Stood, wan and pale, and with an unawed face, | The dreary melody of bedded reeds—
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-
bands!
In desolate places, where dank moisture breed
The pipy hemlock to strange overgrowth
Bethinking thee, how melancholy loth
Thou wast to lose fair Syrinx-do thou now,
By thy Love's milky brow!
By all the trembling mazes that she ran
Hear us, great Pan!
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;,,0 thou, for whose soul-soothing quiet turtin Or from your swelling downs, where sweet Passion their voices cooingly among myrths air stirs What time thou wanderest at eventide Blue hare-bells lightly, and where prickly Through sunny meadows, that outskirt the furze side
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 rains
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 grayly castward, 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;
Who lov'st to see the hamadryads dress
Their ruffled locks where meeting hazels
darken;
And through whole solemn hours dost sit,
and hearken
Of thine enmossed realms: O thou, to when Broad-leaved fig-trees even now foredoom Their ripen'd fruitage; yellow-girted bees Their golden honeycombs; our village-leas Their fairest blossom'd beans and poppiet
The chuckling linnet its five young unborn,
To sing for thee; low creeping strawberries
Their summer-coolness; pent up butterfis
Their freckled wings; yea, the fresh budding
year
All its completions-be quickly near,
By every wind that nods the mountain-pir
O forester divine!
"Thou, to whom every fawn and satyr fs
For willing service: whether to surprise
The squatted hare, while in half sleeping fit;
Or upward ragged precipices flit.
To save poor lambkins from the eagle's maw;
Or by mysterious enticement draw
Bewilder'd shepherds to their path again:
Or to tread breathless round the frothy main
And gather up all fancifullest shells
For thee to tumble into Naiads' cells,
And, being hidden, laugh at their out-peepin
Or to delight thee with fantastic leaping.
The while they pelt each other on the crow?
With silvery oak-apples and fir-cones brown-
By all the echoes that about thee ring,
Hear us, oh Satyr-king!
“O Hearkener to the loud-clapping shears
While ever and anon to his shorn peers
A ram goes bleating: Winder of the barn
When snouted wild boars routing tender con
Anger our huntsmen: Breather round ou
farms,
To keep off mildews, and all weather-harus
Strange Ministrant of undescribed sounds.
That come a swooning over hollow grounds
And wither drearily on barren moors:
| Dread Opener of the mysterious doors
Leading to universal knowledge—see,
Great son of Dryope,
The many that are come to pay their v
With leaves about their brows!
Be still the unimaginable lodge
For solitary thinkings; such as dodge
Ever while they brought the burden to a Or what a thing is love! 'Tis She, but lo! How chang'd, how full of ache, how gone in woe!
A shout from the whole multitude arose,
That lingered in the air like dying rolls
Of abrupt thunder, when Ionian shoals
Of dolphins bob their noses through the brine.
Meantime, on shady levels, mossy fine,
Young companies nimbly began dancing
To the swift treble pipe and humming string.
Aye, those fair living forms swam heavenly
To tunes forgotten-out of memory:
Fair creatures! whose young children's chil-
dren bred
Thermopylae its heroes-not yet dead,
But in old marbles ever beautiful.
By the feud
'Twixt nothing and creation, I here swear,
Eterne Apollo! that thy Sister fair
Is of all these the gentlier mightiest.
When thy gold breath is misting in the west,
She unobserved steals unto her throne,
And there she sits most meek and most alone;
As if she had not pomp subservient;
As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent
Towards her with the Muses in thine heart;
As if the ministring stars kept not apart,
Waiting for silver-footed messages.
O Moon! the oldest shades 'mong oldest trees
Feel palpitations, when thou lookest in:
O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din
The while they feel thine airy fellowship.
Thou dost bless every where with silver lip,
Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine,
Couched in thy brightness, dream of fields
divine :
Innumerable mountains rise, and rise,
Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes;
And yet thy benediction passeth not
One obscure hiding-place, one little spot
Where pleasure may be sent: the nested wren
Has thy fair face within its tranquil ken,
And from beneath a sheltering ivy-leaf
Takes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief
She dies at the thinnest cloud; her loveliness
Is wan on Neptune's blue: yet there's a stress
Of love-spangles, just off yon cape of trees,
Dancing upon the waves, as if to please
The curly foam with amorous influence.
O, not so idle: for down-glancing thence
She fathoms eddies, and runs wild about
O'erwhelming water-courses; scaring out
The thorny sharks from hiding-holes, and
fright'ning
Their savage eyes with unaccustomed lightning.
Where will the splendor be content to reach?
