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diff --git a/2490-h/2490-h.htm b/2490-h/2490-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..e161ab8 --- /dev/null +++ b/2490-h/2490-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,1229 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="us-ascii"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + Lamia, by John Keats + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lamia, by John Keats + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Lamia + +Author: John Keats + +Release Date: December 23, 2008 [EBook #2490] +Last Updated: February 4, 2013 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAMIA *** + + + + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + LAMIA + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + By John Keats + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <h3> + Contents + </h3> + <table summary="" style="margin-right: auto; margin-left: auto"> + <tr> + <td> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART1"> Part 1 </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> Part 2 </a> + </p> + </td> + </tr> + </table> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /><a name="link2H_PART1" id="link2H_PART1"></a> <br /> + </p> + <h2> + Part 1 + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Upon a time, before the faery broods + Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods, + Before King Oberon's bright diadem, + Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem, + Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns + From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip'd lawns, + The ever-smitten Hermes empty left + His golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft: + From high Olympus had he stolen light, + On this side of Jove's clouds, to escape the sight + Of his great summoner, and made retreat + Into a forest on the shores of Crete. + For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt + A nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt; + At whose white feet the languid Tritons poured + Pearls, while on land they wither'd and adored. + Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont, + And in those meads where sometime she might haunt, + Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse, + Though Fancy's casket were unlock'd to choose. + Ah, what a world of love was at her feet! + So Hermes thought, and a celestial heat + Burnt from his winged heels to either ear, + That from a whiteness, as the lily clear, + Blush'd into roses 'mid his golden hair, + Fallen in jealous curls about his shoulders bare. + From vale to vale, from wood to wood, he flew, + Breathing upon the flowers his passion new, + And wound with many a river to its head, + To find where this sweet nymph prepar'd her secret bed: + In vain; the sweet nymph might nowhere be found, + And so he rested, on the lonely ground, + Pensive, and full of painful jealousies + Of the Wood-Gods, and even the very trees. + There as he stood, he heard a mournful voice, + Such as once heard, in gentle heart, destroys + All pain but pity: thus the lone voice spake: + "When from this wreathed tomb shall I awake! + When move in a sweet body fit for life, + And love, and pleasure, and the ruddy strife + Of hearts and lips! Ah, miserable me!" + The God, dove-footed, glided silently + Round bush and tree, soft-brushing, in his speed, + The taller grasses and full-flowering weed, + Until he found a palpitating snake, + Bright, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake. + + She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue, + Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue; + Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard, + Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd; + And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed, + Dissolv'd, or brighter shone, or interwreathed + Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries— + So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries, + She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf, + Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self. + Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire + Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar: + Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet! + She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete: + And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there + But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair? + As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air. + Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake + Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love's sake, + And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay, + Like a stoop'd falcon ere he takes his prey. + + "Fair Hermes, crown'd with feathers, fluttering light, + I had a splendid dream of thee last night: + I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold, + Among