Still moaned the humid lips, between their kisses, We have no love. Oh, love us, we who love thee!" And came in answer, thus, the words of Hylas: "My love is mortal. For the Argive maidens I keep the kisses which your lips would ravish. Unlock your cold white arms-take from my shoul- der
The tangled swell of your bewildering tresses. Let me return: the wind comes down from Ida, And soon the galley, stirring from her slumber, Will fret to ride where Pelion's twilight shadow Falls o'er the towers of Jason's sea-girt city. I am not yours- I cannot braid the lilies In your wet hair nor on your argent bosoms Close my drowsed eyes to hear your rippling voices. Hateful to me your sweet, cold, crystal being,— Your world of watery quiet. Help, Apollo! For I am thine: thy fire, thy beam, thy music, Dance in my heart and flood my sense with rapture; The joy, the warmth and passion now awaken, Promised by thee, but erewhile calmly sleeping. Oh, leave me, naiads! loose your chill embraces, Or I shall die, for mortal maidens pining."
But still with unrelenting arms they bound him, And still, accordant, flowed their watery voices:
Unmindful stood, beside the cool Scamander, Leaning upon his club. A purple chlamys Tossed o'er an urn was all that lay before him: And when he called expectant, "Hylas! Hylas!" The empty echoes made him answer, “Hylas!” BAYARD TAYLOR.
GOD sends his teachers unto every age, To every clime, and every race of men, With revelations fitted to their growth And shape of mind, nor gives the realm of truth Into the selfish rule of one sole race. Therefore each form of worship that hath swayed The life of man, and given it to grasp The master-key of knowledge, reverence, Enfolds some germs of goodness and of right; Else never had the eager soul, which loathes The slothful down of pampered ignorance, Found in it even a moment's fitful rest.
There is an instinct in the human heart Which makes that all the fables it hath coined,
We have thee now-we hold thy beauty pris-To justify the reign of its belief oned;
Oh, come with us beneath the emerald waters! We have no love; we love thee, rosy Hylas. Oh, love us, who shall never more release thee- Love us, whose milky arms will be thy cradle Far down on the untroubled sands of ocean, Where now we bear thee, clasped in our embraces." And slowly, slowly sank the amorous naiads.
And strengthen it by beauty's right divine, Veil in their inner cells a mystic gift, Which, like the hazel-twig, in faithful hands, Points surely to the hidden springs of truth. For, as in nature naught is made in vain, But all things have within their hull of use A wisdom and a meaning, which may speak Of spiritual secrets to the ear
The boy's blue eyes, upturned, looked through the Of spirit; so, in whatsoe'er the heart
And, feeling pity of so fair a tree,
He propped its gray trunk with admiring care, And with a thoughtless footstep loitered on. But, as he turned, he heard a voice behind
Nothing too wondrous or too beautiful To be the guerdon of a daring heart.
So Rhocus made no doubt that he was blest; And all along unto the city's gate
That murmured "Rhocus!"-'Twas as if the Earth seemed to spring beneath him as he walked; leaves,
Stirred by a passing breath, had murmured it; And, while he paused bewildered, yet again It murmured "Rhocus!" softer than a breeze. He started and beheld with dizzy eyes What seemed the substance of a happy dream Stand there before him, spreading a warm glow Within the green glooms of the shadowy oak. It seemed a woman's shape, yet all too fair To be a woman, and with eyes too meek For any that were wont to mate with gods. All naked like a goddess stood she there, And like a goddess all too beautiful To feel the guilt-born earthliness of shame. “Rhœcus, I am the dryad of this tree —” Thus she began, dropping her low-toned words, Serene, and full, and clear, as drops of dew — "And with it I am doomed to live and die; The rain and sunshine are my caterers, Nor have I other bliss than simple life; Now ask me what thou wilt, that I can give, And with a thankful heart it shall be thine."
