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arms together, hung his head,

      And most forlorn upon that widow’d bed

      Sat silently. Love’s madness he had known:

      Often with more than tortured lion’s groan

      Moanings had burst from him; but now that rage

      Had pass’d away: no longer did he wage

      A rough-voic’d war against the dooming stars.

      No, he had felt too much for such harsh jars:

      The lyre of his soul Eolian tun’d

      Forgot all violence, and but commun’d

      With melancholy thought: O he had swoon’d

      Drunken from pleasure’s nipple; and his love

      Henceforth was dove-like.–Loth was he to move

      From the imprinted couch, and when he did,

      ’Twas with slow, languid paces, and face hid

      In muffling hands. So temper’d, out he stray’d

      Half seeing visions that might have dismay’d

      Alecto’s serpents; ravishments more keen

      Than Hermes’ pipe, when anxious he did lean

      Over eclipsing eyes: and at the last

      It was a sounding grotto, vaulted, vast,

      O’er studded with a thousand, thousand pearls,

      And crimson mouthed shells with stubborn curls,

      Of every shape and size, even to the bulk

      In which whales arbour close, to brood and sulk

      Against an endless storm. Moreover too,

      Fish-semblances, of green and azure hue,

      Ready to snort their streams. In this cool wonder

      Endymion sat down, and ‘gan to ponder

      On all his life: his youth, up to the day

      When ‘mid acclaim, and feasts, and garlands gay,

      He stept upon his shepherd throne: the look

      Of his white palace in wild forest nook,

      And all the revels he had lorded there:

      Each tender maiden whom he once thought fair,

      With every friend and fellow-woodlander–

      Pass’d like a dream before him. Then the spur

      Of the old bards to mighty deeds: his plans

      To nurse the golden age ‘mong 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

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