John Keats

Endymion. Book 3

There are who lord it o’er their fellow-men	
With most prevailing tinsel: who unpen	
Their baaing vanities, to browse away	
The comfortable green and juicy hay	
From human pastures; or, O torturing fact!	        
Who, through an idiot blink, will see unpack’d	
Fire-branded foxes to sear up and singe	
Our gold and ripe-ear’d hopes. With not one tinge	
Of sanctuary splendour, not a sight	
Able to face an owl’s, they still are dight	        
By the blear-eyed nations in empurpled vests,	
And crowns, and turbans. With unladen breasts,	
Save of blown self-applause, they proudly mount	
To their spirit’s perch, their being’s high account,	
Their tiptop nothings, their dull skies, their thrones —	        
Amid the fierce intoxicating tones	
Of trumpets, shoutings, and belabour’d drums,	
And sudden cannon. Ah! how all this hums,	
In wakeful ears, like uproar past and gone —	
Like thunder clouds that spake to Babylon,	        
And set those old Chaldeans to their tasks. —	
Are then regalities all gilded masks?	
No, there are throned seats unscalable	
But by a patient wing, a constant spell,	
Or by ethereal things that, unconfin’d,	        
Can make a ladder of the eternal wind,	
And poise about in cloudy thunder-tents	
To watch the abysm-birth of elements.	
Aye, ’bove the withering of old-lipp’d Fate	
A thousand Powers keep religious state,	        
In water, fiery realm, and airy bourne;	
And, silent as a consecrated urn,	
Hold sphery sessions for a season due.	
Yet few of these far majesties, ah, few!	
Have bared their operations to this globe —	        
Few, who with gorgeous pageantry enrobe	
Our piece of heaven — whose benevolence	
Shakes hand with our own Ceres; every sense	
Filling with spiritual sweets to plenitude,	
As bees gorge full their cells. And, by the feud	        
’Twixt Nothing and Creation, I here swear,	
Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair	
Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest.	
When thy gold breath is misting in the west,	
She unobserved steals unto her throne,	        
And there she sits most meek and most alone;	
As if she had not pomp subservient;	
As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent	
Towards her with the Muses in thine heart;	
As if the ministring stars kept not apart,	        
Waiting for silver-footed messages.	
O Moon! the oldest shades ’mong oldest trees	
Feel palpitations when thou lookest in:	
O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din	
The while they feel thine airy fellowship.	        
Thou dost bless every where, with silver lip	
Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine,	
Couched in thy brightness, dream of fields divine:	
Innumerable mountains rise, and rise,	
Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes;	        
And yet thy benediction passeth not	
One obscure hiding-place, one little spot	
Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren	
Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken,	
And from beneath a sheltering ivy leaf	        
Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief	
To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps	
Within its pearly house. — The mighty deeps,	
The monstrous sea is thine — the myriad sea!	
O Moon! far-spooming Ocean bows to thee,	        
And Tellus feels his forehead’s cumbrous load.	
 
  	Cynthia! where art thou now? What far abode	
Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine	
Such utmost beauty? Alas, thou dost pine	
For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale	        
For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail	
His tears, who weeps for thee. Where dost thou sigh?	
Ah! surely that light peeps from Vesper’s eye,	
Or what a thing is love! ’Tis She, but lo!	
How chang’d, how full of ache, how gone in woe!	        
She dies at the thinnest cloud; her loveliness	
Is wan on Neptune’s blue: yet there’s a stress	
Of love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees,	
Dancing upon the waves, as if to please	
The curly foam with amorous influence.	        
O, not so idle: for down-glancing thence	
She fathoms eddies, and runs wild about	
O’erwhelming water-courses; scaring out	
The thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and fright’ning	
Their savage eyes with unaccustomed lightning.	        
Where will the splendor be content to reach?	
O love! how potent hast thou been to teach	
Strange journeyings! Wherever beauty dwells,	
In gulf or aerie, mountains or deep dells,	
In light, in gloom, in star or blazing sun,	        
Thou pointest out the way, and straight ’tis won.	
Amid his toil thou gav’st Leander breath;	
Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death;	
Thou madest Pluto bear thin element;	
And now, O winged Chieftain! thou hast sent	        
A moon-beam to the deep, deep water-world,	
To find Endymion.

                                  On gold sand impearl’d	
With lily shells, and pebbles milky white,	
Poor Cynthia greeted him, and sooth’d her light	
Against his pallid face: he felt the charm	        
To breathlessness, and suddenly a warm	
Of his heart’s blood: ’twas very sweet; he stay’d	
His wandering steps, and half-entranced laid	
His head upon a tuft of straggling weeds,	
To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads,	        
Lashed from the crystal roof by fishes’ tails.	
And so he kept, until the rosy veils	
Mantling the east, by Aurora’s peering hand	
Were lifted from the water’s breast, and fann’d	
Into sweet air; and sober’d morning came	        
Meekly through billows: — when like taper-flame	
Left sudden by a dallying breath of air,	
He rose in silence, and once more ’gan fare	
Along his fated way.

