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A garland of the rose; and a white pair

Every great pillar of this house of war
Of doves above her flicker'd in the air:

Was tun-great, of bright iron blazing far.
And her son, Cupid, stood before her feet ;
Two wings upon his shoulders, fair and fleet, There saw I first the dark imagining
And blind as night, as he is often seen:

Of felony, and all the compassing ;
A bow he bare, and arrows bright and keen. The cruel ire, as red as burning coal;

The pick-purse; and pale fear, with ghastly soul; And now to tell you, on the westward side,

The smiler, with the knife under the cloke; What colours the great painters did provide, The stables burning with the pitchy smoke; What portraiture upon the wall was spread, The treason of the murdering of the bed ; Within the temple of grim Mars the red ;

The open war, whose wounds for ever bled; All painted was the wall, in dismal grace,

Contest with bloody knife, and menace keen, Like to the inward of the grisly place,

And full of scritching cries the doleful scene; Calld the great temple of the God in Thrace, The slayer of himself then saw I there, Where Mars his sovereign mansion still doth hold, His own heart-blood had bathed all his hair; In frosty regions and eternal cold.

The nail, too, driven in the skull at night;

The cold death with the gaping mouth upright; A forest on the wall was there exprest

Amidst of all the temple sate Mischance, In which there never wons nor man nor beast, With great discomfort, and pale countenance ; With knotty, knarry, barren trees, right old, And saw I Madness, laughing in his ire ; And sharp with stubs, and hideous to behold, Armed Complaint; Outery; and fierce Desire Where, like the thunder, ran a rumble through, Of fiery outrage; in the bushes put, As though a storm would break down ev'ry bough, I saw the corpse of him whose throat was cut; And downward, (and a savage hill o'erbent,) And flow'd the crimson blood on slaughter's bed, There stood the fane of Mars armipotent;

A thousand slain, and not of sickness dead; Wrought all of burned steel : the entrance keen The tyrant with his prey from subject reft; Was long, and strait, and ghastly to be seen; The town destroy'd, and not a rafter left; And thereout came a rage, and air, God knows, The burnt ships dancing on the waves I saw; The gates from their great hinges heav'd and rose: The hunter strangled in the wild bear's paw; The northern liglit in at the door there shone; The child, eat by the fretting sow in cradle; For window on the massy wall was none,

The cook, too, scalded, maugre his long ladle; Through which men might the open light discern: And every mortal act in every part; The door was all of adamant eterne,

The carter, over-ridden with his cart, And clenched overthwart, and end-ways long, Under the wheel full low he lay adown. With iron tough, and, for to make it strong,

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OF PAN. Leading the way, young damsels danced along, Bearing the burden of a shepherd song; Each having a white wicker over brimm'd With April's tender younglings: next, well trimm'd, A crowd of shepherds with as sunburnt looks As may be read of in Arcadian books; Such as sat listening round Apollo's pipe, When the great deity, for earth too ripe, Let his divinity o'erflowing die In music, through the vales of Thessaly: Some idly trail'd their sheep-hooks on the ground, And some kept up a shrilly-mellow sound With ebon-tipped flutes: close after these, Now coming from beneath the forest-trees, A venerable priest full soberly, Begirt with ministering looks: always his eye Stedfast upon the matted turf he kept, And after him his sacred vestments swept. From his right hand there swung a vase, milk-white, Of mingled wine, out-sparkling generous light; And in his left he held a basket full Of all sweet herbs that searching eye could cull: Wild thyme, and valley-lilies whiter still Than Leda's love, and cresses from the rill. His aged head, crowned with beechen wreath, Seem'd like a poll of ivy in the teeth Of winter hoar. Then came another crowd Of shepherds, lifting in due time aloud Their share of the ditty. After them appear'd, Up-follow'd by a multitude that rear'd Their voices to the clouds, a fair-wrought car, Easily rolling so as scarce to mar The freedom of three steeds of dapple brown: Who stood therein did seem of great renown Among the throng. His youth was fully blown, Shewing like Ganymede to manhood grown; And, for those simple times, his garments were A chieftain king's: beneath his breast, half bare, Was hung a silver bugle, and between His nervy knees there lay a boar-spear keen. A smile was on his countenance; he seem'd, To common lookers-on, like one who dream'd Of idleness in groves Elysian : But there were some who feelingly could scan A lurking trouble in his nether-lip, And see that oftentimes the reins would slip Through his forgotten hands: then would they sigh, And think of yellow leaves, of owlet's cry, Of logs piled solemnly.—Ah, well-a-day, Why should our young Endymion pine away!