O Love! how potent hast thou been to teach
Strange journeyings! Wherever beauty
dwells,
In gulf or aerie, mountains or deep dells,
In light, in gloom, in star or blazing sun,
Thou pointest out the way, and straight
'tis won.
Amid his toil thou gav'st Leander breath; Thou leddest Orpheus through the gleams of death;
Thou madest Pluto bear thin element;
And now, oh winged Chieftain, thou hast sent
A moon-beam to the deep, deep water-world,
To find Endymion. On gold sand impearl'd
With lily shells, and pebbles milky white,
Poor Cynthia greeted him, and sooth'd her
light
Against his pallid face: he felt the charm
To breathlessness, and suddenly a warm
Of his heart's blood: 'twas very sweet; he
stay'd
His wandering steps, and half-entranced laid His head upon a tuft of straggling weeds, To taste the gentle moon, and freshening beads,
Lash'd from the crystal roof by fishes' tails. And so he kept until the rosy veils Mantling the east, by Aurora's peering hand Were lifted from the water's breast, and fann'd
Into sweet air; and sober'd morning came Meekly through billows:--when like taperflame
Left sudden by a dallying breath of air,
He rose in silence, and once more 'gan fare
Along his fated way. Far had he roam'd,
With nothing save the hollow vast, that
foam'd
Above, around, and at his feet; save things
More dead than Morpheus' imaginings:
Old rusted anchors, helmets, breast-plates
large
Of gone sea-warriors; brazen beaks and
targe,
Rudders that for a hundred years had lost
The sway of human hand; gold vase emboss'd
With long-forgotten story, and wherein
No reveller had ever dipp'd a chin
But those of Saturn's vintage; mouldering
scrolls,
Writ in the tongue of heaven, by those souls Who first were on the earth; and sculptures rude
In ponderous stone, developing the mood
Of ancient Nox;-then skeletons of man,
Of beast, behemoth, and leviathan,
And elephant and eagle, and huge jaw
Of nameless monster. A cold leaden awe
These secrets struck into him; and unless
Dian had chac'd away that heaviness,
He might have died: but now, with cheered
feel,
He onward kept; wooing these thoughts to steal
About the labyrinth in his soul of love. What is there in thee, Moon! that thou shouldst move
My heart so potently? When yet a child I oft have dried my tears when thou hast smil'd.
Thou seem'dst my sister; hand in hand we
From eve to morn across the firmament.
No apples would I gather from the tree,
Till thou hadst cool'd their cheeks delici-
ously:
No tumbling water ever spake romance, But when my eyes with thine thereon could dance:
No woods were green enough, no bower divine,
Until thou liftedst up thine eyelids fine:
In sowing-time ne'er would I dibble take,
Or drop a seed, till thou wast wide awake;
And, in the summer-tide of blossoming,
No one but thee hath heard me blithely sing
And mesh my dewy flowers all the night,
No melody was like a passing spright,
If it went not to solemnize thy reign.
Yes, in my boyhood, every joy and pain
By thee were fashion'd to the self-same end;
And as I grew in years, still didst thou blend
With all my ardours: thou wast the deep
glen;
Thou wast the mountain-top-the sage's
реп-
The poet's harp-the voice of friends-the
Thou wast the river-thou wast glory won;
Hyena foemen, and hot-blooded lords,
Whose very dogs would execrations howl
Against his lineage: not one breast affords
Him any mercy, in that mansion foul,
Save one old beldame, weak in body and in
soul.
Ah, happy chance! the aged creature came,
Shuffling along with ivory-headed wand,
To where he stood, hid from the torch's
flame,
Behind a broad hall-pillar, far beyond
The sound of merriment and chorus bland:
He startled her; but soon she knew his face,
And grasp'd his fingers in her palsied hand,
Saying: "Mercy, Porphyro! hie thee from
this place;
They are all here to-night, the whole bloodthirsty race!
Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish Hildebrand;
He had a fever late, and in the fit He cursed thee and thine, both house and land;
Then there's that old Lord Maurice, not a whit
More tame for his gray hairs-Alas me! flit! Flit like a ghost away."-"Ah, Gossip dear, We're safe enough; here in this arm-chair sit, And tell me how”—“Good saints! not here, not here;
Follow me, child, or else these stones will be thy bier."
He follow'd through a lowly arched way,
Brushing the cobwebs with his lofty plume,
He found him in a little moonlight-room,
And as she mutter'd "Well-a-well-a-day!"
Now tell me where is Madeline,—said he—
Pale, lattic'd, chill, and silent as a tomb.