Then Rhocus, with a flutter at the heart, Yet, by the prompting of such beauty, bold, Answered: "What is there that can satisfy The endless craving of the soul but love? Give me thy love, or but the hope of that Which must be evermore my spirit's goal." After a little pause she said again,
But with a glimpse of sadness in her tone, "I give it, Rhocus, though a perilous gift; An hour before the sunset meet me here." And straightway there was nothing he could see But the green glooms beneath the shadowy oak; And not a sound came to his straining ears But the low trickling rustle of the leaves, And, far away upon an emerald slope, The falter of an idle shepherd's pipe.
Now, in those days of simpleness and faith, Men did not think that happy things were dreams Because they overstepped the narrow bourne Of likelihood, but reverently deemed
The clear, broad sky looked bluer than its wont, And he could scarce believe he had not wings— Such sunshine seemed to glitter through his veins Instead of blood, so light he felt and strange.
Young Rhocus had a faithful heart enough, But one that in the present dwelt too much, And, taking with blithe welcome whatsoe'er Chance gave of joy, was wholly bound in that, Like the contented peasant of a vale, Deemed it the world, and never looked beyond. So, haply meeting in the afternoon Some comrades who were playing at the dice, He joined them and forgot all else beside.
The dice was rattling at the merriest, And Rhocus, who had met but sorry luck, Just laughed in triumph at a happy throw, When through the room there hummed a yellow bee That buzzed about his ear with down-dropped legs, As if to light. And Rhocus laughed and said, Feeling how red and flushed he was with loss, "By Venus! does he take me for a rose?" And brushed him off with rough, impatient hand. But still the bee came back, and thrice again Rhocus did beat him off with growing wrath. Then through the window flew the wounded bee; And Rhocus, tracking him with angry eyes, Saw a sharp mountain-peak of Thessaly Against the red disc of the setting sun,— And instantly the blood sank from his heart, As if its very walls had caved away. Without a word he turned, and rushing forth, Ran madly through the city and the gate, And o'er the plain, which now the wood's long shade,
By the low sun thrown forward broad and dim, Darkened well-nigh unto the city's wall.
Quite spent and out of breath, he reached the tree;
And, listening fearfully, he heard once more The low voice murmur "Rhocus!" close at hand; Whereat he looked around him, but could see
Nought but the deepening glooms beneath the oak. Then sighed the voice: "O Rhocus! nevermore Shalt thou behold me, or by day or night- Me, who would fain have blest thee with a love More ripe and bounteous than ever yet Filled up with nectar any mortal heart; But thou didst scorn my humble messenger, And sent'st him back to me with bruised wings. We spirits only show to gentle eyes- We ever ask an undivided love;
And he who scorns the least of nature's works Is thenceforth exiled and shut out from all. Farewell! for thou canst never see me more."
Then Rhocus beat his breast, and groaned aloud, And cried, "Be pitiful! forgive me yet This once, and I shall never need it more!" "Alas!" the voice returned, "'tis thou art blind, Not I unmerciful; I can forgive,
But have no skill to heal thy spirit's eyes; Only the soul hath power o'er itself." With that again there murmured "Nevermore!" And Rhocus after heard no other sound, Except the rattling of the oak's crisp leaves, Like the long surf upon a distant shore, Raking the sea-worn pebbles up and down.
The night had gathered round him; o'er the plain The city sparkled with its thousand lights, And sounds of revel fell upon his ear Harshly and like a curse; above, the sky, With all its bright sublimity of stars,
Deepened, and on his forehead smote the breeze; Beauty was all around him, and delight; But from that eve he was alone on earth.
IN Xanadu did Kubla Khan
A stately pleasure-dome decree, Where Alph, the sacred river, ran, Through caverns measureless to man, Down to a sunless sea.
So twice five miles of fertile ground With walls and towers were girdled round; And there were gardens, bright with sinuous rills, Where blossomed many an incense-bearing tree;
And here were forests ancient as the hills, Enfolding sunny spots of greenery.