the Gods, upon Olympus old, + The only sad one; for thou didst not hear + The soft, lute-finger'd Muses chaunting clear, + Nor even Apollo when he sang alone, + Deaf to his throbbing throat's long, long melodious moan. + I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes, + Break amorous through the clouds, as morning breaks, + And, swiftly as a bright Phoebean dart, + Strike for the Cretan isle; and here thou art! + Too gentle Hermes, hast thou found the maid?" + Whereat the star of Lethe not delay'd + His rosy eloquence, and thus inquired: + "Thou smooth-lipp'd serpent, surely high inspired! + Thou beauteous wreath, with melancholy eyes, + Possess whatever bliss thou canst devise, + Telling me only where my nymph is fled,— + Where she doth breathe!" "Bright planet, thou hast said," + Return'd the snake, "but seal with oaths, fair God!" + "I swear," said Hermes, "by my serpent rod, + And by thine eyes, and by thy starry crown!" + Light flew his earnest words, among the blossoms blown. + Then thus again the brilliance feminine: + "Too frail of heart! for this lost nymph of thine, + Free as the air, invisibly, she strays + About these thornless wilds; her pleasant days + She tastes unseen; unseen her nimble feet + Leave traces in the grass and flowers sweet; + From weary tendrils, and bow'd branches green, + She plucks the fruit unseen, she bathes unseen: + And by my power is her beauty veil'd + To keep it unaffronted, unassail'd + By the love-glances of unlovely eyes, + Of Satyrs, Fauns, and blear'd Silenus' sighs. + Pale grew her immortality, for woe + Of all these lovers, and she grieved so + I took compassion on her, bade her steep + Her hair in weird syrops, that would keep + Her loveliness invisible, yet free + To wander as she loves, in liberty. + Thou shalt behold her, Hermes, thou alone, + If thou wilt, as thou swearest, grant my boon!" + Then, once again, the charmed God began + An oath, and through the serpent's ears it ran + Warm, tremulous, devout, psalterian. + Ravish'd, she lifted her Circean head, + Blush'd a live damask, and swift-lisping said, + "I was a woman, let me have once more + A woman's shape, and charming as before. + I love a youth of Corinth—O the bliss! + Give me my woman's form, and place me where he is. + Stoop, Hermes, let me breathe upon thy brow, + And thou shalt see thy sweet nymph even now." + The God on half-shut feathers sank serene, + She breath'd upon his eyes, and swift was seen + Of both the guarded nymph near-smiling on the green. + It was no dream; or say a dream it was, + Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass + Their pleasures in a long immortal dream. + One warm, flush'd moment, hovering, it might seem + Dash'd by the wood-nymph's beauty, so he burn'd; + Then, lighting on the printless verdure, turn'd + To the swoon'd serpent, and with languid arm, + Delicate, put to proof the lythe Caducean charm. + So done, upon the nymph his eyes he bent, + Full of adoring tears and blandishment, + And towards her stept: she, like a moon in wane, + Faded before him, cower'd, nor could restrain + Her fearful sobs, self-folding like a flower + That faints into itself at evening hour: + But the God fostering her chilled hand, + She felt the warmth, her eyelids open'd bland, + And, like new flowers at morning song of bees, + Bloom'd, and gave up her honey to the lees. + Into the green-recessed woods they flew; + Nor grew they pale, as mortal lovers do. + + Left to herself, the serpent now began + To change; her elfin blood in madness ran, + Her mouth foam'd, and the grass, therewith besprent, + Wither'd at dew so sweet and virulent; + Her eyes in torture fix'd, and anguish drear, + Hot, glaz'd, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear, + Flash'd phosphor and sharp sparks, without one cooling tear. + The colours all inflam'd throughout her train, + She writh'd about, convuls'd with scarlet pain: + A deep volcanian yellow took the place + Of all her milder-mooned body's grace; + And, as the lava ravishes the mead, + Spoilt all her silver mail, and golden brede; + Made gloom of all her frecklings, streaks and bars, + Eclips'd her crescents, and lick'd up her stars: + So that, in moments few, she was undrest + Of all her sapphires, greens, and amethyst, + And rubious-argent: of all these bereft, + Nothing but pain and ugliness were left. + Still shone her crown; that vanish'd, also she + Melted and disappear'd as suddenly; + And in the air, her new voice luting soft, + Cried, "Lycius! gentle Lycius!"—Borne aloft + With the bright mists about the mountains hoar + These words dissolv'd: Crete's forests heard no more. + + Whither fled Lamia, now a lady bright, + A full-born beauty new and exquisite? + She fled into that valley they pass o'er + Who go to Corinth from Cenchreas' shore; + And rested at the foot of those wild hills, + The rugged founts of the Peraean rills, + And of that other ridge whose barren back + Stretches, with all its mist and cloudy rack, + South-westward to Cleone. There she stood + About a young bird's flutter from a wood, + Fair, on a sloping green of mossy tread, + By a clear pool, wherein she passioned + To see herself escap'd from so sore ills, + While her robes flaunted with the daffodils. + + Ah, happy Lycius!