                                    Far had he roam’d,	
With nothing save the hollow vast, that foam’d	        
Above, around, and at his feet; save things	
More dead than Morpheus’ imaginings:	
Old rusted anchors, helmets, breast-plates large	
Of gone sea-warriors; brazen beaks and targe;	
Rudders that for a hundred years had lost	        
The sway of human hand; gold vase emboss’d	
With long-forgotten story, and wherein	
No reveller had ever dipp’d a chin	
But those of Saturn’s vintage; mouldering scrolls,	
Writ in the tongue of heaven, by those souls	        
Who first were on the earth; and sculptures rude	
In ponderous stone, developing the mood	
Of ancient Nox; — then skeletons of man,	
Of beast, behemoth, and leviathan,	
And elephant, and eagle, and huge jaw	        
Of nameless monster. A cold leaden awe	
These secrets struck into him; and unless	
Dian had chaced away that heaviness,	
He might have died: but now, with cheered feel,	
He onward kept; wooing these thoughts to steal	        
About the labyrinth in his soul of love.	
 
  	“What is there in thee, Moon! that thou shouldst move	
My heart so potently? When yet a child	
I oft have dried my tears when thou hast smil’d.	
Thou seem’dst my sister: hand in hand we went	        
From eve to morn across the firmament.	
No apples would I gather from the tree,	
Till thou hadst cool’d their cheeks deliciously:	
No tumbling water ever spake romance,	
But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance:	        
No woods were green enough, no bower divine,	
Until thou liftedst up thine eyelids fine:	
In sowing time ne’er would I dibble take,	
Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake;	
And, in the summer tide of blossoming,	        
No one but thee hath heard me blithly sing	
And mesh my dewy flowers all the night.	
No melody was like a passing spright	
If it went not to solemnize thy reign.	
Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain	        
By thee were fashion’d to the self-same end;	
And as I grew in years, still didst thou blend	
With all my ardours: thou wast the deep glen;	
Thou wast the mountain-top — the sage’s pen —	
The poet’s harp — the voice of friends — the sun;	        
Thou wast the river — thou wast glory won;	
Thou wast my clarion’s blast — thou wast my steed —	
My goblet full of wine — my topmost deed: —	
Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon!	
O what a wild and harmonized tune	        
My spirit struck from all the beautiful!	
On some bright essence could I lean, and lull	
Myself to immortality: I prest	
Nature’s soft pillow in a wakeful rest.	
But, gentle Orb! there came a nearer bliss —	        
My strange love came — Felicity’s abyss!	
She came, and thou didst fade, and fade away—	
Yet not entirely; no, thy starry sway	
Has been an under-passion to this hour.	
Now I begin to feel thine orby power	        
Is coming fresh upon me: O be kind,	
Keep back thine influence, and do not blind	
My sovereign vision. — Dearest love, forgive	
That I can think away from thee and live! —	
Pardon me, airy planet, that I prize	        
One thought beyond thine argent luxuries!	
How far beyond!” At this a surpris’d start	
Frosted the springing verdure of his heart;	
For as he lifted up his eyes to swear	
How his own goddess was past all things fair,	        
He saw far in the concave green of the sea	
An old man sitting calm and peacefully.	
Upon a weeded rock this old man sat,	
And his white hair was awful, and a mat	
Of weeds were cold beneath his cold thin feet;	        
And, ample as the largest winding-sheet,	
A cloak of blue wrapp’d up his aged bones,	
O’erwrought with symbols by the deepest groans	
Of ambitious magic: every ocean-form	
Was woven in with black distinctness; storm,	        
And calm, and whispering, and hideous roar	
Were emblem’d in the woof; with every shape	
That skims, or dives, or sleeps, ’twixt cape and cape.	
The gulphing whale was like a dot in the spell,	
Yet look upon it, and ’twould size and swell	        
To its huge self; and the minutest fish	
Would pass the very hardest gazer’s wish,	
And show his little eye’s anatomy.	
Then there was pictur’d the regality	
Of Neptune; and the sea nymphs round his state,	        
In beauteous vassalage, look up and wait.	
Beside this old man lay a pearly wand,	
And in his lap a book, the which he conn’d	
So stedfastly, that the new denizen	
Had time to keep him in amazed ken,	        
To mark these shadowings, and stand in awe.	
 
  	The old man rais’d his hoary head and saw	
The wilder’d stranger — seeming not to see,	
His features were so lifeless. Suddenly	
He woke as from a trance; his snow-white brows	        
Went arching up, and like two magic ploughs	
Furrow’d deep wrinkles in his forehead large,	
Which kept as fixedly as rocky marge,	
Till round his wither’d lips had gone a smile.	
Then up he rose, like one whose tedious toil	        
Had watch’d for years in forlorn hermitage,	
Who had not from mid-life to utmost age	
Eas’d in one accent his o’er-burden’d soul,	
Even to the trees. He rose: he grasp’d his stole,	
With convuls’d clenches waving it abroad,	        
And in a voice of solemn joy, that aw’d	
Echo into oblivion, he said: —	
 