But oh! that deep romantic chasm, which slanted Down the green hill athwart a cedarn cover! A savage place! as holy and enchanted As e'er beneath a waning moon was haunted By woman wailing for her demon-lover! And from this chasm, with ceaseless turmoil seeth- ing,
As if this earth in fast thick pants were breathing, A mighty fountain momently was forced, Amid whose swift, half-intermitted burst Huge fragments vaulted like rebounding hail, Or chaffy grain beneath the thresher's flail; And 'mid these dancing rocks at once and ever It flung up momently the sacred river.
Five miles, meandering with a mazy motion Through wood and dale, the sacred river ran - Then reached the caverns measureless to man, And sank in tumult to a lifeless ocean; And 'mid this tumult Kubla heard from far Ancestral voices prophesying war.
The shadow of the dome of pleasure Floated midway on the waves, Where was heard the mingled measure From the fountain and the caves.
It was a miracle of rare device
A sunny pleasure-dome with caves of ice! A damsel with a dulcimer
In a vision once I saw;
It was an Abyssinian maid, And on her dulcimer she played,
Singing of Mount Abora.
Could I revive within me
Her symphony and song,
To such a deep delight 'twould win me That, with music loud and long,
I would build that dome in air
That sunny dome! those caves of ice! And all who heard should see them there, And all should cry, Beware! beware His flashing eyes, his floating hair! Weave a circle round him thrice, And close your eyes with holy dread, For he on honey-dew hath fed,
And drunk the milk of Paradise.
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
RIME OF THE ANCIENT MARINER.
The bride hath paced into the hall
Rime of the Ancient Mariner. Red as a rose is she!
Nodding their heads before her goes The merry minstrelsy.
The wedding-guest he beat his breast, Yet he cannot choose but hear; And thus spake on that ancient man, The bright-eyed mariner:
The wedding-guest heareth the bridal-music, but the mariner continueth his tale.
The wedding-guest here beat his breast, The ice did split with a thunder-fit; For he heard the loud bassoon. The helmsman steered us through!
ice and of fearful
sounds, where no living thing was to be seen.
Till a great sea-bird, called the albatross,
through the snow-fog, and was received with great joy
and hospitality.
And lo! the And a good south wind sprang up behind; Down dropt the breeze, the sails dropt The ship The albatross did follow,
bird of good And every day, for food or play,
omen, and
followeth
the ship as
it returned
Came to the mariners' hollo!
northward In mist or cloud, on mast or shroud, through fog
and floating It perched for vespers nine;
"The sun now rose upon the right — Out of the sea came he,
Still hid in mist, and on the left Went down into the sea.
And the good south wind still blew be- hind;
But no sweet bird did follow, Nor any day for food or play Came to the mariners' hollo.
And I had done a hellish thing,
out against And it would work 'em woe;
the ancient For all averred I had killed the bird mariner, for
killing the That made the breeze to blow:
And some in dreams assured were Of the spirit that plagued us so; Nine fathom deep he had followed us
hath been suddenly becalmed.
And the albatross be
gins to be avenged.
A spirit had followed them-one of the invisible inhabitants of this planet, neither departed souls nor angels; concerning whom the learned Jew, Josephus, and the Platonic Constantinopolitan, Michael Psellus, may be consulted. They are very numerous, and there is no climate or element without one or more.
bird of good Ah, wretch! said they, the bird to slay. From the land of mist and snow.
That bring the fog and mist.
And every tongue, through utter drought,
Was withered at the root;
We could not speak, no more than if We had been choked with soot.
Ah! well-a-day! what evil looks
The fair breeze blew, the white foam flew, Had I from old and young!
tinues; the The furrow followed free;
ship enters We were the first that ever burst
Ocean, and Into that silent sea.
ward, even till it reached the line.
Instead of the cross the albatross About my neck was hung.
The shipmates, in their sore distress, would fain
throw the whole guilt
on the ancient mariner; in sign whereof they hang the dead sea-bird round his neck.
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