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In the iniddle of a brook,—whose silver ramble
Ah' impious mortal, whither do I roam ?' One kiss brings honey-dew from buried days.
Yet, in our very souls, we feel amain
The close of Troilus and Cressid sweet. Are gone in tender madness, and anon,
Hence, pageant history! hence, gilded cheat! Faints into sleep, with many a dying tone
Swart planet in the universe of deeds! Of sadness. O that she would take my vows, Wide sea, that one continuous murmur breeds And breathe them sighingly among the boughs, Along the pebbled shore of memory! To sue her gentle ears for whose fair head,
Many old rotten-timber'd boats there be Daily, I pluck sweet flowerets from their bed, Upon thy vaporous bosom, magnified And weave them dyingly—send honey-whispers To goodly vessels ; many a sail of pride, Round every leaf, that all those gentle lispers And golden-keeld, is left unlaunch'd and dry. May sigh my love unto her pitying!
But wherefore this? What care, though owl dia fly O charitable echo! hear, and sing
About the great Athenian admiral's mast? This dirty to her!-lell her'—so I stay'd
What care, though striding Alexander past My foolish tongue, and listening, half afraid, The Indus with his Macedonian numbers? Stood stupefied with my own emply folly,
Though old Ulysses tortured from his slumbers
Doth more avail than these: the silver flow
Without one muse's smile, or kind behest,
The path of love and poesy. But rest, Bear up against it: so farewell, sad sigh;
In chafing restlessness, is yet more drear And come instead demurest meditation,
Than to be crush'd, in striving to uprear To occupy me wholly, and to fashion
Love's standard on the battlements of song.
Like legion'd soldiers.
Brain-sick shepherd-prince Blustering about my ears: ay, thou shalt see, What promise hast thou faithful guarded since Dearest of sisters, what my life shall be;
The day of sacrifice? Or, have new sorrows What a calm round of hours shall make my days. Come with the constant dawn upon thy morrows? There is a paly flame of hope that plays
Alas! 't is his old grief. For many days, Where'er I look : but yet, I'll say 't is naught Has he been wandering in uncertain ways: And here I bid it die. Have not I caught,
Through wilderness, and woods of mossed oaks , Already, a more healthy countenance ?
Counting his woe-worn minutes, by the strokes By this the sun is setting; we may chance Of the lone wood-cutter; and listening still, Meet some of our near-dwellers with my car.” Hour after hour, 10 each lush-loaved rill.
Now he is sitting by a shady spring,
And elbow-deep with severous fingering This said, he rose, faint-smiling like a star
Stems the upbursting cold: a wild rose-tree Through autumn mists, and took Peona's hand :
Pavilions him in bloom, and he doth see
A bud which snares his fancy: lo! but now
A golden butterfly; upon whose wings
To mortal steps, before thou canst be ta’en There must be surely character'd strange things, From every wasting sigh, from every pain, For with wide eye he wonders, and smiles oft. Into the gentle bosom of thy love.
Why it is thus, one knows in Heaven above . Lightly this litile herald flew aloft,
But, a poor Naiad, I guess not. Farewell!
Hereat, she vanish'd from Endymion's gaze, It seem'd he flew, the way so easy was ;
Who brooded o'er the water in amaze : And like a new-born spirit did he pass
The dashing fount pour'd on, and where its pool Through the green evening quiet in the sun, Lay, half asleep, in grass and rushes cool, O'er many a heath, through many a woodland dun, Quick waterflies and gnats were sporting still, Through buried paths, where sleepy twilight dreams And fish were dimpling, as if good nor ill The summer-time away. One track unseams Had fallen out that hour. The wanderer, A wooded cleft, and, far away, the blue
Holding his forehead, to keep off the burr of ocean fades upon him; then, anew,
or smothering fancies, patiently sat down ; He sinks adown a solitary glen,
And, while beneath the evening's sleepy frown Where there was never sound of mortal men, Glow-worms began to trim their starry lamps, Saving, perhaps, some snow-like cadences
Thus breathed he to himself: “Whoso encamps Melting to silence, when upon the breeze
To take a fancied city of delight, Some holy bark let forth an anthem sweet,
O what a wretch is he! and when 't is his, To cheer itself to Delphi. Still his feet
After long toil and travelling, to miss Went swift beneath the merry-winged guide, The kernel of his hopes, how more than vile! Until it reach'd a splashing fountain's side
Yet, for him there's refreshment even in toil: Thai, near a cavern's mouth, for ever pour'd Another city doth he set about, Unto the temperate air: then high it soar'd, Free from the smallest pebble-head of doubt And, downward, suddenly began to dip,
That he will seize on trickling honeycombs : As if, athirst with so much toil, 't would sip Alas, he finds them dry; and then he foams, The crystal spout-head: so it did, with touch And onward to another city speeds. Most delicate, as though afraid to smutch
But this is human life: the war, the deeds, Even with mealy gold the waters clear.