—for she was a maid + More beautiful than ever twisted braid, + Or sigh'd, or blush'd, or on spring-flowered lea + Spread a green kirtle to the minstrelsy: + A virgin purest lipp'd, yet in the lore + Of love deep learned to the red heart's core: + Not one hour old, yet of sciential brain + To unperplex bliss from its neighbour pain; + Define their pettish limits, and estrange + Their points of contact, and swift counterchange; + Intrigue with the specious chaos, and dispart + Its most ambiguous atoms with sure art; + As though in Cupid's college she had spent + Sweet days a lovely graduate, still unshent, + And kept his rosy terms in idle languishment. + + Why this fair creature chose so fairily + By the wayside to linger, we shall see; + But first 'tis fit to tell how she could muse + And dream, when in the serpent prison-house, + Of all she list, strange or magnificent: + How, ever, where she will'd, her spirit went; + Whether to faint Elysium, or where + Down through tress-lifting waves the Nereids fair + Wind into Thetis' bower by many a pearly stair; + Or where God Bacchus drains his cups divine, + Stretch'd out, at ease, beneath a glutinous pine; + Or where in Pluto's gardens palatine + Mulciber's columns gleam in far piazzian line. + And sometimes into cities she would send + Her dream, with feast and rioting to blend; + And once, while among mortals dreaming thus, + She saw the young Corinthian Lycius + Charioting foremost in the envious race, + Like a young Jove with calm uneager face, + And fell into a swooning love of him. + Now on the moth-time of that evening dim + He would return that way, as well she knew, + To Corinth from the shore; for freshly blew + The eastern soft wind, and his galley now + Grated the quaystones with her brazen prow + In port Cenchreas, from Egina isle + Fresh anchor'd; whither he had been awhile + To sacrifice to Jove, whose temple there + Waits with high marble doors for blood and incense rare. + Jove heard his vows, and better'd his desire; + For by some freakful chance he made retire + From his companions, and set forth to walk, + Perhaps grown wearied of their Corinth talk: + Over the solitary hills he fared, + Thoughtless at first, but ere eve's star appeared + His phantasy was lost, where reason fades, + In the calm'd twilight of Platonic shades. + Lamia beheld him coming, near, more near— + Close to her passing, in indifference drear, + His silent sandals swept the mossy green; + So neighbour'd to him, and yet so unseen + She stood: he pass'd, shut up in mysteries, + His mind wrapp'd like his mantle, while her eyes + Follow'd his steps, and her neck regal white + Turn'd—syllabling thus, "Ah, Lycius bright, + And will you leave me on the hills alone? + Lycius, look back! and be some pity shown." + He did; not with cold wonder fearingly, + But Orpheus-like at an Eurydice; + For so delicious were the words she sung, + It seem'd he had lov'd them a whole summer long: + And soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up, + Leaving no drop in the bewildering cup, + And still the cup was full,—while he afraid + Lest she should vanish ere his lip had paid + Due adoration, thus began to adore; + Her soft look growing coy, she saw his chain so sure: + "Leave thee alone! Look back! Ah, Goddess, see + Whether my eyes can ever turn from thee! + For pity do not this sad heart belie— + Even as thou vanishest so I shall die. + Stay! though a Naiad of the rivers, stay! + To thy far wishes will thy streams obey: + Stay! though the greenest woods be thy domain, + Alone they can drink up the morning rain: + Though a descended Pleiad, will not one + Of thine harmonious sisters keep in tune + Thy spheres, and as thy silver proxy shine? + So sweetly to these ravish'd ears of mine + Came thy sweet greeting, that if thou shouldst fade + Thy memory will waste me to a shade— + For pity do not melt!"