  	“Thou art the man! Now shall I lay my head	
In peace upon my watery pillow: now	
Sleep will come smoothly to my weary brow.	        
O Jove! I shall be young again, be young!	
O shell-borne Neptune, I am pierc’d and stung	
With new-born life! What shall I do? Where go,	
When I have cast this serpent-skin of woe? —	
I’ll swim to the syrens, and one moment listen	        
Their melodies, and see their long hair glisten;	
Anon upon that giant’s arm I’ll be,	
That writhes about the roots of Sicily:	
To northern seas I’ll in a twinkling sail,	
And mount upon the snortings of a whale	        
To some black cloud; thence down I’ll madly sweep	
On forked lightning, to the deepest deep,	
Where through some sucking pool I will be hurl’d	
With rapture to the other side of the world!	
O, I am full of gladness! Sisters three,	        
I bow full hearted to your old decree!	
Yes, every god be thank’d, and power benign,	
For I no more shall wither, droop, and pine.	
Thou art the man!” Endymion started back	
Dismay’d; and, like a wretch from whom the rack	        
Tortures hot breath, and speech of agony,	
Mutter’d: “What lonely death am I to die	
In this cold region? Will he let me freeze,	
And float my brittle limbs o’er polar seas?	
Or will he touch me with his searing hand,	        
And leave a black memorial on the sand?	
Or tear me piece-meal with a bony saw,	
And keep me as a chosen food to draw	
His magian fish through hated fire and flame?	
O misery of hell! resistless, tame,	        
Am I to be burnt up? No, I will shout,	
Until the gods through heaven’s blue look out! —	
O Tartarus! but some few days agone	
Her soft arms were entwining me, and on	
Her voice I hung like fruit among green leaves:	        
Her lips were all my own, and — ah, ripe sheaves	
Of happiness! ye on the stubble droop,	
But never may be garner’d. I must stoop	
My head, and kiss death’s foot. Love! love, farewel!	
Is there no hope from thee? This horrid spell	        
Would melt at thy sweet breath. — By Dian’s hind	
Feeding from her white fingers, on the wind	
I see thy streaming hair! and now, by Pan,	
I care not for this old mysterious man!”	
 
  	He spake, and walking to that aged form,	        
Look’d high defiance. Lo! his heart ’gan warm	
With pity, for the grey-hair’d creature wept.	
Had he then wrong’d a heart where sorrow kept?	
Had he, though blindly contumelious, brought	
Rheum to kind eyes, a sting to human thought,	        
Convulsion to a mouth of many years?	
He had in truth; and he was ripe for tears.	
The penitent shower fell, as down he knelt	
Before that care-worn sage, who trembling felt	
About his large dark locks, and faultering spake:	        
 
  	“Arise, good youth, for sacred Phoebus’ sake!	
I know thine inmost bosom, and I feel	
A very brother’s yearning for thee steal	
Into mine own: for why? thou openest	
The prison gates that have so long opprest	        
My weary watching. Though thou know’st it not,	
Thou art commission’d to this fated spot	
For great enfranchisement. O weep no more;	
I am a friend to love, to loves of yore:	
Aye, hadst thou never lov’d an unknown power	        
I had been grieving at this joyous hour	
But even now most miserable old,	
I saw thee, and my blood no longer cold	
Gave mighty pulses: in this tottering case	
Grew a new heart, which at this moment plays	        
As dancingly as thine. Be not afraid,	
For thou shalt hear this secret all display’d,	
Now as we speed towards our joyous task.”	
 
  	So saying, this young soul in age’s mask	
Went forward with the Carian side by side:	        
Resuming quickly thus; while ocean’s tide	
Hung swollen at their backs, and jewel’d sands	
Took silently their foot-prints.

                                                  “My soul stands	
Now past the midway from mortality,	
And so I can prepare without a sigh	        
To tell thee briefly all my joy and pain.	
I was a fisher once, upon this main,	
And my boat danc’d in every creek and bay;	
Rough billows were my home by night and day, —	
The sea-gulls not more constant; for I had	        
No housing from the storm and tempests mad,	
But hollow rocks, — and they were palaces	
Of silent happiness, of slumberous ease:	
Long years of misery have told me so.	
Aye, thus it was one thousand years ago.	        
One thousand years! — Is it then possible	
To look so plainly through them? to dispel	
A thousand years with backward glance sublime?	
To breathe away as ’twere all scummy slime	
From off a crystal pool, to see its deep,	        
And one’s own image from the bottom peep?	
Yes: now I am no longer wretched thrall,	
My long captivity and moanings all	
Are but a slime, a thin-pervading scum,	
The which I breathe away, and thronging come	        
Like things of yesterday my youthful pleasures.	
 
  	“I touch’d no lute, I sang not, trod no measures:	
I was a lonely youth on desert shores.	
My sports were lonely, ’mid continuous roars,	
And craggy isles, and sea-mew’s plaintive cry	        
Plaining discrepant between sea and sky.	
Dolphins were still my playmates; shapes unseen	
Would let me feel their scales of gold and green,	
Nor be my desolation; and, full oft,	
When a dread waterspout had rear’d aloft	        
Its hungry hugeness, seeming ready ripe	
To burst with hoarsest thunderings, and wipe	
My life away like a vast sponge of fate,	
Some friendly monster, pitying my sad state,	
Has dived to its foundations, gulph’d it down,	
And left me tossing safely. But the crown	
Of all my life was utmost quietude:	
More did I love to lie in cavern rude,	
Keeping in wait whole days for Neptune’s voice,	
And if it came at last, hark, and rejoice!	        
There blush’d no summer eve but I would steer	
My skiff along green shelving coasts, to hear	
The shepherd’s pipe come clear from aery steep,	
Mingled with ceaseless bleatings of his sheep:	
And never was a day of summer shine,	        
But I beheld its birth upon the brine:	
For I would watch all night to see unfold	
Heaven’s gates, and Aethon snort his morning gold	
Wide o’er the swelling streams: and constantly	
At brim of day-tide, on some grassy lea,	        
My nets would be spread out, and I at rest.	
The poor folk of the sea-country I blest	
With daily boon of fish most delicate:	
They knew not whence this bounty, and elate	
Would strew sweet flowers on a sterile beach.	       
 
