Imatges de pàgina
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Would melt at thy sweet breath. By For thou shalt hear this secret all display'd, Now as we speed towards our joyous task.'

Dian's hind

Feeding from her white fingers, on the

wind

I see thy streaming hair! and now, by
Pan,

I care not for this old mysterious man!' 280

He spake, and walking to that aged form, Look'd high defiance. Lo! his heart 'gan

warm

With pity, for the gray-hair'd creature wept.

Had he then wrong'd a heart where sorrow kept?

Had he, though blindly contumelious, brought

Rheum to kind eyes, a sting to human
thought,

Convulsion to a mouth of many years?
He had in truth; and he was ripe for tears.
The penitent shower fell, as down he knelt
Before that care-worn sage, who trembling
felt

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But hollow rocks, — and they were palaces Of silent happiness, of slumberous ease: About his large dark locks, and faltering Long years of misery have told me so. spake:

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Aye, thus it was one thousand years ago.
One thousand years! Is it then possible
To look so plainly through them? to dispel
A thousand years with backward glance
sublime?

To breathe away as 't were all scummy
slime

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And craggy isles, and sea-mew's plaintive Had been my dreary death? Fool! I began

cry

Plaining discrepant between sea and sky. Dolphins were still my playmates; shapes

unseen

Would let me feel their scales of gold and green,

Nor be my desolation; and, full oft,
When a dread waterspout had rear'd aloft
Its hungry hugeness, seeming ready ripe
To burst with hoarsest thunderings, and
wipe

My life away like a vast sponge of fate, 349 Some friendly monster, pitying my sad state,

Has dived to its foundations, gulf'd it down,
And left me tossing safely. But the crown
Of all my life was utmost quietude:
More did I love to lie in cavern rude,
Keeping in wait whole days for Neptune's
voice,

And if it came at last, hark, and rejoice! There blush'd no summer eve but I would steer

My skiff along green shelving coasts, to hear The shepherd's pipe come clear from aery steep,

Mingled with ceaseless bleatings of his sheep: 360

And never was a day of summer shine,
But I beheld its birth upon the brine:
For I would watch all night to see unfold
Heaven's gates, and Æthon snort his morn-
ing gold

Wide o'er the swelling streams: and constantly

At brim of day-tide, on some grassy lea,
My nets would be spread out, and I at rest.
The poor folk of the sea-country I blest
With daily boon of fish most delicate:
They knew not whence this bounty, and
elate

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To feel distemper'd longings: to desire
The utmost privilege that ocean's sire
Could grant in benediction: to be free
Of all his kingdom. Long in misery
I wasted, ere in one extremest fit
I plunged for life or death. To interknit
One's senses with so dense a breathing stuff
Might seem a work of pain; so not enough
Can I admire how crystal-smooth it felt,
And buoyant round my limbs. At first I
dwelt

Whole days and days in sheer astonishment;
Forgetful utterly of self-intent;

Moving but with the mighty ebb and flow. Then, like a new-fledged bird that first doth show

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Cruel enchantress! So above the water I rear'd my head, and look'd for Phoebus' daughter.

Exa's isle was wondering at the moon:It seem'd to whirl around me, and a swoon Left me dead-drifting to that fatal power.

O let me pluck it for thee!" Thus she link'd

Her charming syllables, till indistinct Their music came to my o'er-sweeten'd soul;

And then she hover'd over me, and stole So near, that if no nearer it had been

'When I awoke, 't was in a twilight This furrow'd visage thou hadst never seen.

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The fairest face that morn e'er look'd upon Push'd through a screen of roses. Starry

Jove!

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'Who could resist? Who in this universe?

She did so breathe ambrosia; so immerse

With tears, and smiles, and honey-words My fine existence in a golden clime.

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I am so oppress'd with joy! Why, I have shed

An urn of tears, as though thou wert cold dead;

And now I find thee living, I will pour From these devoted eyes their silver store, Until exhausted of the latest drop,

So it will pleasure thee, and force thee stop

Here, that I too may live: but if beyond Such cool and sorrowful offerings, thou art fond

Of soothing warmth, of dalliance supreme; If thou art ripe to taste a long love-dream; If smiles, if dimples, tongues for ardour mute,

Hang in thy vision like a tempting fruit,

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She took me like a child of suckling time, And cradled me in roses. Thus con

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These uttering lips, while I in calm speech It could not be so fantasied. Fierce, wan,

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And tyrannizing was the lady's look,
As over them a gnarled staff she shook.
Ofttimes upon the sudden she laugh'd out,
And from a basket emptied to the rout 510
Clusters of grapes, the which they raven'd
quick

And roar'd for more; with many a hungry lick

About their shaggy jaws. Avenging, slow,
Anon she took a branch of mistletoe,
And emptied on 't a black dull-gurgling
phial:

Groan'd one and all, as if some piercing trial

Was sharpening for their pitiable bones. She lifted up the charm: appealing groans From their poor breasts went sueing to her

ear

In vain; remorseless as an infant's bier 520 She whisk'd against their eyes the sooty oil.

Whereat was heard a noise of painful toil, Increasing gradual to a tempest rage, Shrieks, yells, and groans of torture-pilgrimage;

Until their grieved bodies 'gan to bloat And puff from the tail's end to stifled throat:

Then was appalling silence: then a sight More wildering than all that hoarse affright;

For the whole herd, as by a whirlwind writhen,

Went through the dismal air like one huge Python

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Antagonizing Boreas, and so vanish'd. Yet there was not a breath of wind: she banish'd

These phantoms with a nod. Lo! from the dark

Laughing, and wailing, grovelling, serpent- Came waggish fauns, and nymphs, and

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54I

Of pains resistless! make my being brief,
Or let me from this heavy prison fly:
Or give me to the air, or let me die!
I sue not for my happy crown again;
I sue not for my phalanx on the plain;
I sue not for my lone, my widow'd wife:
I sue not for my ruddy drops of life,
My children fair, my lovely girls and boys!
I will forget them; I will pass these joys;
Ask nought so heavenward, so too-too
high:

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Only I pray, as fairest boon, to die,
Or be deliver❜d from this cumbrous flesh,
From this gross, detestable, filthy mesh,
And merely given to the cold bleak air.
Have mercy, Goddess! Circe, feel my
prayer!"

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