O tell me, Angela, by the holy loom
Which none but secret sisterhood may see,
When they St. Agnes' wool are weaving
piously."
St. Agnes! ah! it is St. Agnes' EveYet men will murder upon holy days: Thou must hold water in a witch's sieve, And be liege-lord of all the Elves and Fays, To venture so: it fills me with amaze To see thee, Porphyro!-St. Agnes' Eve! This very night: good angels her deceive! God's help! my lady fair the conjuror plays But let me laugh awhile, I've mickle time to grieve."
Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon,
While Porphyro upon her face doth look,
Like puzzled urchin on an aged crone
Who keepeth clos'd a wondrous riddle-book,
As spectacled she sits in chimney-nook.
But soon his eyes grew brilliant, when she
told
His lady's purpose; and he scarce could brook
Tears, at the thought of those enchantments
cold,
And Madeline asleep in lap of legends old.
Sudden a thought came like a full-blown rose,
Flushing his brow, and in his pained heart
Made purple riot: then doth he propose
A stratagem, that makes the beldame start:
"A cruel man and impious thou art:
Sweet lady, let her pray, and sleep, and dream
Alone with her good angels, far apart
From wicked men like thee. Go!-I deem
Thou canst not surely be the same that thou
didst seem."
For I am slow and feeble, and scarce dan
On such a catering trust my dizzy head
Wait here, my child, with patience; kar
in prayer
The while: ah! thou must needs the lady wed
Or may I never leave my grave among th
dead."
So saying, she hobbled off with busy fear
The lover's endless minutes slowly pass't
The dame return'd, and whisper'd in his
To follow her; with aged eyes aghast
From fright of dim espial. Safe at last.
Through many a dusky gallery, they ga
The maiden's chamber, silken, hush'd, a
chaste;
Where Porphyro took covert, pleas'd amain
His poor guide hurried back with agues in
her brain.
"I will not harm her, by all saints I swear!” Quoth Porphyro: "O may I ne'er find grace, When my weak voice shall whisper its last | Old Angela was feeling for the stair.
If one of her soft ringlets I displace,
Or look with ruffian passion in her face:
Good Angela, believe me by these tears;
Or I will, even in a moment's space,
Awake with horrid shout my foemen's ears,
And beard them, though they be more
fang'd than wolves and bears."
thing, Whose passing-bell may ere the midnight toll; Whose prayers for thee, each morn and evening,
Her falt'ring hand upon the balustrade,
When Madeline, St. Agnes' charmed maid.
Rose, like a mission'd spirit, unaware:
With silver taper's light, and pious care,
She turn'd, and down the aged gossip led
To a safe level matting. Now prepare
Young Porphyro, for gazing on that bed;
She comes, she comes again, like ring-dov
frayed and fled.
"Ah! why wilt thou affright a feeble soul? Out went the taper as she hurried in;
A poor, weak, palsy-stricken, churchyard-Its little smoke, in pallid moonshine, died
She closed the door, she panted, all akin
To spirits of the air and visions wide:
No uttered syllable, or, woe betide!
But to her heart, her heart was voluble,
Paining with eloquence her balmy side;
As though a tongueless nightingale shoul
swell
Were never miss'd."-Thus plaining, doth
she bring
A gentler speech from burning Porphyro;
So woeful, and of such deep sorrowing,
That Angela gives promise she will do
Whatever he shall wish, betide her weal or
Which was, to lead him, in close secrecy,
Even to Madeline's chamber, and there hide
Him in a closet, of such privacy
That he might see her beauty unespied,
And win perhaps that night a peerless bride,
While legion'd fairies pac'd the coverlet,
And pale enchantment held her sleepy-eyed.
Never on such a night have lovers met,
Since Merlin paid his Demon all the mon-
strous debt.
"It shall be as thou wishest,-said the dame: All cates and dainties shall be stored there Quickly on this feast-night: by the tambourframe
Her throat in vain, and die, heart-stilled. in her dell.
A casement high and triple-arch'd there was
All garlanded with carven imag'ries
Of fruits, and flowers, and bunches of knst-
grass,
And diamonded with panes of quaint device.
Innumerable of stains and splendid dyes.
As are the tiger-moth's deep-damask'd wings
And in the midst, 'mong thousand heraldrin
And twilight saints, and dim emblazonings
A shielded scutcheon blush'd with blood
Full on this casement shone the wintry most And threw warm gules on Madeline's far breast.
As down she knelt for Heaven's grace at boon;
Her own lute thou wilt see: no time to spare, Rose-bloom fell on her hands, together pris
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