Soon the assembly in a circle rangid, Stood silent round the shrine: each look was changed To sudden veneration : women meek Beckon'd their sons to silence; while each cheek Of virgin-bloom paled gently for slight fear. Endymion too, without a forest peer, Stood, wan and pale, and with an unawed face, Among his brothers of the mountain-chase. In midst of all, the venerable priest Ey'd them with joy from greatest to the least, And, after lifting up his aged hands, Thus spake he: -“ Men of Latmos! shepherd

Whose care it is to guard a thousand flocks:
Whether descended from beneath the rocks
That overtop your mountains; whether come
From vallies where the pipe is never dumb;
Or from your swelling downs, where sweet air stirs
Blue hare-bells lightly, and where prickly furze
Buds lavish gold; or ye, whose precious charge,
Nibble their fill at ocean's very marge,
Whose mellow reeds are touch'd with sounds forlorn
By the dim echoes of old Triton's horn :
Mothers and wives! who day by day prepare
The scrip, with needments, for the mountain-air;
And all ye gentle girls who foster up
Udderless lambs, and in a little cup
Will put choice honey for a favoured youth:
Yea, every one attend! for in good truth
Our vows are wanting to our great god Pan.
Are not our lowing heifers sleeker than
Night-swollen mushrooms ? Are not our wide plains
Speckled with countless fleeces? Have not raias
Green'd over April's lap? No howling sad
Sickens our fearful ewes; and we have had
Great bounty from Endymion our lord.
The earth is glad: the merry lark has pour'd
His early song against yon breezy sky,
That spreads so clear o'er our solemnity."

Thus ending, on the shrine he heap'd a spire
Of teeming sweets, enkindling sacred fire;
Anon he stain’d the thick and spongy sod
With wine, in honour of the shepherd-god.
Now while the earth was drinking it, and while
Bay-leaves were crackling in the fragrant pile,
And gummy frankincense was sparkling bright
’Neath smothering parsley, and a hazy light
Spread greyly eastward, thus a chorus sang:

“O thou! whose mighty palace-roof doth hang
From jagged trunks, and overshadoweth
Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth, life, death

Of unseen flowers in heavy peacefulness;

Be still the unimaginable lodge
Who lov'st to see the hamadryads dress

For solitary thinkings; such as dodge
Their ruffled locks where meeting hazels darken; Conception to the very bourne of heaven,
And through whole solemn hours dost sit, and Then leave the naked brain: be still the leaven,

That spreading in this dull and clodded earth
The dreary melody of bedded reeds

Gives it a touch ethereal-a new birth:
In desolate places, where dank moisture breeds Be still a symbol of immensity ;
The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth ;

A firmament reflected in a sea;
Bethinking thee, bow melancholy loth

An element filling the space between ;
Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx-do thou now, An unknown-but no more: we humbly screen
By thy love's milky brow!

With uplift hands our foreheads lowly bending,
By all the trembling mazes that she ran,

And giving out a shout most heaven-rending, Hear us, great Pan !

Conjure thee to receive our humble Pæan,

Upon thy Mount Lycean!" “ Othou, for whose soul-soothing quiet, turtles Passion their voices cooingly among myrtles,

Ever while they brought the burden to a close, What time thou wanderest at eventide

A shout from the whole multitude arose,
Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the side That lingered in the air like dying rolls
Of thine enmossed realms: O thou, to whom Of abrupt thunder, when Ionian shoals
Broad leaved fig trees even now foredoom

Of dolphins bob their noses through the brine.
Their ripen'd fruitage; yellow-girted bees Meantime, on shady levels, mossy fine,
Their golden honeycombs ; our village-leas Young companies nimbly began dancing
Their fairest blossom'd beans and poppied corn; To the swift treble pipe, and humming string.
The chuckling linnet its five young unborn, Aye, those fair living forms swam heavenly
To sing for thee; low creeping strawberries To tunes forgotten-out of memory:

[bred Their summer coolness; pent up butterflies

Fair creatures! whose young children's children
Their freckled wings; yea, the fresh budding year Thermopylæ its heroes not yet dead,
All its completions—be quickly near,

But in old marbles ever beautiful.
By every wind that nods the mountain-pine,
O forester divine !

“ Thou, to whom every fawn and satyr flies
For willing service: whether to surprise

By the feud
The squatted hare while in half sleeping fit; 'Twixt nothing and Creation, I here swear,
Or upward ragged precipices flit

Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair
To save poor lambkins from the eagle's maw ; Is of all these the gentlier mightiest.
Or by mysterious enticement draw

When thy gold breath is misting in the west,
Bewilder'd shepherds to their path again;

She unobserved steals unto her throne,
Or to tread breathless round the frothy main, And there she sits most meek and most alone;
And gather up all fancifullest shells

As if she had not pomp subservient;
For thee to tumble into Naiads' cells,

As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent
And, being hidden, laugh at their out-peeping ; Towards her with the Muses in thine heart;
Or to delight thee with fantastic leaping,

As if the ministring stars kept not apart,
The while they pelt each other on the crown Waiting for silver-footed messages.
With silvery oak apples, and fir cones brown- O Moon! the oldest shades 'mong oldest trees
By all the echoes that about thee ring,

Feel palpitations when thou lookest in:
Hear O satyr king!

