinded Lycius, so in her comprized.
They pass'd the city gates, he
knew not how
So noiseless, and he never thought to know.
As men talk in a dream, so Corinth all,
Throughout her palaces
imperial,
And all her populous streets and temples lewd,
Mutter'd,
like tempest in the distance brew'd,
To the wide-spreaded night above
her towers.
Men, women, rich and poor, in the cool hours,
Shuffled
their sandals o'er the pavement white,
Companion'd or alone; while
many a light
Flared, here and there, from wealthy festivals,
And
threw their moving shadows on the walls,
Or found them cluster'd in
the corniced shade
Of some arch'd temple door, or dusky colonnade.
Muffling his face, of greeting friends in fear,
Her fingers he press'd
hard, as one came near
With curl'd gray beard, sharp eyes, and
smooth bald crown,
Slow-stepp'd, and robed in philosophic gown:

Lycius shrank closer, as they met and past,
Into his mantle, adding
wings to haste,
While hurried Lamia trembled: "Ah," said he,
"Why
do you shudder, love, so ruefully?
Why does your tender palm
dissolve in dew?" -
"I'm wearied," said fair Lamia: "tell me who
Is
that old man? I cannot bring to mind
His features - Lycius! wherefore
did you blind
Yourself from his quick eyes?" Lycius replied,
'Tis
Apollonius sage, my trusty guide
And good instructor; but to-night he
seems
The ghost of folly haunting my sweet dreams.
While yet he spake they had arrived before
A pillar'd porch, with
lofty portal door,
Where hung a silver lamp, whose phosphor glow

Reflected in the slabbed steps below,
Mild as a star in water; for so
new,
And so unsullied was the marble hue,
So through the crystal
polish, liquid fine,

Ran the dark veins, that none but feet divine

Could e'er have touch'd there. Sounds Aeolian
Breath'd from the
hinges, as the ample span
Of the wide doors disclos'd a place

unknown
Some time to any, but those two alone,
And a few Persian
mutes, who that same year
Were seen about the markets: none knew
where
They could inhabit; the most curious
Were foil'd, who
watch'd to trace them to their house:
And but the flitter-winged verse
must tell,
For truth's sake, what woe afterwards befel,
'Twould
humour many a heart to leave them thus,
Shut from the busy world of
more incredulous.
Part 2
love in a hut, with water and a crust,
Is - Love, forgive us! -
cinders, ashes, dust;
Love in a palace is perhaps at last
More
grievous torment than a hermit's fast -
That is a doubtful tale from
faery land,
Hard for the non-elect to understand.
Had Lycius liv'd to
hand his story down,
He might have given the moral a fresh frown,

Or clench'd it quite: but too short was their bliss
To breed distrust and
hate, that make the soft voice hiss.
Besides, there, nightly, with
terrific glare,
Love, jealous grown of so complete a pair,
Hover'd
and buzz'd his wings, with fearful roar,
Above the lintel of their
chamber door,
And down the passage cast a glow upon the floor.
For all this came a ruin: side by side
They were enthroned, in the
even tide,
Upon a couch, near to a curtaining
Whose airy texture,
from a golden string,
Floated into the room, and let appear
Unveil'd
the summer heaven, blue and clear,
Betwixt two marble shafts: - there
they reposed,
Where use had made it sweet, with eyelids closed,

Saving a tythe which love still open kept,
That they might see each
other while they almost slept;
When from the slope side of a suburb
hill,
Deafening the swallow's twitter, came a thrill
Of trumpets -
Lycius started - the sounds fled,
But left a thought, a buzzing in his
head.
For the first time, since first he harbour'd in

That purple-lined
palace of sweet sin,
His spirit pass'd beyond its golden bourn
Into
the noisy world almost forsworn.
The lady, ever watchful, penetrant,

Saw this with pain, so arguing a want
Of something more, more
than her empery
Of joys; and she began to moan and sigh
Because

he mused beyond her, knowing