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Stood, wan and pale, and with an nnawed face,
air stirs Blue hare-bells lightly, and where prickly
furze Ruds 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 mountainair; 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 N ight-swollen mushrooms t 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 Or 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 gray ly eastward, thus a chorus sang:
"O thou! whose mighty palace-roof doth
hang From jagged trunks, and nvershadoweth Eternal whispers, glooms, the birth.life.death Of unseen flowers in heavy pcacefulness; Who lov'st to see the hamadryads dress Their ruffled locks where meeting hazels
darken; And through whole solemn hours dost sit,
The dreary melody of bedded reeds—
„0 thou.for whose soul-soothing quiet turt • Passion their voices cooingly among imnl-i What time thou wandcrest at eventide Through sunny meadows, that outsLirt ti
side Of thineenmossed realms: O thon,tsvk«l Broad-leaved fig-trees even now foredoom Their ripen'd fruitage; yellow-girted ben Their golden honeycombs; our villaer-ln Their fairest blossorn'd beans and popp*
corn; The chuckling linnet its five young unburn To sing for thee; low creeping strawbrrrifl Their summer-coolness; pent up bnttrrfia Their freckled wings; yea, the fresh huiiit\
year All its completions—bs quickly near. By every wind that nods the mouatais-pr' O forester divine!
"Thou, to whom every fawn and satyr fe
"O Hearkener to the loud-clapping shr
,'nnccption to tlie very bourne of heaven, linn leave the nuked brain: be (till the
leaven. Hint spreading in thin dull and clodded earth lives,it a touch ethereal—a new birth: !<• still a symbol of immensity; V firiiiainent reflected in a sea; In clement filling the apace between; In unknown—but no more: wc humbly
screen iVilh uplift hands our foreheads lowly
bending, kml givingnnt a shout most heaven-rending, 'nnjnre thee to receive our humble Paean, ipon thy Mount Lyccan!"
3vcr while they brought the burden to a
close, i shout from the whole multitude arose. That lingered in the nir like dying rolls )f abrupt thunder, when Ionian shoals >f dolphins bob their noses through the brine, ileautime, on shady levels, mossy fine, loung companies nimbly began dancing To the swift treble pipe and humming string. lye, those fair living forms swam heavenly I'o tunes forgotten—out of memory: air creatures! whose young children's children bred Thermopylae its heroes—not yet dead, tut in old marbles ever beautiful.
-By the fend
J'wixt nothing and crentinn, I here swear,
Sterne Apollo! thnt thy Sister fair
s of all these the gentlier mightiest.
A' hen thy gold breath is misting in the west,
>lie unobserved steals unto her throne,
iinl there she sits most meek and most alone;
Is if she had not pomp subservient;
L* if thine eye, high Poet! wns not bent
'owards her with the Muses in thine heart;
\h if the ministring stars kept not apart,
Vaiting for silver-footed messages.
> Moon! the oldest shades 'mong oldest trees
'eel palpitations, when thou lookest in:
) Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din
""lie while they feel thine airy fellowship.
"It on dost bless every where with silver lip,
hissing dead things to life. The sleeping kinc,
'ouched in thy brightness, dream of fields
divine: nniimernble mountains rise, and rise, Linbitioiis for the hallowing of thine eyes; mil yet thy benediction passeth not >ne obscure hiding-place, one little spot V here pleasure may be sent: the nested wren las thy fair face within its tranquil ken, ind from beneath a sheltering ivy-leaf 'akes glimpses of thee; thou art a relief
To the poor patient oyster, where it sleeps Within its pearly house.—The mighty deeps. The monstrous sea is thine—the myriad sea! O Moon! far-spoomingOcean bows to thee. And Tellus feels his forehead's cumbrous load.
