Lamia | Page 9

upon that gray-beard wretch!?Mark how, possess'd, his lashless eyelids stretch?Around his demon eyes! Corinthians, see!?My sweet bride withers at their potency."?"Fool!" said the sophist, in an under-tone?Gruff with contempt; which a death-nighing moan?From Lycius answer'd, as heart-struck and lost,?He sank supine beside the aching ghost.?"Fool! Fool!" repeated he, while his eyes still?Relented not, nor mov'd; "from every ill?Of life have I preserv'd thee to this day,?And shall I see thee made a serpent's prey?"?Then Lamia breath'd death breath; the sophist's eye,?Like a sharp spear, went through her utterly,?Keen, cruel, perceant, stinging: she, as well?As her weak hand could any meaning tell,?Motion'd him to be silent; vainly so,?He look'd and look'd again a level - No!?"A Serpent!" echoed he; no sooner said,?Than with a frightful scream she vanished:?And Lycius' arms were empty of delight,?As were his limbs of life, from that same night.?On the high couch he lay! - his friends came round?Supported him - no pulse, or breath they found,?And, in its marriage robe, the heavy body wound.
The Project Gutenberg Etext of Lamia, by John Keats[Poetry/Poem]
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