O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din

The while they feel thine airy fellowship. “ O Hearkener to the loud-clapping shears, Thou dost bless every where with silver lip, While ever and anon to his shorn peers

Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine,
A ram goes bleating : Winder of the horn,

Couched in thy brightness, dream of fields divine:
When snouted wild boars routing tender corn Innumerable mountains rise, and rise,
Anger our huntsmen : Breather round our farms, Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes ;
To keep off mildews, and all weather harms : And yet thy benediction passeth not
Strange ministrant of undescribed sounds,

One obscure hiding place, one little spot
That come a swooning over hollow grounds, Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren
And wither drearily on barren moors :

Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken,
Dread opener of the mysterious doors

And from beneath a sheltering ivy-leaf Leading to universal knowledge-see,

Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief Great son of Dryope,

To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps The many that are come to pay their vows

Within its pearly house.—The mighty deeps, With leaves about their brows!

The monstrous sea is thine-the myriad sea!

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O Moon! far-spooming Ocean bows to thee,

With long-forgotten story, and wherein And Tellus feels his forehead's cumbrous load. No reveller had ever dipp'd a chin

But those of Saturn's vintage; mouldering scrolls, Cynthia! where art thou now? What far abode Writ in the tongue of heaven, by those souls Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine

Who first were on the earth; and sculptures rade
Such utmost beauty? Alas! thou dost pine In ponderous stone, developing the mood
For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale

Of ancient Nox;—then skeletons of man,
For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail Of beast, behemoth, and leviathan,
His tears, who weeps for thee. Where dost thou sigh? And elephant and eagle, and huge jaw
Ah! surely that light peeps from Vesper's eye, Of nameless monster. A cold leaden awe
Or what a thing is love! 'Tis She, but lo!

These secrets struck into him; and unless
How chang'd, how full of ache, how gone in woe! Dian had chac'd away that heaviness,
She dies at the thinnest cloud; her loveliness

He might have died: but now, with cheered feel, Is wan on Neptune's blue: yet there's a stress He onward kept; wooing these thoughts to steal Of love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees,

About the labyrinth in his soul of love.
Dancing upon the waves, as if to please
The curly foam with amorous influence.

“What is there in thee, Moon! that thou should's O, not so idle : for down-glancing thence

My heart so potently? When yet a child (move She fathoms eddies, and runs wild about

I oft have dried my tears when thou hast smil'd. O'erwhelming water-courses; scaring out

Thou seem'dst my sister; hand in hand we went The thorny sharks from hiding-holes,and frightning From eve to morn across the firmament. Their savage eyes with unaccustomed lightning. No apples would I gather from the tree, Where will the splendor be content to reach ? Till thou hadst cool'd their cheeks deliciously: O love! how potent hast thou been to teach No tumbling water ever spake romance, Strange journeyings! Wherever beauty dwells, But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance: In gulf or aerie, mountains or deep dells,

No woods were green enough, no bower divine, In light, in gloom, in star or blazing sun,

Until thou liftedst up thine eyelids fine: Thou pointest out the way, and straight 'tis won. In sowing time ne'er would I dibble take, Amid his toil thou gav'st Leander breath ;

Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake;
Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death; And, in the summer-tide of blossoming,
Thou madest Pluto bear thin element;

No one but thee hath heard me blithely sing
And now, O winged Chieftain, thou hast sent And mesh my dewy flowers all the night.
A moon-beam to the deep, deep water-world, No melody was like a passing spright
To find Endymion.

If it went not to solemnize thy reign.

Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain
On gold sand impearl'd

By thee were fashion’d to the self-same end;
With lily shells, and pebbles milky white,

And as I grew in years, still didst thou blend Poor Cynthia greeted him, and sooth'd her light With all my ardours: thou wast the deep glen; Against his pallid face: he felt the charm

Thou wast the mountain-top—the sage's penTo breathlessness, and suddenly a warm

The poet's harp—the voice of friends—the sun; Of his heart's blood : 'twas very sweet; he stay'd Thou wast the river—thou wast glory won; His wandering steps, and half-entranced laid Thou wast my clarion's blast—thou wast my steedHis bead upon a tuft of straggling weeds,

My goblet full of wine-my topmost deed :To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads, Thou wast the charm of women, lovely Moon! Lash'd from the crystal roof by fishes' tails.

O what a wild and harmonized tune And so he kept until the rosy veils

My spirit struck from all the beautiful!
Mantling the east, by Aurora's peering hand On some bright essence could I lean, and lull
Were lifted from the water's breast, and fann'd Myself to immortality.
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.