The disappointment, the anxiety, But, at that very touch, to disappear
Imagination's struggles, far and nigh, So fairy-quick, was strange! Bewildered,
All human; bearing in themselves this good, Endymion sought around, and shook each bed That they are still the air, the subtle food, Of covert flowers in vain; and then he flung To make us feel existence, and to show Himself along the grass. What gentle tongue, How quiet death is. Where soil is men gros, What whisperer disturb'd his gloomy rest?
Whether to weeds or flowers, but for me, It was a nymph uprisen to the breast
There is no depth to strike in: I can see In the fountain's pebbly margin, and she stood Naught earthly worth my compassing ; so stand 'Mong lilies, like the youngest of the brood. Upon a misty, jutting head of landTo him her dripping hand she sofily kist,
Alone? No, no; and by the Orphean lute, And anxiously began to plait and twist
When mad Eurydice is listening to't, Her ringlets round her fingers, saying: “Youth ! I'd rather stand upon this misty peak, Too long, alas, hast thou starved on the ruth, With not a thing to sigh for, or to seek, The bitterness of love: too long indeed,
But the soft shadow of my thrice-seen lore, Sceing thou art so gentle. Could I weed
Than be–I care not what. O meelest dove Thy soul of care, by Heavens, I would offer Of Heaven! 0 Cynthia, ten-times bright and fair All the bright riches of my crystal coffer
From thy blue throne, now filling all the air, To Amphitrite; all my clear-eyed fish,
Glance but one little beam of temper'd light Golden, or rainbow-sided, or purplish,
Into my bosom, that the dreadful might Vermilion-tail'd, or finn'd with silvery gauze ; And tyranny of love be somewhat scared! Yea, or my veined pebble-floor, that draws Yet do not so, sweet queen; one torment spared, A virgin light to the deep; my grotto-sands Would give a pang to jealous misery, Tawny and gold, oozed slowly from far lands Worse than the torment's self: but rather tie By my diligent springs; my level lilies, shells, Large wings upon my shoulders, and point out My charming rod, my potent river spells;
My love's far dwelling. Though the playful rout Yes, every thing, even to the pearly cup
Of Cupids shun thee, too divine art thou, Meander gave me,- for I bubbled up
Too keen in beauty, for thy silver prow To fainting creatures in a desert wild.
Not to have dipp'd in love's most gentle stream But woe is me, I am but as a child
O be propitious, nor severely deem To gladden thee; and all I dare to say,
My madness im.pious; for, by all the stars
That tend thy bidding, 1 do think the bars
Am sailing with thee through the dizzy sky!
How beautiful thou art! The world how deep! Will he its high remembrancers: who they ?
With deep-drawn sighs was quieting, he went
Into a marble gallery, passing through
A quiver'd Dian. Stepping awfully,
All courts and passages, where silence dead,
And long he traversed to and fro, to acquaint
of a wide outlet, fathomless and dim, Of icy pinnacles, and dipp dst thine arms
To wild uncertainty and shadows grim.
There, when new wonders ceased to float Defore,
A mad-pursuing of the fog.born elf,
Cheats us into a swamp, into a fire,
Into the bosom of a hated thing.
In lone Endymion's ear, now he has caught
The deadly feel of solitude: for, lo! To dive into the deepest. Dark, nor light,
He cannot see the heavens, nor the flow The region; nor bright, nor sombre wholly, Of rivers, nor hill-flowers running wild But mingled up; a gleaming melancholy ;
In pink and purple chequei, nor up-piled, A dusky empire and its diadems;
The cloudy rack slow journeying in the west, One faint eternal eventide of gems.
