With airs delicious. In the greenest nook The eagle landed him, and farewell took.
It was a jasmine bower, all bestrown With golden moss. His every sense had grown Ethereal for pleasure; 'bove his head Flew a delight half-graspable; his tread Was Hesperean; to his capable ears Silence was music from the holy spheres ; A dewy luxury was in his eyes;
The little flowers felt his pleasant sighs
And stirr'd them faintly. Verdant cave and cell He wander'd through, oft wondering at such swell Of sudden exaltation: but, "Alas!"
Said he," will all this gush of feeling pass Away in solitude? And must they wane, Like melodies upon a sandy plain, Without an echo? Then shall I be left So sad, so melancholy, so bereft!
Yet still I feel immortal! O my love,
My breath of life, where art thou? High above, Dancing before the morning gates of heaven? Or keeping watch among those starry seven, Old Atlas' children? Art a maid of the waters, One of shell-winding Triton's bright-hair'd daugh- ters ?
Or art, impossible! a nymph of Dian's, Weaving a coronal of tender scions For very idleness? Where'er thou art, Methinks it now is at my will to start
Into thine arms; to scare Aurora's train,
And snatch thee from the morning; o'er the main
To scud like a wild bird, and take thee off
From thy sea-foamy cradle; or to doff
Thy shepherd vest, and woo thee mid fresh leaves. No, no, too eagerly my soul deceives
Its powerless self: I know this cannot be. O let me then by some sweet dreaming flee To her entrancements: hither sleep awhile!
Hither most gentle sleep! and soothing foil For some few hours the coming solitude."
Thus spake he, and that moment felt endued With power to dream deliciously; so wound Through a dim passage, searching till he found The smoothest mossy bed and deepest, where He threw himself, and just into the air
Stretching his indolent arms, he took, O bliss! A naked waist: "Fair Cupid, whence is this?" A well-known voice sigh'd, "Sweetest, here am I!" At which soft ravishment, with doting cry
They trembled to each other.-Helicon! O fountain'd hill! Old Homer's Helicon ! That thou wouldst spout a little streamlet o'er These sorry pages; then the verse would soar And sing above this gentle pair, like lark Over his nested young: but all is dark Around thine aged top, and thy clear fount Exhales in mists to heaven. Ay, the count Of mighty Poets is made up; the scroll Is folded by the Muses; the bright roll Is in Apollo's hand: our dazed eyes Have seen a new tinge in the western skies: The world has done its duty. Yet, oh yet, Although the sun of poesy is set,
These lovers did embrace, and we must weep That there is no old power left to steep A quill immortal in their joyous tears. Long time in silence did their anxious fears Question that thus it was; long time they lay Fondling and kissing every doubt away; Long time ere soft caressing sobs began To mellow into words, and then there ran
Two bubbling springs of talk from their sweet lips. "O known Unknown! from whom my being sips Such darling essence, wherefore may I not Be ever in these arms? in this sweet spot Pillow my chin for ever? ever press
These toying hands and kiss their smooth excess? Why not for ever and for ever feel
That breath about my eyes? Ah, thou wilt steal Away from me again, indeed, indeed- Thou wilt be gone away, and wilt not heed My lonely madness. Speak, my kindest fair! Is-is it to be so? No! Who will dare
To pluck thee from me? And, of thine own will, Full well I feel thou wouldst not leave me. Let me entwine thee surer, surer-now How can we part? Elysium! Who art thou? Who, that thou canst not be for ever here, Or lift me with thee to some starry sphere? Enchantress! tell me by this soft embrace, By the most soft complexion of thy face, Those lips, O slippery blisses! twinkling eyes, And by these tenderest, milky sovereignties- These tenderest, and by the nectar-wine, The passion
"O loved Ida the divine!
Endymion! dearest! Ah, unhappy me! His soul will 'scape us- O felicity!
How he does love me! His poor temples beat To the very tune of love-how sweet, sweet, sweet! Revive, dear youth, or I shall faint and die; Revive, or these soft hours will hurry by In tranced dulness; speak, and let that spell Affright this lethargy! I cannot quell Its heavy pressure, and will press at least My lips to thine, that they may richly feast Until we taste the life of love again.
What! dost thou move? dost kiss? O bliss! O pain!
I love thee, youth, more than I can conceive;
And so long absence from thee doth bereave My soul of any rest: yet must I hence: Yet, can I not to starry eminence Uplift thee; nor for very shame can own Myself to thee. Ah, dearest! do not groan, Or thou wilt force me from this secrecy, And I must blush in heaven. O that I
Had done it already! that the dreadful smiles At my lost brightness, my impassion'd wiles, Had waned from Olympus' solemn height, And from all serious Gods; that our delight Was quite forgotten, save of us alone!
And wherefore so ashamed? "Tis but to atone For endless pleasure, by some coward blushes: Yet must I be a coward! Horror rushes Too palpable before me-the sad look Of Jove-Minerva's start-no bosom shook With awe of purity-no Cupid pinion In reverence veil'd-my crystalline dominion Half lost, and all old hymns made nullity! But what is this to love? Oh! I could fly With thee into the ken of heavenly powers, So thou wouldst thus, for many sequent hours, Press me so sweetly. Now I swear at once That I am wise, that Pallas is a dunce- Perhaps her love like mine is but unknown- Oh! I do think that I have been alone In chastity! yes, Pallas has been sighing, While every eye saw me my hair uptying With fingers cool as aspen leaves. Sweet love! I was as vague as solitary dove, Nor knew that nests were built. Now a soft kiss- Ay, by that kiss, I vow an endless bliss, An immortality of passion's thine: Ere long I will exalt thee to the shine Of heaven ambrosial; and we will shade Ourselves whole summers by a river glade; And I will tell thee stories of the sky, And breathe thee whispers of its minstrelsy. My happy love will overwing all bounds! O let me melt into thee! let the sounds Of our close voices marry at their birth; Let us entwine hoveringly! O dearth Of human words! roughness of mortal speech! Lispings empyrean will I sometime teach
Thine honey'd tongue-lute-breathings which I gasp
To have thee understand, now while I clasp Thee thus, and weep for fondness-I am pain❜d, Endymion: woe! woe! is grief contain'd In the very deeps of pleasure, my sole life?"- Hereat, with many sobs, her gentle strife Melted into a languor. He return'd
Entranced vows and tears.
With too much passion, will here stay and pity, For the mere sake of truth; as 'tis a ditty Not of these days, but long ago 'twas told By a cavern wind unto a forest old; And then the forest told it in a dream
To a sleeping lake, whose cool and level gleam A poet caught as he was journeying
To Phoebus' shrine; and in it he did fling His weary limbs, bathing an hour's space, And after, straight in that inspired place He sang the story up into the air, Giving it universal freedom. There
Has it been ever sounding for those ears Whose tips are glowing hot. The legend cheers Yon sentinel stars; and he who listens to it Must surely be self-doom'd or he will rue it : For quenchless burnings come upon the heart, Made fiercer by a fear lest any part Should be engulfed in the eddying wind. As much as here is penn'd doth always find A resting-place, thus much comes clear and plain; Anon the strange voice is upon the wane- And 'tis but echoed from departing sound, That the fair visitant at last unwound Her gentle limbs, and left the youth asleep.- Thus the tradition of the gusty deep.
Now turn we to our former chroniclers.- Endymion awoke, that grief of hers Sweet paining on his ear: he sickly guess'd
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