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shepherd clans:

       That wondrous night: the great Pan-festival: His sister’s sorrow; and his wanderings all,

       Until into the earth’s deep maw he rush’d:

       Then all its buried magic, till it flush’d

       High with excessive love. “And now,” thought he,

       “How long must I remain in jeopardy

       Of blank amazements that amaze no more?

       Now I have tasted her sweet soul to the core

       All other depths are shallow: essences,

       Once spiritual, are like muddy lees,

       Meant but to fertilize my earthly root, And make my branches lift a golden fruit

       Into the bloom of heaven: other light,

       Though it be quick and sharp enough to blight

       The Olympian eagle’s vision, is dark,

       Dark as the parentage of chaos. Hark!

       My silent thoughts are echoing from these shells;

       Or they are but the ghosts, the dying swells

       Of noises far away?–list!”–Hereupon

       He kept an anxious ear. The humming tone

       Came louder, and behold, there as he lay, On either side outgush’d, with misty spray,

       A copious spring; and both together dash’d

       Swift, mad, fantastic round the rocks, and lash’d

       Among the conchs and shells of the lofty grot,

       Leaving a trickling dew. At last they shot

       Down from the ceiling’s height, pouring a noise

       As of some breathless racers whose hopes poize

       Upon the last few steps, and with spent force

       Along the ground they took a winding course.

       Endymion follow’d–for it seem’d that one Ever pursued, the other strove to shun–

       Follow’d their languid mazes, till well nigh

       He had left thinking of the mystery,–

       And was now rapt in tender hoverings

       Over the vanish’d bliss. Ah! what is it sings

       His dream away? What melodies are these?

       They sound as through the whispering of trees,

       Not native in such barren vaults. Give ear!

      “O Arethusa, peerless nymph! why fear

       Such tenderness as mine? Great Dian, why, Why didst thou hear her prayer? O that I

       Were rippling round her dainty fairness now,

       Circling about her waist, and striving how

       To entice her to a dive! then stealing in

       Between her luscious lips and eyelids thin.

       O that her shining hair was in the sun,

       And I distilling from it thence to run

       In amorous rillets down her shrinking form!

       To linger on her lily shoulders, warm

       Between her kissing breasts, and every charm Touch raptur’d!–See how painfully I flow:

       Fair maid, be pitiful to my great woe.

       Stay, stay thy weary course, and let me lead,

       A happy wooer, to the flowery mead

       Where all that beauty snar’d me.”–”Cruel god,

       Desist! or my offended mistress’ nod

       Will stagnate all thy fountains:–tease me not

       With syren words–Ah, have I really got

       Such power to madden thee? And is it true–

       Away, away, or I shall dearly rue My very thoughts: in mercy then away,

       Kindest Alpheus, for should I obey

       My own dear will, ’twould be a deadly bane.”–

       “O, Oread-Queen! would that thou hadst a pain

       Like this of mine, then would I fearless turn

       And be a criminal.”–”Alas, I burn,

       I shudder–gentle river, get thee hence.

       Alpheus! thou enchanter! every sense

       Of mine was once made perfect in these woods.

       Fresh breezes, bowery lawns, and innocent floods, Ripe fruits, and lonely couch, contentment gave;

       But ever since I heedlessly did lave

       In thy deceitful stream, a panting glow

       Grew strong within me: wherefore serve me so,

       And call it love? Alas, ’twas cruelty.

       Not once more did I close my happy eyes

       Amid the thrush’s song. Away! Avaunt!

       O ’twas a cruel thing.”–”Now thou dost taunt

       So softly, Arethusa, that I think

       If thou wast playing on my shady brink, Thou wouldst bathe once again. Innocent maid!

       Stifle thine heart no more:–nor be afraid

       Of angry powers: there are deities

       Will shade us with their wings. Those fitful sighs

       ’Tis almost death to hear: O let me pour

       A dewy balm upon them!–fear no more,

       Sweet Arethusa! Dian’s self must feel

       Sometimes these very pangs. Dear maiden, steal

       Blushing into my soul, and let us fly

       These dreary caverns for the open sky. I will delight thee all my winding course,

       From the green sea up to my hidden source

       About Arcadian forests; and will shew

       The channels where my coolest waters flow

       Through mossy rocks; where, ‘mid exuberant green,

       I roam in pleasant darkness, more unseen

       Than Saturn in his exile; where I brim

       Round flowery islands, and take thence a skim

       Of mealy sweets, which myriads of bees

       Buzz from their honied wings: and thou shouldst please

       Thyself to choose the richest, where we might Be incense-pillow’d every summer night.

       Doff all sad fears, thou white deliciousness,

       And let us be thus comforted; unless

       Thou couldst rejoice to see my hopeless stream

       Hurry distracted from Sol’s temperate beam,

       And pour to death along some hungry sands.”–

       “What can I do, Alpheus? Dian stands

       Severe before me: persecuting fate!

       Unhappy Arethusa! thou wast late A huntress free in”–At this, sudden fell

       Those two sad streams adown a fearful dell.

       The Latmian listen’d, but he heard no more,

       Save echo, faint repeating o’er and o’er

       The name of Arethusa. On the verge

       Of that dark gulph he wept, and said: “I urge

       Thee, gentle Goddess of my pilgrimage,

       By our eternal hopes, to soothe, to assuage,

       If thou art powerful, these lovers pains;

      

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