Like herded elephants ; nor felt, por prest
Cool grass, nor tasted the fresh slumberous air;
An unknown time, surcharged with grief, away,
Was now his lot. And must he patient stay,
At which he straightway started, and 'gan tell
His paces back into the temple's chief; Through winding passages, where sameness breeds Warming and glowing strong in the belief Vexing conceptions of some sudden change ; Of help from Dian: so that when again Whether to silver grois, or giant range
He caught her airy form, thus did he plain, Of sapphire columns, or fantastic bridge
Moving more near the while. “O Haunter chasle Athwart a flood of crystal. On a ridge
Of river sides, and woods, and heathy waste, Now fareth he, that o'er the vast beneath
Where with thy silver how and arrows keen
What smoothest air thy smoother forehead wooes?
Of thy disparled nymphs? Through what dark tree
Glimmers thy crescent? Wheresoe'er it be, Old Darkness from his throne : 't was like the sun "Tis in the breath of heaven: thou dost taste Uprisen o'er chaos : and with such a stun
Freedom as none can taste it, nor dost waste Caine the amazement, that, absorb'd in it,
| Thy loveliness in dismal elements; He saw not fiercer wonders-past the wit
But, finding in our green earth sweet contents, Of any spirit to tell, but one of those
There livest blissfully. Ah, if to thee Who, when this planel's sphering time doth close, Il feels Elysian, how rich to me,
An exiled mortal, sounds its pleasant name! Brushing, awaken'd: then the sounds again
So saw he panting ligh, and towards it went
Through winding alleys; and lo, wonderment
A chamber, myrile-wall’d, embower'd high,
Full of light, incense, tender minstrelsy,
And more of beautiful and strange beside :
In midst of all, there lay a sleeping youth
Of fondest beauty; fonder, in fair sooth,
And coverlids gold-tinted like the peach,
Or ripe October's faded marigolds, Feeling about for iis old couch of space
Fell sleek about him in a thousand folds-
Not hiding up an Apollonian curve
But rather, giving them to the tilld sight
To slunibery pout; just as the morning south
Disparts a dew-lipp'd rose. Above his head, In a long whispering birth enchanted grew Four lily stalks did their white honors wed Before bis footsteps; as when heaved anew To make a coronal; and round him grew Old ocean rolls a lengthen'd wave to the shore, All tendrils green, of every bloom and hue, Down whose green back the shortlived foam, all hoar, Together intertwined and iramellid fresh : Bursts gradual, with a wayward indolence. 'The vine of glossy sprout; the iry mesh,
Shading its Ethiop berries; and woodbine, Increasing still in heart, and pleasant sense, Of velvet leaves and bugle-blooms divine ; Upon his fairy journey on he hastes;
Convolvulus in streaked vases flusb ;
The creeper, mellowing for an autumn blash;
Stood serene Cupids watching silently.
Muffling to death the pathos with his wings;
At the youth's slumber; while another took
In through the woven roof, and fluttering-wise
Rain'd violets upon his sleeping eyes.
At these enchantments, and yet many more
He forthright pass'd, and lightly treading went
To that same feather'd lyrist, who straightway, Half-happy, by comparison of bliss,
Smiling, thus whisper'd: “Though from upper day Is miserable. 'Twas even so with this
Thou art a wanderer, and thy presence here
When some ethereal and high-favoring donor
Presents immortal bowers to mortal sense ;
Was I in nowise startled. So recline
Alive with sparkles-never, I aver,
Rubbing their sleepy eyes with lazy wrists, Since Ariadne was a vintager,
And doubling overhead their little fists So cool a purple : laste these juicy pears,
In backward yawns. But all were soon alive: Sent me by sud Vertumnus, when his fears For as delicious wine doch, sparkling, dive Were high about Pomona : here is cream,
In nectar'd clouds and curls through water fair, Deepening 10 richness from a snowy gleam; So from the arbor roof down swellid an air Sweeter than that nurse Amalthea skimm d Olorous and enlivening; making all For the boy Jupiter : and here, undimmu
To laugh, and play, and sing, and loudly call By any touch, a bunch of blooming plums
For their sweet queen: when lo! the wreathed gieen Ready to melt belween an infant's gums :
Disparied, and far upward could be seen And here is manpa pick'd from Syrian trees, Blue heaven, and a silver car, air-borne, In starlight, by the three Hesperides.