  	“Why was I not contented? Wherefore reach	
At things which, but for thee, O Latmian!	
Had been my dreary death? Fool! I began	
To feel distemper’d longings: to desire	
The utmost privilege that ocean’s sire	        
Could grant in benediction: to be free	
Of all his kingdom. Long in misery	
I wasted, ere in one extremest fit	
I plung’d for life or death. To interknit	
One’s senses with so dense a breathing stuff	        
Might seem a work of pain; so not enough	
Can I admire how crystal-smooth it felt,	
And buoyant round my limbs. At first I dwelt	
Whole days and days in sheer astonishment;	
Forgetful utterly of self-intent;	        
Moving but with the mighty ebb and flow.	
Then, like a new fledg’d bird that first doth shew	
His spreaded feathers to the morrow chill,	
I tried in fear the pinions of my will.	
’Twas freedom! and at once I visited	        
The ceaseless wonders of this ocean-bed.	
No need to tell thee of them, for I see	
That thou hast been a witness — it must be	
For these I know thou canst not feel a drouth,	
By the melancholy corners of that mouth.	
So I will in my story straightway pass	
To more immediate matter. Woe, alas!	
That love should be my bane! Ah, Scylla fair!	
Why did poor Glaucus ever — ever dare	
To sue thee to his heart? Kind stranger-youth!	        
I lov’d her to the very white of truth,	
And she would not conceive it. Timid thing!	
She fled me swift as sea-bird on the wing,	
Round every isle, and point, and promontory,	
From where large Hercules wound up his story	       
Far as Egyptian Nile. My passion grew	
The more, the more I saw her dainty hue	
Gleam delicately through the azure clear:	
Until ’twas too fierce agony to bear;	
And in that agony, across my grief	        
It flash’d, that Circe might find some relief —	
Cruel enchantress! So above the water	
I rear’d my head, and look’d for Phoebus’ daughter.	
Aeaea’s isle was wondering at the moon: —	
It seem’d to whirl around me, and a swoon	        
Left me dead-drifting to that fatal power.	
 
  	“When I awoke, ’twas in a twilight bower;	
Just when the light of morn, with hum of bees,	
Stole through its verdurous matting of fresh trees.	
How sweet, and sweeter! for I heard a lyre,	
And over it a sighing voice expire.	
It ceased — I caught light footsteps; and anon	
The fairest face that morn e’er look’d upon	
Push’d through a screen of roses. Starry Jove!	
With tears, and smiles, and honey-words she wove	       
A net whose thraldom was more bliss than all	
The range of flower’d Elysium. Thus did fall	
The dew of her rich speech: “Ah! Art awake?	
O let me hear thee speak, for Cupid’s sake!	
I am so oppress’d with joy! Why, I have shed	       
An urn of tears, as though thou wert cold dead;	
And now I find thee living, I will pour	
From these devoted eyes their silver store,	
Until exhausted of the latest drop,	
So it will pleasure thee, and force thee stop	       
Here, that I too may live: but if beyond	
Such cool and sorrowful offerings, thou art fond	
Of soothing warmth, of dalliance supreme;	
If thou art ripe to taste a long love dream;	
If smiles, if dimples, tongues for ardour mute,	       
Hang in thy vision like a tempting fruit,	
O let me pluck it for thee.” Thus she link’d	
Her charming syllables, till indistinct	
Their music came to my o’er-sweeten’d soul;	
And then she hover’d over me, and stole	       
So near, that if no nearer it had been	
This furrow’d visage thou hadst never seen.	
 
  	“Young man of Latmos! thus particular	
Am I, that thou may’st plainly see how far	
This fierce temptation went: and thou may’st not	        
Exclaim, How then, was Scylla quite forgot?	
 
  	“Who could resist? Who in this universe?	
She did so breathe ambrosia; so immerse	
My fine existence in a golden clime.	
She took me like a child of suckling time,	
And cradled me in roses. Thus condemn’d,	
The current of my former life was stemm’d,	
And to this arbitrary queen of sense	
I bow’d a tranced vassal: nor would thence	
Have mov’d, even though Amphion’s harp had woo’d	        
Me back to Scylla o’er the billows rude.	
For as Apollo each eve doth devise	
A new appareling for western skies;	
So every eve, nay every spendthrift hour	
Shed balmy consciousness within that bower.	        
And I was free of haunts umbrageous;	
Could wander in the mazy forest-house	
Of squirrels, foxes shy, and antler’d deer,	
And birds from coverts innermost and drear	
Warbling for very joy mellifluous sorrow —	        
To me new born delights!

                          “Now let me borrow,	
For moments few, a temperament as stern	
As Pluto’s sceptre, that my words not burn	
These uttering lips, while I in calm speech tell	
How specious heaven was changed to real hell.	        
 