“O Sorrow,

Why dost borrow
Far had he roam'd,

The natural hue of health, from vermeil lips? With nothing save the hollow vast, that foam'd

To give maiden blushes Above, around, and at his feet; save things

To the white rose bushes ?
More dead than Morpheus' imaginings:

Or is it thy dewy hand the daisy tips ?
Old rusted anchors, helmets, breast-plates large
Of gone sea-warriors; brazen beaks and targe;

“O Sorrow, Rudders that for a hundred years had lost

Why dost borrow
The sway of human hand; gold vase emboss'd The lustrous passion from a falcon eye -

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To give the glow-worm light?

And little rills of crimson wine imbrued
Or, on a moonless night,

His plump white arms, and shoulders, enough white To tinge, on syren shores, the salt sea-spry?

For Venus' pearly bite:

And near him rode Silenus on his ass,
66 O Sorrow,

Pelted with flowers as he on did pass
Why dost borrow

Tipsily quaffing.
The mellow ditties from a mourning tongue ?
To give at evening pale

“ Whence came ye, merry Damsels! whence came Unto the nightingale,

So many, and so many, and such glee? (ye! That thou mayst listen the cold dews among ? Why have you left your bowers desolate,

Your lutes, and gentler fate? “ O Sorrow,

• We follow Bacchus ! Bacchus on the wing, Why dost borrow

A conquering! Heart's lightness from the merriment of May:

Bacchus, young Bacchus! good or ill betide, A lover would not tread

We dance before him thorough kingdoms wide: A cowslip on the head,

Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
Though he should dance from eve till peep of day-

To our wild minstrelsy!'
Nor any drooping flower,
Held sacred for thy bower,

“ Whence came ye, jolly Satyrs ! whence came ye! Wherever he may sport himself and play.

So many, and so many, and such glee?

Why have ye left your forest-haunts, why left “ To Sorrow

Your nuts in oak-tree cleft :-
I bade good morrow,

• For wine, for wine we left our kernel tree; And thought to leave her far away behind;

For wine we left our heath, and yellow brooms,
But cheerly, cheerly,

And cold mushrooms;
She loves me dearly,

For wine we follow Bacchus through the earth ; She is so constant to me, and so kind :

Great god of breathless cups and chirping mirth!
I would deceive her,

Come hither, lady fair, and joined be
And so leave her,

To our mad minstrelsy!'
But ah! she is so constant and so kind.

“ Over wide streams and mountains great we went, - Beneath my palm-trees, by the river-side,

And, save when Bacchus kept his ivy tent, I sat a weeping: in the whole world wide

Onward the tiger and the leopard pants,
There was not one to ask me why I wept,

With Asian elephants:
And so I kept

Onward these myriads—with song and dance Brimming the water-lily cups with tears

With zebras striped, and sleek Arabians' prance, Cold as my fears.

Web-footed alligators, crocodiles, “ Beneath my palm-trees by the river-side,

Bearing upon their scaly backs, in files, I sat a weeping: what enamour'd bride,

Plump infant laughers mimicking the coil
Cheated by shadowy wooer from the clouds,

Of seamen, and stout galley-rowers' toil :
But hides and shrouds

With toying oars and silken sails they glide,

Nor care for wind and tide. Beneath dark palm-trees by a river side ?

“ Mounted on panthers' furs and lions' manes, “And as I sat, over the light blue hills

From rear to van they scour about the plains ; There came a noise of revellers : the rills

A three days' journey in a moment done : Into the wide stream came of purple hue

And always, at the rising of the sun, 'Twas Bacchus and his crew!

About the wilds they hunt with spear and horn The earnest trumpet spake, and silver thrills

On spleenful unicorn. From kissing cymbals made a merry din'Twas Bacchus and his kin!

“ I saw Osirian Egypt kneel adown Like to a moving vintage down they came,

Before the vine-wreath crown! Crown'd with green leaves, and faces all on flame;

I saw parch'd Abyssinia rouse and sing
All madly dancing through the pleasant valley,

To the silver cymbal's ring!
To scare thee, Melancholy!

I saw the whelming vintage hotly pierce
O then, O then, thou wast a simple name!

Old Tartary the fierce! And I forgot thee, as the berried holly

The kings of Iode their jewel-sceptres vail, By shepherds is forgotten, when, in June,

And from their treasures scatter pearled hail;
Tall chesnuts keep away the sun and moon:-

Great Brahma from his mystic heaven groans,
I rush'd into the folly!

And all his priesthood moans ;

Before young Bacchus' eye-wink turning pale.“ Within his car aloft young Bacchus stood, Into these regions came I following him, Trifiling his ivy-dart in dancing mood,

Sick-hearted, weary—so I took a whim
With sidelong laughing ;

To stray away into these forests drear

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