—"If I should stay," + Said Lamia, "here, upon this floor of clay, + And pain my steps upon these flowers too rough, + What canst thou say or do of charm enough + To dull the nice remembrance of my home? + Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam + Over these hills and vales, where no joy is,— + Empty of immortality and bliss! + Thou art a scholar, Lycius, and must know + That finer spirits cannot breathe below + In human climes, and live: Alas! poor youth, + What taste of purer air hast thou to soothe + My essence? What serener palaces, + Where I may all my many senses please, + And by mysterious sleights a hundred thirsts appease? + It cannot be—Adieu!" So said, she rose + Tiptoe with white arms spread. He, sick to lose + The amorous promise of her lone complain, + Swoon'd, murmuring of love, and pale with pain. + The cruel lady, without any show + Of sorrow for her tender favourite's woe, + But rather, if her eyes could brighter be, + With brighter eyes and slow amenity, + Put her new lips to his, and gave afresh + The life she had so tangled in her mesh: + And as he from one trance was wakening + Into another, she began to sing, + Happy in beauty, life, and love, and every thing, + A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres, + While, like held breath, the stars drew in their panting fires + And then she whisper'd in such trembling tone, + As those who, safe together met alone + For the first time through many anguish'd days, + Use other speech than looks; bidding him raise + His drooping head, and clear his soul of doubt, + For that she was a woman, and without + Any more subtle fluid in her veins + Than throbbing blood, and that the self-same pains + Inhabited her frail-strung heart as his. + And next she wonder'd how his eyes could miss + Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said, + She dwelt but half retir'd, and there had led + Days happy as the gold coin could invent + Without the aid of love; yet in content + Till she saw him, as once she pass'd him by, + Where 'gainst a column he leant thoughtfully + At Venus' temple porch, 'mid baskets heap'd + Of amorous herbs and flowers, newly reap'd + Late on that eve, as 'twas the night before + The Adonian feast; whereof she saw no more, + But wept alone those days, for why should she adore? + Lycius from death awoke into amaze, + To see her still, and singing so sweet lays; + Then from amaze into delight he fell + To hear her whisper woman's lore so well; + And every word she spake entic'd him on + To unperplex'd delight and pleasure known. + Let the mad poets say whate'er they please + Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses, + There is not such a treat among them all, + Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall, + As a real woman, lineal indeed + From Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed. + Thus gentle Lamia judg'd, and judg'd aright, + That Lycius could not love in half a fright, + So threw the goddess off, and won his heart + More pleasantly by playing woman's part, + With no more awe than what her beauty gave, + That, while it smote, still guaranteed to save. + Lycius to all made eloquent reply, + Marrying to every word a twinborn sigh; + And last, pointing to Corinth, ask'd her sweet, + If 'twas too far that night for her soft feet. + The way was short, for Lamia's eagerness + Made, by a spell, the triple league decrease + To a few paces; not at all surmised + By blinded Lycius, so in her comprized. + They pass'd the city gates, he knew not how + So noiseless, and he never thought to know. + + As men talk in a dream, so Corinth all, + Throughout her palaces imperial, + And all her populous streets and temples lewd, + Mutter'd, like tempest in the distance brew'd, + To the wide-spreaded night above her towers. + Men, women, rich and poor, in the cool hours, + Shuffled their sandals o'er the pavement white, + Companion'd or alone; while many a light + Flared, here and there, from wealthy festivals, + And threw their moving shadows on the walls, + Or found them cluster'd in the corniced shade + Of some arch'd temple door, or dusky colonnade. + + Muffling his face, of greeting friends in fear, + Her fingers he press'd hard, as one came near + With curl'd gray beard, sharp eyes, and smooth bald crown, + Slow-stepp'd, and robed in philosophic gown: + Lycius shrank closer, as they met and past, + Into his mantle, adding wings to haste, + While hurried Lamia trembled: "Ah," said he, + "Why do you shudder, love, so ruefully? + Why does your tender palm dissolve in dew?"— + "I'm wearied," said fair Lamia: "tell me who + Is that old man? I cannot bring to mind + His features—Lycius! wherefore did you blind + Yourself from his quick eyes?" Lycius replied, + 'Tis Apollonius sage, my trusty guide + And good instructor; but to-night he seems + The ghost of folly haunting my sweet dreams. + + While yet he spake they had arrived before + A pillar'd porch, with lofty portal door, + Where hung a silver lamp, whose phosphor glow + Reflected in the slabbed steps below, + Mild as a star in water; for so new, + And so unsullied was the marble hue, + So through the crystal polish, liquid fine, + Ran the dark veins, that none but feet divine + Could e'er have touch'd there. Sounds Aeolian + Breath'd from the hinges, as the ample span + Of the wide doors disclos'd a place unknown + Some time to any, but those two alone, + And a few Persian mutes, who that same year + Were seen about the markets: none knew where + They could inhabit; the most curious + Were foil'd, who watch'd to trace them to their house: + And but the flitter-winged verse must tell, + For truth's sake, what woe afterwards befel, + 'Twould humour many a heart to leave them thus, + Shut from the busy world of more incredulous. +</pre> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + Part 2 + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Love in a hut, with water and a crust, + Is—Love, forgive us!