  	“One morn she left me sleeping: half awake	
I sought for her smooth arms and lips, to slake	
My greedy thirst with nectarous camel-draughts;	
But she was gone. Whereat the barbed shafts	
Of disappointment stuck in me so sore,	       
That out I ran and search’d the forest o’er.	
Wandering about in pine and cedar gloom	
Damp awe assail’d me; for there ’gan to boom	
A sound of moan, an agony of sound,	
Sepulchral from the distance all around.	        
Then came a conquering earth-thunder, and rumbled	
That fierce complain to silence: while I stumbled	
Down a precipitous path, as if impell’d.	
I came to a dark valley. — Groanings swell’d	
Poisonous about my ears, and louder grew,	        
The nearer I approach’d a flame’s gaunt blue,	
That glar’d before me through a thorny brake.	
This fire, like the eye of gordian snake,	
Bewitch’d me towards; and I soon was near	
A sight too fearful for the feel of fear:	       
In thicket hid I curs’d the haggard scene —	
The banquet of my arms, my arbour queen,	
Seated upon an uptorn forest root;	
And all around her shapes, wizard and brute,	
Laughing, and wailing, groveling, serpenting,	       
Shewing tooth, tusk, and venom-bag, and sting!	
O such deformities! Old Charon’s self,	
Should he give up awhile his penny pelf,	
And take a dream ’mong rushes Stygian,	
It could not be so phantasied. Fierce, wan,	        
And tyrannizing was the lady’s look,	
As over them a gnarled staff she shook.	
Oft-times upon the sudden she laugh’d out,	
And from a basket emptied to the rout	
Clusters of grapes, the which they raven’d quick	
And roar’d for more; with many a hungry lick	
About their shaggy jaws. Avenging, slow,	
Anon she took a branch of mistletoe,	
And emptied on’t a black dull-gurgling phial:	
Groan’d one and all, as if some piercing trial	        
Was sharpening for their pitiable bones.	
She lifted up the charm: appealing groans	
From their poor breasts went sueing to her ear	
In vain; remorseless as an infant’s bier	
She whisk’d against their eyes the sooty oil.	       
Whereat was heard a noise of painful toil,	
Increasing gradual to a tempest rage,	
Shrieks, yells, and groans of torture-pilgrimage;	
Until their grieved bodies ’gan to bloat	
And puff from the tail’s end to stifled throat:	        
Then was appalling silence: then a sight	
More wildering than all that hoarse affright;	
For the whole herd, as by a whirlwind writhen,	
Went through the dismal air like one huge Python	
Antagonizing Boreas, — and so vanish’d.	        
Yet there was not a breath of wind: she banish’d	
These phantoms with a nod. Lo! from the dark	
Came waggish fauns, and nymphs, and satyrs stark,	
With dancing and loud revelry, — and went	
Swifter than centaurs after rapine bent. —	        
Sighing an elephant appear’d and bow’d	
Before the fierce witch, speaking thus aloud	
In human accent: “Potent goddess! chief	
Of pains resistless! make my being brief,	
Or let me from this heavy prison fly:	       
Or give me to the air, or let me die!	
I sue not for my happy crown again;	
I sue not for my phalanx on the plain;	
I sue not for my lone, my widow’d wife;	
I sue not for my ruddy drops of life,	       
My children fair, my lovely girls and boys!	
I will forget them; I will pass these joys;	
Ask nought so heavenward, so too — too high:	
Only I pray, as fairest boon, to die,	
Or be deliver’d from this cumbrous flesh,	       
From this gross, detestable, filthy mesh,	
And merely given to the cold bleak air.	
Have mercy, Goddess! Circe, feel my prayer!”	
 
  	That curst magician’s name fell icy numb	
Upon my wild conjecturing: truth had come	        
Naked and sabre-like against my heart.	
I saw a fury whetting a death-dart;	
And my slain spirit, overwrought with fright,	
Fainted away in that dark lair of night.	
Think, my deliverer, how desolate	       
My waking must have been! disgust, and hate,	
And terrors manifold divided me	
A spoil amongst them. I prepar’d to flee	
Into the dungeon core of that wild wood:	
I fled three days — when lo! before me stood	        
Glaring the angry witch. O Dis, even now,	
A clammy dew is beading on my brow,	
At mere remembering her pale laugh, and curse.	
“Ha! ha! Sir Dainty! there must be a nurse	
Made of rose leaves and thistledown, express,	       
To cradle thee my sweet, and lull thee: yes,	
I am too flinty-hard for thy nice touch:	
My tenderest squeeze is but a giant’s clutch.	
So, fairy-thing, it shall have lullabies	
Unheard of yet; and it shall still its cries	
Upon some breast more lily-feminine.	
Oh, no — it shall not pine, and pine, and pine	
More than one pretty, trifling thousand years;	
And then ’twere pity, but fate’s gentle shears	
Cut short its immortality. Sea-flirt!	
Young dove of the waters! truly I’ll not hurt	
One hair of thine: see how I weep and sigh,	
That our heart-broken parting is so nigh.	
And must we part? Ah, yes, it must be so.	
Yet ere thou leavest me in utter woe,	
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 poisoned 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 lov’d 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 ceas’d to pass	       
Fleet as an arrow through unfathom’d brine,	
Until there shone a 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 Scylla 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,	
Without one hope, without one faintest trace	
Of mitigation, or redeeming bubble	       
Of colour’d phantasy; for I fear ’twould trouble	
Thy brain to loss of reason: and next tell	
How a restoring chance came down to quell	
One half of the witch in me.

