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left a thought, a buzzing in his head.

      For the first time, since first he harbour’d in

      That purple-lined palace of sweet sin,

      His spirit pass’d beyond its golden bourn

      Into the noisy world almost forsworn.

      The lady, ever watchful, penetrant,

      Saw this with pain, so arguing a want

      Of something more, more than her empery

      Of joys; and she began to moan and sigh

      Because he mused beyond her, knowing well

      That but a moment’s thought is passion’s passing bell.

      “Why do you sigh, fair creature?” whisper’d he:

      “Why do you think?” return’d she tenderly:

      “You have deserted me; – where am I now?

      Not in your heart while care weighs on your brow:

      No, no, you have dismiss’d me; and I go

      From your breast houseless: ay, it must be so.”

      He answer’d, bending to her open eyes,

      Where he was mirror’d small in paradise,

      “My silver planet, both of eve and morn!

      Why will you plead yourself so sad forlorn,

      While I am striving how to fill my heart

      With deeper crimson, and a double smart?

      How to entangle, trammel up and snare

      Your soul in mine, and labyrinth you there

      Like the hid scent in an unbudded rose?

      Ay, a sweet kiss – you see your mighty woes.

      My thoughts! shall I unveil them? Listen then!

      What mortal hath a prize, that other men

      May be confounded and abash’d withal,

      But lets it sometimes pace abroad majestical,

      And triumph, as in thee I should rejoice

      Amid the hoarse alarm of Corinth’s voice.

      Let my foes choke, and my friends shout afar,

      While through the thronged streets your bridal car

      Wheels round its dazzling spokes.” – The lady’s cheek

      Trembled; she nothing said, but, pale and meek,

      Arose and knelt before him, wept a rain

      Of sorrows at his words; at last with pain

      Beseeching him, the while his hand she wrung,

      To change his purpose. He thereat was stung,

      Perverse, with stronger fancy to reclaim

      Her wild and timid nature to his aim:

      Besides, for all his love, in self despite,

      Against his better self, he took delight

      Luxurious in her sorrows, soft and new.

      His passion, cruel grown, took on a hue

      Fierce and sanguineous as ’twas possible

      In one whose brow had no dark veins to swell.

      Fine was the mitigated fury, like

      Apollo’s presence when in act to strike

      The serpent – Ha, the serpent! certes, she

      Was none. She burnt, she lov’d the tyranny,

      And, all subdued, consented to the hour

      When to the bridal he should lead his paramour.

      Whispering in midnight silence, said the youth,

      “Sure some sweet name thou hast, though, by my truth,

      I have not ask’d it, ever thinking thee

      Not mortal, but of heavenly progeny,

      As still I do. Hast any mortal name,

      Fit appellation for this dazzling frame?

      Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth,

      To share our marriage feast and nuptial mirth?”

      “I have no friends,” said Lamia, “no, not one;

      My presence in wide Corinth hardly known:

      My parents’ bones are in their dusty urns

      Sepulchred, where no kindled incense burns,

      Seeing all their luckless race are dead, save me,

      And I neglect the holy rite for thee.

      Even as you list invite your many guests;

      But if, as now it seems, your vision rests

      With any pleasure on me, do not bid

      Old Apollonius – from him keep me hid.”

      Lycius, perplex’d at words so blind and blank,

      Made close inquiry; from whose touch she shrank,

      Feigning a sleep; and he to the dull shade

      Of deep sleep in a moment was betray’d.

      It was the custom then to bring away

      The bride from home at blushing shut of day,

      Veil’d, in a chariot, heralded along

      By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage song,

      With other pageants: but this fair unknown

      Had not a friend. So being left alone,

      (Lycius was gone to summon all his kin)

      And knowing surely she could never win

      His foolish heart from its mad pompousness,

      She set herself, high-thoughted, how to dress

      The misery in fit magnificence.

      She did so, but ’tis doubtful how and whence

      Came, and who were her subtle servitors.

      About the halls, and to and from the doors,

      There was a noise of wings, till in short space

      The glowing banquet-room shone with wide-arched grace.

      A haunting music, sole perhaps and lone

      Supportress of the faery-roof, made moan

      Throughout, as fearful the whole charm might fade.

      Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a glade

      Of palm and plantain, met from either side,

      High in the midst, in honour of the bride:

      Two palms and then two plantains, and so on,

      From either side their stems branch’d one to one

      All down the aisled place; and beneath all

      There ran a stream of lamps straight on from wall to wall.

      So canopied, lay an untasted feast

      Teeming with odours. Lamia, regal drest,

      Silently paced about, and as she went,

      In pale contented sort of discontent,

      Mission’d her viewless servants to enrich

      The fretted splendour of each nook and niche.

      Between the tree-stems, marbled plain at first,

      Came jasper pannels; then, anon, there burst

      Forth creeping imagery of slighter trees,

      And with the larger wove in small intricacies.

      Approving all, she faded at self-will,

      And shut the chamber up, close, hush’d and still,

      Complete

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