—cinders, ashes, dust; + Love in a palace is perhaps at last + More grievous torment than a hermit's fast— + That is a doubtful tale from faery land, + Hard for the non-elect to understand. + Had Lycius liv'd to hand his story down, + He might have given the moral a fresh frown, + Or clench'd it quite: but too short was their bliss + To breed distrust and hate, that make the soft voice hiss. + Besides, there, nightly, with terrific glare, + Love, jealous grown of so complete a pair, + Hover'd and buzz'd his wings, with fearful roar, + Above the lintel of their chamber door, + And down the passage cast a glow upon the floor. + + For all this came a ruin: side by side + They were enthroned, in the even tide, + Upon a couch, near to a curtaining + Whose airy texture, from a golden string, + Floated into the room, and let appear + Unveil'd the summer heaven, blue and clear, + Betwixt two marble shafts:—there they reposed, + Where use had made it sweet, with eyelids closed, + Saving a tythe which love still open kept, + That they might see each other while they almost slept; + When from the slope side of a suburb hill, + Deafening the swallow's twitter, came a thrill + Of trumpets—Lycius started—the sounds fled, + But left a thought, a buzzing in his head. + For the first time, since first he harbour'd in + That purple-lined palace of sweet sin, + His spirit pass'd beyond its golden bourn + Into the noisy world almost forsworn. + The lady, ever watchful, penetrant, + Saw this with pain, so arguing a want + Of something more, more than her empery + Of joys; and she began to moan and sigh + Because he mused beyond her, knowing well + That but a moment's thought is passion's passing bell. + "Why do you sigh, fair creature?" whisper'd he: + "Why do you think?" return'd she tenderly: + "You have deserted me—where am I now? + Not in your heart while care weighs on your brow: + No, no, you have dismiss'd me; and I go + From your breast houseless: ay, it must be so." + He answer'd, bending to her open eyes, + Where he was mirror'd small in paradise, + My silver planet, both of eve and morn! + Why will you plead yourself so sad forlorn, + While I am striving how to fill my heart + With deeper crimson, and a double smart? + How to entangle, trammel up and snare + Your soul in mine, and labyrinth you there + Like the hid scent in an unbudded rose? + Ay, a sweet kiss—you see your mighty woes. + My thoughts! shall I unveil them? Listen then! + What mortal hath a prize, that other men + May be confounded and abash'd withal, + But lets it sometimes pace abroad majestical, + And triumph, as in thee I should rejoice + Amid the hoarse alarm of Corinth's voice. + "Let my foes choke, and my friends shout afar, + While through the thronged streets your bridal car + Wheels round its dazzling spokes." The lady's cheek + Trembled; she nothing said, but, pale and meek, + Arose and knelt before him, wept a rain + Of sorrows at his words; at last with pain + Beseeching him, the while his hand she wrung, + To change his purpose. He thereat was stung, + Perverse, with stronger fancy to reclaim + Her wild and timid nature to his aim: + Besides, for all his love, in self despite, + Against his better self, he took delight + Luxurious in her sorrows, soft and new. + His passion, cruel grown, took on a hue + Fierce and sanguineous as 'twas possible + In one whose brow had no dark veins to swell. + Fine was the mitigated fury, like + Apollo's presence when in act to strike + The serpent—Ha, the serpent! certes, she + Was none. She burnt, she lov'd the tyranny, + And, all subdued, consented to the hour + When to the bridal he should lead his paramour. + Whispering in midnight silence, said the youth, + "Sure some sweet name thou hast, though, by my truth, + I have not ask'd it, ever thinking thee + Not mortal, but of heavenly progeny, + As still I do. Hast any mortal name, + Fit appellation for this dazzling frame? + Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth, + To share our marriage feast and nuptial mirth?" + "I have no friends," said Lamia," no, not one; + My presence in wide Corinth hardly known: + My parents' bones are in their dusty urns + Sepulchred, where no kindled incense burns, + Seeing all their luckless race are dead, save me, + And I neglect the holy rite for thee. + Even as you list invite your many guests; + But if, as now it seems, your vision rests + With any pleasure on me, do not bid + Old Apollonius—from him keep me hid." + Lycius, perplex'd at words so blind and blank, + Made close inquiry; from whose touch she shrank, + Feigning a sleep; and he to the dull shade + Of deep sleep in a moment was betray'd + + It