                                                 “On a day,	
Sitting upon a rock above the spray,	        
I saw grow up from the horizon’s brink	
A gallant vessel: soon she seem’d to sink	
Away from me again, as though her course	
Had been resum’d in spite of hindering force —	
So vanish’d: and not long, before arose	        
Dark clouds, and muttering of winds morose.	
Old Eolus would stifle his mad spleen,	
But could not: therefore all the billows green	
Toss’d up the silver spume against the clouds.	
The tempest came: I saw that vessel’s shrouds	
In perilous bustle; while upon the deck	
Stood trembling creatures. I beheld the wreck;	
The final gulphing; the poor struggling souls:	
I heard their cries amid loud thunder-rolls.	
O they had all been sav’d but crazed eld	       
Annull’d my vigorous cravings: and thus quell’d	
And curb’d, think on’t, O Latmian! did I sit	
Writhing with pity, and a cursing fit	
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 emerg’d an old man’s hand,	
Grasping this scroll, and this same slender wand.	
I knelt with pain — reached out my hand — had grasp’d	        
These treasures — touch’d the knuckles — they unclasp’d —	
I caught a finger: but the downward weight	
O’erpowered me — it sank. Then ’gan abate	
The storm, and through chill aguish gloom outburst	
The comfortable sun. I was athirst	        
To search the book, and in the warming air	
Parted its dripping leaves with eager care.	
Strange matters did it treat of, and drew on	
My soul page after page, till well-nigh won	
Into forgetfulness; when, stupefied,	        
I read these words, and read again, and tried	
My eyes against the heavens, and read again.	
O what a load of misery and pain	
Each Atlas-line bore off! — a shine of hope	
Came gold around me, cheering me to cope	        
Strenuous with hellish tyranny. Attend!	
For thou hast brought their promise to an end.	
 
  	“In the wide sea there lives a forlorn wretch,	
Doom’d with enfeebled carcase to outstretch	
His loath’d existence through ten centuries,	       
And then to die alone. Who can devise	
A total opposition? No one. So	
One million times ocean must ebb and flow,	
And he oppressed. Yet he shall not die,	
These things accomplish’d: — If he utterly	       
Scans all the depths of magic, and expounds	
The meanings of all motions, shapes, and sounds;	
If he explores all forms and substances	
Straight homeward to their symbol-essences;	
He shall not die. Moreover, and in chief,	       
He must pursue this task of joy and grief	
Most piously; — all lovers tempest-tost,	
And in the savage overwhelming lost,	
He shall deposit side by side, until	
Time’s creeping shall the dreary space fulfil:	       
Which done, and all these labours ripened,	
A youth, by heavenly power lov’d and led,	
Shall stand before him; whom he shall direct	
How to consummate all. The youth elect	
Must do the thing, or both will be destroy’d.” —	       
 
  	“Then,” cried the young Endymion, overjoy’d,	
“We are twin brothers in this destiny!	
Say, I intreat thee, what achievement high	
Is, in this restless world, for me reserv’d.	
What! if from thee my wandering feet had swerv’d,	       
Had we both perish’d?” — “Look!” the sage replied,	
“Dost thou not mark a gleaming through the tide,	
Of divers brilliances? ’tis the edifice	
I told thee of, where lovely Scylla lies;	
And where I have enshrined piously	
All lovers, whom fell storms have doom’d to die	
Throughout my bondage.” Thus discoursing, on	
They went till unobscur’d the porches shone;	
Which hurryingly they gain’d, and enter’d straight.	
Sure never since king Neptune held his state	
Was seen such wonder underneath the stars.	
Turn to some level plain where haughty Mars	
Has legion’d all his battle; and behold	
How every soldier, with firm foot, doth hold	
His even breast: see, many steeled squares,	
And rigid ranks of iron — whence who dares	
One step? Imagine further, line by line,	
These warrior thousands on the field supine: —	
So in that crystal place, in silent rows,	
Poor lovers lay at rest from joys and woes. —	        
The stranger from the mountains, breathless, trac’d	
Such thousands of shut eyes in order plac’d;	
Such ranges of white feet, and patient lips	
All ruddy, — for 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 aught? 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 breath’d 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	
Of flutes and viols, ravishing his heart,	
Endymion from Glaucus stood apart,	
And scatter’d in his face some fragments light.	
How lightning-swift the change! a youthful wight	
Smiling beneath a coral diadem,	
Out-sparkling sudden like an upturn’d gem,	
Appear’d, and, stepping to a beauteous corse,	
Kneel’d down beside it, and with tenderest force	
Press’d its cold hand, and wept — and Scylla sigh’d!	
Endymion, with quick hand, the charm applied —	        
The nymph arose: he left them to their joy,	
And onward went upon his high employ,	
Showering those powerful fragments on the dead.	
And, as he pass’d, each lifted up its head,	
As doth a flower at Apollo’s touch.	        
Death felt it to his inwards; ’twas too much:	
Death fell a weeping in his charnel-house.	
The Latmian persever’d along, and thus	
All were re-animated. There arose	
A noise of harmony, pulses and throes	
Of gladness in the air — while many, who	
Had died in mutual arms devout and true,	
Sprang to each other madly; and the rest	
Felt a high certainty of being blest.	
They gaz’d upon Endymion. Enchantment	        
Grew drunken, and would have its head and bent.	
Delicious symphonies, like airy flowers,	
Budded, and swell’d, and, full-blown, shed full showers	
Of light, soft, unseen leaves of sounds divine.	
The two deliverers tasted a pure wine	        
Of happiness, from fairy-press ooz’d out.	
Speechless they eyed each other, and about	
The fair assembly wander’d to and fro,	
Distracted with the richest overflow	
Of joy that ever pour’d from heaven.

