Walk’d dizzily away. Pained and hot

       His eyes went after them, until they got

       Near to a cypress grove, whose deadly maw,

       In one swift moment, would what then he saw

       Engulph for ever. “Stay!” he cried, “ah, stay!

       Turn, damsels! hist! one word I have to say.

       Sweet Indian, I would see thee once again.

       It is a thing I dote on: so I’d fain, Peona, ye should hand in hand repair

       Into those holy groves, that silent are

       Behind great Dian’s temple. I’ll be yon,

       At vesper’s earliest twinkle–they are gone–

       But once, once, once again–” At this he press’d

       His hands against his face, and then did rest

       His head upon a mossy hillock green,

       And so remain’d as he a corpse had been

       All the long day; save when he scantly lifted

       His eyes abroad, to see how shadows shifted With the slow move of time,–sluggish and weary

       Until the poplar tops, in journey dreary,

       Had reach’d the river’s brim. Then up he rose,

       And, slowly as that very river flows,

       Walk’d towards the temple grove with this lament:

       “Why such a golden eve? The breeze is sent

       Careful and soft, that not a leaf may fall

       Before the serene father of them all

       Bows down his summer head below the west.

       Now am I of breath, speech, and speed possest, But at the setting I must bid adieu

       To her for the last time. Night will strew

       On the damp grass myriads of lingering leaves,

       And with them shall I die; nor much it grieves

       To die, when summer dies on the cold sward.

       Why, I have been a butterfly, a lord

       Of flowers, garlands, love-knots, silly posies,

       Groves, meadows, melodies, and arbour roses;

       My kingdom’s at its death, and just it is

       That I should die with it: so in all this We miscal grief, bale, sorrow, heartbreak, woe,

       What is there to plain of? By Titan’s foe

       I am but rightly serv’d.” So saying, he

       Tripp’d lightly on, in sort of deathful glee;

       Laughing at the clear stream and setting sun,

       As though they jests had been: nor had he done

       His laugh at nature’s holy countenance,

       Until that grove appear’d, as if perchance,

       And then his tongue with sober seemlihed

       Gave utterance as he entered: “Ha!” I said, “King of the butterflies; but by this gloom,

       And by old Rhadamanthus’ tongue of doom,

       This dusk religion, pomp of solitude,

       And the Promethean clay by thief endued,

       By old Saturnus’ forelock, by his head

       Shook with eternal palsy, I did wed

       Myself to things of light from infancy;

       And thus to be cast out, thus lorn to die,

       Is sure enough to make a mortal man

       Grow impious.” So he inwardly began On things for which no wording can be found;

       Deeper and deeper sinking, until drown’d

       Beyond the reach of music: for the choir

       Of Cynthia he heard not, though rough briar

       Nor muffling thicket interpos’d to dull

       The vesper hymn, far swollen, soft and full,

       Through the dark pillars of those sylvan aisles.

       He saw not the two maidens, nor their smiles,

       Wan as primroses gather’d at midnight

       By chilly finger’d spring. “Unhappy wight! Endymion!” said Peona, “we are here!

       What wouldst thou ere we all are laid on bier?”

       Then he embrac’d her, and his lady’s hand

       Press’d, saying: “Sister, I would have command,

       If it were heaven’s will, on our sad fate.”

       At which that dark-eyed stranger stood elate

       And said, in a new voice, but sweet as love,

       To Endymion’s amaze: “By Cupid’s dove,

       And so thou shalt! and by the lily truth

       Of my own breast thou shalt, beloved youth!” And as she spake, into her face there came

       Light, as reflected from a silver flame:

       Her long black hair swell’d ampler, in display

       Full golden; in her eyes a brighter day

       Dawn’d blue and full of love. Aye, he beheld

       Phœbe, his passion! joyous she upheld

       Her lucid bow, continuing thus: “Drear, drear

       Has our delaying been; but foolish fear

       Withheld me first; and then decrees of fate;

       And then ’twas fit that from this mortal state Thou shouldst, my love, by some unlook’d for change

       Be spiritualiz’d. Peona, we shall range

       These forests, and to thee they safe shall be

       As was thy cradle; hither shalt thou flee

       To meet us many a time.” Next Cynthia bright

       Peona kiss’d, and bless’d with fair good night:

       Her brother kiss’d her too, and knelt adown

       Before his goddess, in a blissful swoon.

       She gave her fair hands to him, and behold,

       Before three swiftest kisses he had told, They vanish’d far away!–Peona went

       Home through the gloomy wood in wonderment.