Spangling those million poutings of the brine

With quivering ore: 't was even an awful shine

From the exaltation of Apollo's bow;

A heavenly beacon in their dreary woe. Who thus were ripe for high contemplating, Might turn their steps towards the sober ring

Where sat Endymion and the aged priest 'Mong shepherds gone in eld, whose looks increased

The silvery setting of their mortal star. There they discoursed upon the fragile bar 360

That keeps us from our homes ethereal;
And what our duties there: to nightly call
Vesper, the beauty-crest of summer wea-
ther;

To summon all the downiest clouds together
For the sun's purple couch; to emulate
In minist'ring the potent rule of fate
With speed of fire-tail'd exhalations;

To tint her pallid cheek with bloom, who

Who, suddenly, should stoop through the smooth wind,

And with the balmiest leaves his temples bind;

And, ever after, through those regions be
His messenger, his little Mercury.
Some were athirst in soul to see again
Their fellow-huntsmen o'er the wide cham-
paign

In times long past; to sit with them, and talk

Of all the chances in their earthly walk; Comparing, joyfully, their plenteous stores Of happiness, to when upon the moors, 390 Benighted, close they huddled from the cold,

And shared their famish'd scrips. Thus all out-told

Their fond imaginations, saving him Whose eyelids curtain'd up their jewels dim,

Endymion: yet hourly had he striven
To hide the cankering venom, that had

Guarding his forehead, with her round

elbow,

From low-grown branches, and his footsteps slow

From stumbling over stumps and hillocks small;

Until they came to where these streamlets fall,

Down in the bluebells, or a wren light rustling

Among sere leaves and twigs, might all be heard.

O magic sleep! O comfortable bird, That broodest o'er the troubled sea of the mind

That but one night had wrought this flowery spell;

And, sitting down close by, began to muse What it might mean. Perhaps, thought I, Morpheus,

In passing here, his owlet pinions shook; Or, it may be, ere matron Night uptook 561 Her ebon urn, young Mercury, by stealth, Had dipt his rod in it: such garland wealth Came not by common growth. Thus on I thought,

Until my head was dizzy and distraught. Moreover, through the dancing poppies stole

A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul;
And shaping visions all about my sight
Of colours, wings, and bursts of spangly
light;

570

The which became more strange, and
strange, and dim,
And then were gulf'd in a tumultuous swim:
And then I fell asleep. Ah, can I tell
The enchantment that afterwards befell?
Yet it was but a dream: yet such a dream
That never tongue, although it overteem
With mellow utterance, like a

spring,

cavern

Could figure out and to conception bring
All I beheld and felt. Methought I lay
Watching the zenith, where the milky way
Among the stars in virgin splendour pours;
And travelling my eye, until the doors 581
Of heaven appear'd to open for my flight,
I became loth and fearful to alight

From such high soaring by a downward glance:

So kept me steadfast in that airy trance,
Spreading imaginary pinions wide.
When, presently, the stars began to glide,
And faint away, before my eager view:
At which I sigh'd that I could not pursue,
And dropt my vision to the horizon's verge;
And lo! from opening clouds, I saw

And plays about its fancy, till the stings
Of human neighbourhood envenom all.
Unto what awful power shall I call ?
To what high fane?—Ah! see her hover-
ing feet,

More bluely vein'd, more soft, more whitely

sweet

Ah, desperate mortal! I ev'n dared to press
Her very cheek against my crowned lip,
And, at that moment, felt my body dip
Into a warmer air: a moment more,
Our feet were soft in flowers. There was
store

Of newest joys upon that alp. Sometimes
A scent of violets, and blossoming limes,
Loiter'd around us; then of honey cells,
Made delicate from all white-flower bells;
And once, above the edges of our nest, 670
An arch face peep'd, - an Oread as I
guess'd.