                                                     —— “Away!”	       
Shouted the new-born god; “Follow, and pay	
Our piety to Neptunus supreme!” —	
Then Scylla, blushing sweetly from her dream,	
They led on first, bent to her meek surprise,	
Through portal columns of a giant size,	        
Into the vaulted, boundless emerald.	
Joyous all follow’d, as the leader call’d,	
Down marble steps; pouring as easily	
As hour-glass sand — and fast, as you might see	
Swallows obeying the south summer’s call,	        
Or swans upon a gentle waterfall.	
 
  	Thus went that beautiful multitude, nor far,	
Ere from among some rocks of glittering spar,	
Just within ken, they saw descending thick	
Another multitude. Whereat more quick	       
Moved either host. On a wide sand they met,	
And of those numbers every eye was wet;	
For each their old love found. A murmuring rose,	
Like what was never heard in all the throes	
Of wind and waters: ’tis past human wit	       
To tell; ’tis dizziness to think of it.	
 
  	This mighty consummation made, the host	
Mov’d on for many a league; and gain’d, and lost	
Huge sea-marks; vanward swelling in array,	
And from the rear diminishing away, —	        
Till a faint dawn surpris’d them. Glaucus cried,	
“Behold! behold, the palace of his pride!	
God Neptune’s palaces!” With noise increas’d,	
They shoulder’d on towards that brightening east.	
At every onward step proud domes arose	        
In prospect, — diamond gleams, and golden glows	
Of amber ’gainst their faces levelling.	
Joyous, and many as the leaves in spring,	
Still onward; still the splendour gradual swell’d.	
Rich opal domes were seen, on high upheld	        
By jasper pillars, letting through their shafts	
A blush of coral. Copious wonder-draughts	
Each gazer drank; and deeper drank more near:	
For what poor mortals fragment up, as mere	
As marble was there lavish, to the vast	
Of one fair palace, that far far surpass’d,	
Even for common bulk, those olden three,	
Memphis, and Babylon, and Nineveh.	
 
  	As large, as bright, as colour’d as the bow	
Of Iris, when unfading it doth shew	       
Beyond a silvery shower, was the arch	
Through which this Paphian army took its march,	
Into the outer courts of Neptune’s state:	
Whence could be seen, direct, a golden gate,	
To which the leaders sped; but not half raught	        
Ere it burst open swift as fairy thought,	
And made those dazzled thousands veil their eyes	
Like callow eagles at the first sunrise.	
Soon with an eagle nativeness their gaze	
Ripe from hue-golden swoons took all the blaze,	        
And then, behold! large Neptune on his throne	
Of emerald deep: yet not exalt alone;	
At his right hand stood winged Love, and on	
His left sat smiling Beauty’s paragon.	
 
  	Far as the mariner on highest mast	       
Can see all round upon the calmed vast,	
So wide was Neptune’s hall: and as the blue	
Doth vault the waters, so the waters drew	
Their doming curtains, high, magnificent,	
Aw’d from the throne aloof; — and when storm-rent	       
Disclos’d the thunder-gloomings in Jove’s air;	
But sooth’d as now, flash’d sudden everywhere,	
Noiseless, sub-marine cloudlets, glittering	
Death to a human eye: for there did spring	
From natural west, and east, and south, and north,	       
A light as of four sunsets, blazing forth	
A gold-green zenith ’bove the Sea-God’s head.	
Of lucid depth the floor, and far outspread	
As breezeless lake, on which the slim canoe	
Of feather’d Indian darts about, as through	        
The delicatest air: air verily,	
But for the portraiture of clouds and sky:	
This palace floor breath-air, — but for the amaze	
Of deep-seen wonders motionless, — and blaze	
Of the dome pomp, reflected in extremes,	        
Globing a golden sphere.

                                           They stood in dreams	
Till Triton blew his horn. The palace rang;	
The Nereids danc’d; the Syrens faintly sang;	
And the great Sea-King bow’d his dripping head.	
Then Love took wing, and from his pinions shed	        
On all the multitude a nectarous dew.	
The ooze-born Goddess beckoned and drew	
Fair Scylla and her guides to conference;	
And when they reach’d the throned eminence	
She kist the sea-nymph’s cheek, — who sat her down	       
A toying with the doves. Then , — “Mighty crown	
And sceptre of this kingdom!” Venus said,	
“Thy vows were on a time to Nais paid:	
Behold!” — Two copious tear-drops instant fell	
From the God’s large eyes; he smil’d delectable,	        
And over Glaucus held his blessing hands. —	
“Endymion! Ah! still wandering in the bands	
Of love? Now this is cruel. Since the hour	
I met thee in earth’s bosom, all my power	
Have I put forth to serve thee. What, not yet	        
Escap’d from dull mortality’s harsh net?	
A little patience, youth! ’twill not be long,	
Or I am skilless quite: an idle tongue,	
A humid eye, and steps luxurious,	
Where these are new and strange, are ominous.	
Aye, I have seen these signs in one of heaven,	
When others were all blind; and were I given	
To utter secrets, haply I might say	
Some pleasant words: — but Love will have his day.	
So wait awhile expectant. Pr’ythee soon,	        
Even in the passing of thine honey-moon,	
Visit my Cytherea: thou wilt find	
Cupid well-natured, my Adonis kind;	
And pray persuade with thee — Ah, I have done,	
All blisses be upon thee, my sweet son!”—	       
Thus the fair goddess: while Endymion	
Knelt to receive those accents halcyon.	
 
