PS 19 £9 ' 1^1#». Book_.n 8S> I May 1, 1848. A LIST OP BOOKS RECENTLY PUBLISHED BY WILLIAM D. TICKNOR & COMPANY, Comer of ^asjitigton antr />» l >/V»rf^V* CANTO II. I ENDYMION. CANTO II. I. What time the lessening stars, like ghosts, were paling Before the growing influence of the dawn, Gradually waxing wan — What time, like Carthaginian galleys sailing O'er sun-lit seas, the clouds an amber stain Flung on the Latmian main, II. Slumbering Endymion lay, — his white arms folded Over his whiter chest; while, like a girl's, His long and golden curls Diademed a form that even in sleep seemed moulded The Ideal of a God, left ere the hand Creating, bade it stand. c (33) 34 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. III. Instinct with heavenly essence ; and his bosom Arose and fell as heaves and falls the sea ; And round his lips the bee Hovered enchanted, for, as from a blossom, The delicate perfume of his odorous breath Curled in a misty wreath. IV. Sudden the sun-light came, and, shining o'er him, Kissed him upon his sleeping eyes, and flew, Dancing along the dew, Toward the swart shadows of the grove before him, That trembled to it. He awoke : — But where His Goddess ? Gone in air ! V. He sprang erect, — a thousand dew-drops glancing From off his limbs, like showers of stars that sink From the empyrean's brink, — And standing, like a statue, unadvancing, Gazed slowly round, his wondering soul aghast, Seeking to grasp the Past. CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 35 VI. Was he awake ? for lo ! the laurelled mountain Remained unchanged, as cycles since it frowned, With hoary hemlocks crowned : t And mist and buds and flowers and bird and fountain Had faded, flown or sunk. His sense half gone, Endymion stood alone. VII. He saw the moon, mild, meek and melancholy, Sink 'neath the arrows of the sun, and wane; And heard the throstle's strain Rise from the valley, while, like one that slowly Wakes from a dream, and by degrees perceives He slept, and so believes VIII. All the creations of his sleep a vision, And still is loth to believe it, with his mind Veering like April wind, He stood in doubt, half-thinking the Elysian Delights he had enjoyed, the fitful theme Of a distempered dream. 36 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. IX. And then he paused. Were the ethereal kisses Whose flame yet fired his veins, the wild embrace, When, trembling, face to face He stood with Dian, the ecstatic blisses Maddening his memory — fancies ? Fancies ! No ! Too fervent was their glow ! It was no dream. Around his senses flowing Was music not of earth : his very heart Strove struggling to dispart, So full was it of heaven : his soul seemed growing A Titan's, striving in its strength to break Its fetters, and awake XI. Again in Dian's presence. Like an eagle That, caged, repines, he strove to rend his bars And soar unto the stars. Wild dreams and w T ilder hopes of glories regal Flashed o'er his soul, and glancing proudly back, He scorned his shepherd track. CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 37 XII. Why was this sudden, this sublimed emotion, Were all a dream ? Whence was his soul so full — He being clay so dull — Of high aspirings, that it heaved, an ocean, Leaping impetuous toward the sapphire skies Which seemed to bid it rise ? XIII. It was no dream ; but yet his human spirit Felt blind, as one feels when a sudden light Breaks on the eyes at night : Weak in the consciousness of his own demerit, He could not compass what the gods had given, And paused in sight of heaven. XIV. But like the youthful eagle that, when gazing First on the sun, covers his eyes, yet turns To where the bright orb burns, Soaring with veiled lids, meeting its blazing At last, unconquered : so, Endymion's soul Finally grasped its goal. 4 38 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. XV. Sighing he sought his flock. The partridge whirring Sprang at his feet unheard ; the wood-birds made Meadow and glen and glade Merry with melody ; hares, from slumber stirring, Pattered athwart his path ; and through the trees Swam swarms of buzzing bees. XVI. But all unnoticed. Over the dewy meadows His herd ran races — stopping, cropped the grass, Or, pausing o'er the glass Of crystal streams, beheld their snowy shadows, Bleating to find themselves reflected there, It seemed, afloat in air. XVII. Unheeding all, the listless shepherd threw him Among the shadows of an aged tree. Around the grassy lea His friends were sporting : yet his feelings drew him From merriment to muse in solitude : On the sweet past to brood. CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 39 XVIII. He heard their songs, their reedy pipes, unheeding Or song or strain, and saw them in the dance ; And yet, like one in trance, Who sees what passes, yet whom sleep is leading Away from knowledge, lay, his busy brain Throbbing with thoughts of pain. XIX. At last, all missed him, and at once discerning His distant form, wondered why he that led Their mirth should lie with head Hid in his hands, and, as it were, inurning Himself in shadow. At once their songs were ended, Their sylvan sports suspended. XX. " Chromia," quoth one, " Endymion, whom thou lovest, Shrouds him from sight. What is it thou hast done To wound our gentle one ? Art thou so cruel that with scorn thou provest His fervent faith, and leavest him alone To silence making moan?" 40 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. XXL " Go to him, Chromia, and with bland beguiling Woo him to dance with us." The maid replied, — "Alas ! I am decried ! Last night my white-browed lover left me, smiling ; • The morn, deserting me, he shuns my eye — O ! Jove, that I might die !" XXII. But still she went, though very sad and drooping, Toward the day-dreamer, who apparently slept, And slow and noiselessly stept Where he reclined; when, gradually stooping, She kissed his pallid brow. His cheeks alight Crimson with deep delight, XXIII. Deeming her Dian, he rose, his glances flowing With streams of passionate