Whose silent wheels, fresh wet from clouds of morn, Feast on, and meanwhile I will let thee know Spun off a drizzling dew,—which falling chill Of all these things around us." He did so, On soft Adonis' shoulders, made him still Still brooding o'er the cadence of his lyre; Nestle and turn uneasily about. And thus: “I need not any hearing tire
Soon were the white doves plain, with necks stretch'd By telling how the sea-born goddess pined
out, For a morial youth, and how she strove to bind And silken traces lighten'd in descent; Him all in all unto her doting self.
And soon, returning from love's banishmer f,
Her shadow fell upon his breast, and charm'd
Into his eyes. Ah, miserable strise,
But for her comforting! unhappy sight, When on the pleasant grass such love, lovelorn, But meeting her blue orbs! Who, who can write Lay sorrowing; when every tear was born
Of these first minules? The unchariest muse Of diverse passion; when her lips and eyes To embracements warm as theirs makes coy exc use. Were closed in sullen moisture, and quick sighs Came ver'd and pettish through her nostrils small. O it has ruffled every spirit there, Hush! no exclaim-yel, justly mighist thou call Saving Love's self, who stands superb to share Curses upon his head.— I was half glad,
The general gladness : awfully he stands ; But my poor mistress went distract and mad, A sovereign quell is in his waving hands, When the moar lusk'd him: so away she flew No sight can bear the lightning of bis bow; To Jove's high throne, and by her plainings drew His quiver is mysterious, none can know Immortal tear-drops down the thunderer's beard; What themselves think of it; from forth his eyes Whereon, it was decreed he should be rear'd There darts strange light of varied hues and dyes : Each summer-time to life. Lo! this is he,
A scowl is sometimes on his brow, but who That same Adonis, sase in the privacy
Look full upon it feel anon the blue of this still region all his winter-sleep.
Of his fair eyes run liquid through their souls. Ay, sleep; for when our love-sick queen did weep Endymion feeis it, and no more controls Over his waned corse, the tremulous shower The burning prayer within him; so, bent low, Heal'd up the wound, and, with a balmy power, He had begun a plaining of his woe. Medicined death to a lengthen d drowsiness : But Venus, bending forward, said : “ My child, The which she Gills with visions, and doth dress Favor this gentle youth; his days are wild In all this quiet luxury; and haih set
With love-he-but alas ! too well I see Us young immortals, without any let,
Thou know'st the deepness of his misery. To watch his slumber through: "Tis well-nigh pass'd, Ah, smile not so, my son: I tell thee irue, Even to a moment's filling up, and fast
That when through heavy hours I used to rue She scuds with summer breezes, to pant through The endless sleep of this new-born Adon', The first long kiss, warm firstling, to renew This stranger aye I pitied. For upon Embower'd sports in Cytherea's isle.
A dreary morning once I fled away Look, how those winged listeners all this while Into the breezy clouds, to weep and pray Stand anxious: see! behold!”—This clamant word For this my love: for vexing Mars had teased Bioke through the careful silence; for they heard Me even to tears: thence, when a little eased. A rustling noise of leaves, and out there flutler'd Down-looking, vacant, through a hazy wood. Pigeons and doves: Adonis something mutier d, I saw this youth as he despairing stood: The while one hand, that erst upon his thigh Those same dark curls blown vagrant in the wind, Lay dormant, moved convulsed and gradually Those same full fringed lids a constant blind Up to his forehead. Then there was a hum Over his sullen eyes : I saw him throw Of sudden voices, echoing, “Come! come!
Himself on wither'd leaves, even as though Arise! awake! Clear summer has forth walk'd Death had come sudden; for no jot he moved, Unto the clover-sward, and she has talk'd
Yet muller'd wildly. I could hear he loved Full soothingly to every nested finch:
Some fair immortal, and that his embrace Rise, Cupids! or we'll give the bluebell pinch Had zoned her through the night. There is no traco To your dimpled arms. Once more sweet life begin!" Of this in heaven: I have mark'd each cheek, At this, from every side they hurried in,
And find it is the vainesi thing to seek;