  	Meantime a glorious revelry began	
Before the Water-Monarch. Nectar ran	
In courteous fountains to all cups outreach’d;	       
And plunder’d vines, teeming exhaustless, pleach’d	
New growth about each shell and pendent lyre;	
The which, in disentangling for their fire,	
Pull’d down fresh foliage and coverture	
For dainty toying. Cupid, empire-sure,	        
Flutter’d and laugh’d, and oft-times through the throng	
Made a delighted way. Then dance, and song,	
And garlanding grew wild; and pleasure reign’d.	
In harmless tendril they each other chain’d,	
And strove who should be smother’d deepest in	        
Fresh crush of leaves.

                                     O ’tis a very sin	
For one so weak to venture his poor verse	
In such a place as this. O do not curse,	
High Muses! let him hurry to the ending.	
 
  	All suddenly were silent. A soft blending	        
Of dulcet instruments came charmingly;	
And then a hymn.

                               “King of the stormy sea!	
Brother of Jove, and co-inheritor	
Of elements! Eternally before	
Thee the waves awful bow. Fast, stubborn rock,	
At thy fear’d trident shrinking, doth unlock	
Its deep foundations, hissing into foam.	
All mountain-rivers lost, in the wide home	
Of thy capacious bosom ever flow.	
Thou frownest, and old Eolus thy foe	       
Skulks to his cavern, ’mid the gruff complaint	
Of all his rebel tempests. Dark clouds faint	
When, from thy diadem, a silver gleam	
Slants over blue dominion. Thy bright team	
Gulphs in the morning light, and scuds along	       
To bring thee nearer to that golden song	
Apollo singeth, while his chariot	
Waits at the doors of heaven. Thou art not	
For scenes like this: an empire stern hast thou;	
And it hath furrow’d that large front: yet now,	        
As newly come of heaven, dost thou sit	
To blend and interknit	
Subdued majesty with this glad time.	
O shell-borne King sublime!	
We lay our hearts before thee evermore —	
We sing, and we adore!	
 
  	“Breathe softly, flutes;	
Be tender of your strings, ye soothing lutes;	
Nor be the trumpet heard! O vain, O vain;	
Not flowers budding in an April rain,	       
Nor breath of sleeping dove, nor river’s flow, —	
No, nor the Eolian twang of Love’s own bow,	
Can mingle music fit for the soft ear	
Of goddess Cytherea!	
Yet deign, white Queen of Beauty, thy fair eyes	
On our souls’ sacrifice.	
 
  	“Bright-winged Child!	
Who has another care when thou hast smil’d?	
Unfortunates on earth, we see at last	
All death-shadows, and glooms that overcast	       
Our spirits, fann’d away by thy light pinions.	
O sweetest essence! sweetest of all minions!	
God of warm pulses, and dishevell’d hair,	
And panting bosoms bare!	
Dear unseen light in darkness! eclipser	        
Of light in light! delicious poisoner!	
Thy venom’d goblet will we quaff until	
We fill — we fill!	
And by thy Mother’s lips —— ”

                          Was heard no more	
For clamour, when the golden palace door	        
Opened again, and from without, in shone	
A new magnificence. On oozy throne	
Smooth-moving came Oceanus the old,	
To take a latest glimpse at his sheep-fold,	
Before he went into his quiet cave	       
To muse for ever — Then a lucid wave,	
Scoop’d from its trembling sisters of mid-sea,	
Afloat, and pillowing up the majesty	
Of Doris, and the Egean seer, her spouse —	
Next, on a dolphin, clad in laurel boughs,	
Theban Amphion leaning on his lute:	
His fingers went across it — All were mute	
To gaze on Amphitrite, queen of pearls,	
And Thetis pearly too. —

                                           The palace whirls	
Around giddy Endymion; seeing he	        
Was there far strayed from mortality.	
He could not bear it — shut his eyes in vain;	
Imagination gave a dizzier pain.	
“O I shall die! sweet Venus, be my stay!	
Where is my lovely mistress? Well-away!	        
I die — I hear her voice — I feel my wing — ”	
At Neptune’s feet he sank. A sudden ring	
Of Nereids were about him, in kind strife	
To usher back his spirit into life:	
But still he slept. At last they interwove	        
Their cradling arms, and purpos’d to convey	
Towards a crystal bower far away.	
 
  	Lo! while slow carried through the pitying crowd,	
To his inward senses these words spake aloud;	
Written in star-light on the dark above:	       
Dearest Endymion! my entire love!	
How have I dwelt in fear of fate: ’tis done —	
Immortal bliss for me too hast thou won.	
Arise then! for the hen-dove shall not hatch	
Her ready eggs, before I’ll kissing snatch	       
Thee into endless heaven. Awake! awake!	
 
  	The youth at once arose: a placid lake	
Came quiet to his eyes; and forest green,	
Cooler than all the wonders he had seen,	
Lull’d with its simple song his fluttering breast.	       
How happy once again in grassy nest!