Lamia | Page 5

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 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