was the custom then to bring away + The bride from home at blushing shut of day, + Veil'd, in a chariot, heralded along + By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage song, + With other pageants: but this fair unknown + Had not a friend. So being left alone, + (Lycius was gone to summon all his kin) + And knowing surely she could never win + His foolish heart from its mad pompousness, + She set herself, high-thoughted, how to dress + The misery in fit magnificence. + She did so, but 'tis doubtful how and whence + Came, and who were her subtle servitors. + About the halls, and to and from the doors, + There was a noise of wings, till in short space + The glowing banquet-room shone with wide-arched grace. + A haunting music, sole perhaps and lone + Supportress of the faery-roof, made moan + Throughout, as fearful the whole charm might fade. + Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a glade + Of palm and plantain, met from either side, + High in the midst, in honour of the bride: + Two palms and then two plantains, and so on, + From either side their stems branch'd one to one + All down the aisled place; and beneath all + There ran a stream of lamps straight on from wall to wall. + So canopied, lay an untasted feast + Teeming with odours. Lamia, regal drest, + Silently paced about, and as she went, + In pale contented sort of discontent, + Mission'd her viewless servants to enrich + The fretted splendour of each nook and niche. + Between the tree-stems, marbled plain at first, + Came jasper pannels; then, anon, there burst + Forth creeping imagery of slighter trees, + And with the larger wove in small intricacies. + Approving all, she faded at self-will, + And shut the chamber up, close, hush'd and still, + Complete and ready for the revels rude, + When dreadful guests would come to spoil her solitude. + + The day appear'd, and all the gossip rout. + O senseless Lycius! Madman! wherefore flout + The silent-blessing fate, warm cloister'd hours, + And show to common eyes these secret bowers? + The herd approach'd; each guest, with busy brain, + Arriving at the portal, gaz'd amain, + And enter'd marveling: for they knew the street, + Remember'd it from childhood all complete + Without a gap, yet ne'er before had seen + That royal porch, that high-built fair demesne; + So in they hurried all, maz'd, curious and keen: + Save one, who look'd thereon with eye severe, + And with calm-planted steps walk'd in austere; + 'Twas Apollonius: something too he laugh'd, + As though some knotty problem, that had daft + His patient thought, had now begun to thaw, + And solve and melt—'twas just as he foresaw. + + He met within the murmurous vestibule + His young disciple. "'Tis no common rule, + Lycius," said he, "for uninvited guest + To force himself upon you, and infest + With an unbidden presence the bright throng + Of younger friends; yet must I do this wrong, + And you forgive me." Lycius blush'd, and led + The old man through the inner doors broad-spread; + With reconciling words and courteous mien + Turning into sweet milk the sophist's spleen. + + Of wealthy lustre was the banquet-room, + Fill'd with pervading brilliance and perfume: + Before each lucid pannel fuming stood + A censer fed with myrrh and spiced wood, + Each by a sacred tripod held aloft, + Whose slender feet wide-swerv'd upon the soft + Wool-woofed carpets: fifty wreaths of smoke + From fifty censers their light voyage took + To the high roof, still mimick'd as they rose + Along the mirror'd walls by twin-clouds odorous. + Twelve sphered tables, by silk seats insphered, + High as the level of a man's breast rear'd + On libbard's paws, upheld the heavy gold + Of cups and goblets, and the store thrice told + Of Ceres' horn, and, in huge vessels, wine + Come from the gloomy tun with merry shine. + Thus loaded with a feast the tables stood, + Each shrining in the midst the image of a God. + + When in an antichamber every guest + Had felt the cold full sponge to pleasure press'd, + By minist'ring slaves, upon his hands and feet, + And fragrant oils with ceremony meet + Pour'd on his hair, they all mov'd to the feast + In white robes, and themselves in order placed + Around the silken couches, wondering + Whence all this mighty cost and blaze of wealth could spring. + + Soft went the music the soft air along, + While fluent Greek a vowel'd undersong + Kept up among the guests discoursing low + At first, for scarcely was the wine at flow; + But when the happy vintage touch'd their brains, + Louder they talk, and louder come the strains + Of powerful instruments—the gorgeous dyes, + The space, the splendour of the draperies, + The roof of awful richness, nectarous cheer, + Beautiful slaves, and Lamia's self, appear, + Now, when the wine has done its rosy deed, + And every soul from human trammels freed, + No more so strange; for merry wine, sweet wine, + Will make Elysian shades not too fair, too divine. + Soon was God