Let me sob over thee my last adieus, And speak a blessing: Mark me! thou hast thews Immortal, for thou art of heavenly race: But such a love is mine, that here I chase Eternally away from thee all bloom Of youth, and destine thee towards a tomb. Hence shalt thou quickly to the watery vast; And there, ere many days be overpast, Disabled age shall seize thee; and even then Thou shalt not go the way of aged men; But live and wither, cripple and still breathe Ten hundred years: which gone, I then bequeath Thy fragile bones to unknown burial. Adieu, sweet love, adieu!'—As shot stars fall, She fled ere I could groan for mercy. Stung And poison'd was my spirit: despair sung A war-song of defiance 'gainst all hell. A hand was at my shoulder to compel My sullen steps; another 'fore my eyes Moved on with pointed finger. In this guise Enforced, at the last by ocean's foam I found me; by my fresh, my native home, Its tempering coolness, to my life akin, Came salutary as I waded in; And, with a blind voluptuous rage, I gave Battle to the swollen billow-ridge, and drave Large froth before me, while there yet remain'd Hale strength, nor from my bones all marrow drain'd. "Young lover, I must weep—such hellish spite With dry cheek who can tell? While thus my might Proving upon this element, dismay'd, Upon a dead thing's face, my hand I laid; I look'd—'twas Scylla! Cursed, cursed Circe! O vulture-witch, hast never heard of mercy! Could not thy harshest vengeance be content, But thou must nip this tender innocent Because I loved her ?—Cold, O cold indeed Were her fair limbs, and like a common weed The sea-swell took her hair. Dead as she was I clung about her waist, nor ceased to pass Fleet as an arrow through unfathom'd brine, Until there shone B fabric crystalline, Ribb'd and inlaid with coral, pebble, and pearl. Headlong I darted; at one eager swirl Gain'd its bright portal, enter'd, and behold! 'Twas vast, and desolate, and icy-cold; And all around—But wherefore this to thee Who in few minutes more thyself shalt see!— I left poor Seylla in a niche and fled. My fever'd parchings up, my scathing dread Met palsy half way: soon these limbs became Gaunt, wither'd, sapless, feeble, cramp'd, and lame. "Now let me pass a cruel, cruel space, "On a day, O they had all been saved but crazed eld Against that hell-born Circe. The crew had gone, By one and one, to pale oblivion; And I was gazing on the surges prone, With many a scalding tear, and many a groan, When at my feet emerged an old man's hand, Grasping this scroll, and this same slender wand. I knelt with pain—reach'd out my hand—had grasp'd These treasures—touch'd the knuckles — they un clasp'd— "' In the wide sea there lives a forlorn wretch, The meanings of all motions, shapes, and sounds; "Then," cried the young Endymion, overjoy'd, Poor lovers lay at rest from joys and woes. The stranger from the mountains, breathless, traced Such thousands of shut eyes in order placed; Such ranges of white feet, and patient lips All ruddy,—Tor here death no blossom nips. He mark'd their brows and foreheads; saw their hair Put sleekly on one side with nicest care; And each one's gentle wrists, with reverence, Put cross-wise to its heart. "Let us commence (Whisper'd the guide, stuttering with joy) even now." He spake, and, trembling like an aspen-bough, Began to tear his scroll in pieces small, Uttering the while some mumblings funeral. He tore it into pieces small as snow That drifts unfeather'd when bleak northerns blow; And having done it, took his dark blue cloak And bound it round Endymion: then struck His wand against the empty air times nine. "What more there is to do, young man, is thine: But first a little patience ; first undo This tangled thread, and wind it to a clue. Ah, gentle ! 'tis as weak as spider's skein; And shouldst thou break it—What, is it done so clean? A power overshadows thee! Oh, brave! The spite of hell is tumbling to its grave. Here is a shell; 'tis pearly blank to me, Nor mark'd with any sign or charactery— Canst thou read aughtt o read for pity's sake! Olympus! we are safe! Now, Carian, break This wand against yon lyre on the pedestal." 'Twas done: and straight with sudden swell and fall Sweet music breathed her soul away, and sigh'd A lullaby to silence.—" Youth ! now strew These minced leaves on me, and passing through Those files of dead, scatter the same around, And thou wilt see the issue."—'Mid the sound |