Cynthia! where art thou now? What far
abode Of green or silvery bower doth enshrine Such utmost beauty ¥ Alas! thou dost pine For one as sorrowful: thy cheek is pale For one whose cheek is pale: thou dost bewail His tears, who weeps for thee. Where dost
thou sigh? Ah! surely that light peeps from Vesper's
eye, Or what a thing is love! 'Tis She, but lo! How chang'd, how full of ache, how gone
in woe! 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 nbnut O'erw'helming 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 journey ings! 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, und straight
'tis won. Amid his toil thou gav'st Leandcr 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, I'o 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 frit 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 nir; and sober'd morning came Meekly through billows:—when like taperflame
I.fli midden by a dallying breath of air.
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 hail ever dipp'd a chin lint 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 Dinn hail cbae'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
went 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; Ami 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
pen— The poet's harp—the voire of friends—the
sun; Thou wast the river—thou wast glory won;
Thou wast my clarion's blast—than wM
my steed— My goblet full of wine—my topmost deed:riiiui wast the charm of women, loveiv M«u O what a wild and harmonized tune My spirit struck from all the beautiful On some bright essence rould I lean, and li! Myself to immortality.
THE EVE OF ST. AGNES.
St. Agnes' Eve—Ah, hitter chill it wit' The owl, for all his feathers, was a-coW: The hare linip'd trembling through tbt fr»
zen grass, And silent was the flock in woolly fold: Niimli were the beadsman's fingers, wkik
be told His rosary, and while his frosted breath Like pious incense from a censer old. Seem'il taking flight for heaven, withom I
death. Past the sweet virgin's picture while sa
prayer he saith.
His prayer be saith, this patient holy nai: Then takes his lamp,and riseth from his hen. And back returneth, meagre, barefoot, ra, Along the chapel-aisle by slow degree*: The sculptur'd dead, on each side, •rein u
freeze, Emprison'd in black, purgatorial rails: Knights, ladies, praying in dumb orat'nn. He passeth by; and bis weak spirit fait* To think how they may ache in icy *«•<«
Northward he turneth thrnngh a little's" And scarce three steps, ere music's c*l*Vi
tongue Flatter'd to tears this aged man and Daw; Hut no—already had his death-bell rnnr: The joys of all his life were said and «unj His was harsh penance on St. Agnes' E« Another way he went, and soon amonr Kough ashes sat he for his soul's rrarki', And all night kept awake, for sinners' al<
That ancient beadsman heard the prrladenfc And so it chnne'd, for many a door was w»V. From hurry to and fro. Sunn, up slo'l The silver, snarling trumpets 'gin Is rkir The level chambers, ready with their an* Were glowing to receive a thousand gar** The carved angels, ever rngpr-ryed. Star'd, where upon their heads the csrW
rests. With hair blown bark, and wings put"'*
wise on their breast*
At length burst in the urgent revelry.
They told her how, upon St. Agnes' Eve,
Full of this whim was thoughtful Madeline:
She dane'd along with vague, regardless eyes. Anxious her lips, her breathing quick and
short: The hallow'd hour was near at hand: she
sighs Amid the timbrels, and the throng'd resort Of whisperers in anger, or in sport; Mid looks of love, defiance, hate and scorn, Hoodwink'd with faery fancy; all amort. Save to St. Agnes and her iambs unshorn. And all the bliss to be before to-morrow morn.
So, purposing each moment to retire,
such things have been.
He ventures in: let not buzz'd whisper tell: All eyes be muffled, or a hundred swords Will storm his heart, love's fet'rous citadel: For him, those chambers held barbarian hordes,
| Hyena foenien, and hot-blooded lords, Whose very dogs would execrations howl Against bis 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.
this place; They are all here to-night, the whole bloodthirsty race!
Get hence! get hence! there's dwarfish
flildelirand; He had a fever lute, 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 ; herein 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. And as shemutter'd "Well-a—well-a-day!" He found him in a little moonlight-room, Pale, lattie'd, chill, and silent as a tomb. "Now tell ine where is Madeline,—said he— 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' Eve—
Feebly she laugheth in the languid moon.