Bacchus at meridian height; + Flush'd were their cheeks, and bright eyes double bright: + Garlands of every green, and every scent + From vales deflower'd, or forest-trees branch rent, + In baskets of bright osier'd gold were brought + High as the handles heap'd, to suit the thought + Of every guest; that each, as he did please, + Might fancy-fit his brows, silk-pillow'd at his ease. + + What wreath for Lamia? What for Lycius? + What for the sage, old Apollonius? + Upon her aching forehead be there hung + The leaves of willow and of adder's tongue; + And for the youth, quick, let us strip for him + The thyrsus, that his watching eyes may swim + Into forgetfulness; and, for the sage, + Let spear-grass and the spiteful thistle wage + War on his temples. Do not all charms fly + At the mere touch of cold philosophy? + There was an awful rainbow once in heaven: + We know her woof, her texture; she is given + In the dull catalogue of common things. + Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings, + Conquer all mysteries by rule and line, + Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine— + Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made + The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade. + + By her glad Lycius sitting, in chief place, + Scarce saw in all the room another face, + Till, checking his love trance, a cup he took + Full brimm'd, and opposite sent forth a look + 'Cross the broad table, to beseech a glance + From his old teacher's wrinkled countenance, + And pledge him. The bald-head philosopher + Had fix'd his eye, without a twinkle or stir + Full on the alarmed beauty of the bride, + Brow-beating her fair form, and troubling her sweet pride. + Lycius then press'd her hand, with devout touch, + As pale it lay upon the rosy couch: + 'Twas icy, and the cold ran through his veins; + Then sudden it grew hot, and all the pains + Of an unnatural heat shot to his heart. + "Lamia, what means this? Wherefore dost thou start? + Know'st thou that man?" Poor Lamia answer'd not. + He gaz'd into her eyes, and not a jot + Own'd they the lovelorn piteous appeal: + More, more he gaz'd: his human senses reel: + Some hungry spell that loveliness absorbs; + There was no recognition in those orbs. + "Lamia!" he cried—and no soft-toned reply. + The many heard, and the loud revelry + Grew hush; the stately music no more breathes; + The myrtle sicken'd in a thousand wreaths. + By faint degrees, voice, lute, and pleasure ceased; + A deadly silence step by step increased, + Until it seem'd a horrid presence there, + And not a man but felt the terror in his hair. + "Lamia!" he shriek'd; and nothing but the shriek + With its sad echo did the silence break. + "Begone, foul dream!" he cried, gazing again + In the bride's face, where now no azure vein + Wander'd on fair-spaced temples; no soft bloom + Misted the cheek; no passion to illume + The deep-recessed vision—all was blight; + Lamia, no longer fair, there sat a deadly white. + "Shut, shut those juggling eyes, thou ruthless man! + Turn them aside, wretch! or the righteous ban + Of all the Gods, whose dreadful images + Here represent their shadowy presences, + May pierce them on the sudden with the thorn + Of painful blindness; leaving thee forlorn, + In trembling dotage to the feeblest fright + Of conscience, for their long offended might, + For all thine impious proud-heart sophistries, + Unlawful magic, and enticing lies. + Corinthians! look upon that gray-beard wretch! + Mark how, possess'd, his lashless eyelids stretch + Around his demon eyes! Corinthians, see! + My sweet bride withers at their potency." + "Fool!" said the sophist, in an under-tone + Gruff with contempt; which a death-nighing moan + From Lycius answer'd, as heart-struck and lost, + He sank supine beside the aching ghost. + "Fool! Fool!" repeated he, while his eyes still + Relented not, nor mov'd; "from every ill + Of life have I preserv'd thee to this day, + And shall I see thee made a serpent's prey?" + Then Lamia breath'd death breath; the sophist's eye, + Like a sharp spear, went through her utterly, + Keen, cruel, perceant, stinging: she, as well + As her weak hand could any meaning tell, + Motion'd him to be silent; vainly so, + He look'd and look'd again a level—No! + "A Serpent!" echoed he; no sooner said, + Than with a frightful scream she vanished: + And Lycius' arms were empty of delight, + As were his limbs of life, from that same night. + On the high couch he lay!—his friends came round + Supported him—no pulse, or breath they found, + And, in its marriage robe, the heavy body wound. +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lamia, by John Keats + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAMIA *** + +***** This file should be named 2490-h.htm or 2490-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/9/2490/ + +Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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