love ; but seeing who stood Before him, all his blood Rushed to his brow. Coldly, like one unknowing Who it was came, he turned in sullen scorn, Leaving the maid forlorn. CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 41 XXIV. Chromia looked on him, all her frame congealing Slowly to stone. Pale, palsied, mute, aghast, Statue-like, as he passed, She stood ; and for so long, that each one feeling All was not well, ran toward her; when she turned, And each, at once discerned XXV. That she was mad ; for her large eyes ran o'er them Unconscious, blankly, and like those of death : Heaving a long-drawn breath, Sudden she turned, and, shrieking, fled before them. Some followed her affrighted ; others went To the youth in wonderment. XXVI. He stood awaiting them, — imperial, stately, And like a God. Stricken with awe they gazed, As, like twin comets, blazed His lurid eyes. He spoke ; they wondering greatly ; For in his voice and language dwelt a strange And sad, but noble change. 4# 42 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. XXVII. "Shepherds," said he, "what would ye with me?" turning Upon them all the terror of his eyes. " What thoughts within ye rise ? See ye aught strange in me V 9 " Your cheeks are burning," Quoth one, " with feverish flame. Where have you been? What awful horror seen? XXVIII. " Tell us, Endymion !" And they bent to listen. Endymion, breathing long, replied, " I will ! Upon the Latmian hill, Where, as ye know, the moon-beams soonest glisten, The twilight saw me standing near the lake That sleeps beside the brake. XXIX. " Flushed with the heavy heat, I thought the water Would cool my languid limbs : so, doffed my dress And sought the waves' caress. Just then, the moon, Latona's stainless daughter Rose o'er my head — what time I swam is lost, My soul's so passion-tost! CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 43 XXX. " But when I reached the shore, all scents excelling, Strange sweets beguiled my senses ; silver strains Seemed swimming through my veins. All round were flowers. There leapt a fountain welling Through velvet mosses, showering pearly flame. Suddenly swam my name, XXXI. " Pronounced in golden song, as said in sorrow ; And then I fainted. But my swoon brought dreams, Such lustrous, dazzling dreams — So great, so grand, that never more a morrow I sought to see ; for in them, wreathed with light, Great Dian blessed my sight !" XXXII. Endymion paused, for (while all stood in wonder,) The day grew slowly dark; but still he spake, And as his utterance brake Clear on the solemn silence, sudden thunder Rolled through the skies ; and yet the youth went on, Though all around were wan. 44 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. XXXIII. " She stood before me, with her snowy bosom Naked and throbbing ; passion in her eyes ; Assailing me with sighs. A strange, wild hope began to bud and blossom Within my brain, and, though the child of Jove, I wooed her for my love. XXXIV. " She seemed irresolute, but suddenly waving Her heavenly hand, a mist rose slowly round, Shrouding the enchanted ground. She bade me rise" — " Endymion, thou art raving !" Exclaimed the shepherds, shaken with awful fear Lest She he should revere XXXV. Would smite him dead. Endymion's face seemed clouded That they believed not, but it passed. " Though sad," Said he, " I am not mad, Nor do I rave. There, as I told ye, shrouded With clouds were we — I, sleeping ; she, awake— And, as I said, she spake, CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 45 XXXVI. " Bidding me rise. My soul at once departed Out of my body. That which was my soul, Defying all control, Pressed Dian to its breast " That moment darted, Endymion speaking, such a lightning flash, And burst so loud a crash XXXVII. Of thunder, that the shepherds fled affrighted From the blasphemer, fearing they should share His death or his despair ; While he, discerning that his words invited This ominous change, yet ignorant why, dismayed, Sank on his knees, and prayed. XXXVIII. " Hear me, O ! Dian ! If 'tis thou that speakest, Hear me !" he cried. " 'Tis better I should die Than meet thy angry eye. Let fall thy bolts, if my poor life thou seekest : Adoring thee, I still will bless the blow That lays my manhood low. 46 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. XXXIX. " It will be sweet to fall by thee, and dying I shall know greater bliss than life can give, Since it is hell to live Fired by these new desires — this high o'er-flying Of earth's realities: then, if as my soul Brings me to think, my goal XL. " Shall be some sphere beyond the intensest azure, Where, with thy Nymphs, 'neath jewel-fruited trees, On emerald-gleaming leas, Thou passest all thy hours in sylvan pleasure, Hunting ethereal deer, there shall I be Happiest, beholding thee! XLI. " But if, as doubters say, the grave's the portal That opens only on chaotic gloom, Then shall I in my tomb Forget thee and forever, O ! immortal, Supernal Dian, who even now lookest down On me, with awful frown." CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 47 XLIL As if the Goddess heard, and hearing, heeded, And heeding, pitied love so wild and deep, The tempest sank to sleep ; When, as the gloomy ground puts forth the beeded And sapphire violets at winter's death, the clouds Doffing their funeral shrouds XLIII. And folding solemnly their sombre pinions, Let out the blue between; then slowly slid From sight, and sinking, hid, Where in the darkness of their dense dominions Stalk the grim, gaunt and ghastly ghosts of Old, Thin, weak and icy cold. XLIV. Day faded ; and the purple sun-set slowly Threw heavenly splendors o'er the earthly scene; A spiritual mien, Soothing, subdued, serene, soft, solemn, holy, Shedding on all, giving each heart full quiet, Save his, where love ran riot. 48 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. XLV. Sadly Endymion wandered o'er the valley, Through slowly darkening woods, by blackening streams, 'Till Phoebus his last beams Cast on the tree-tops. Ceasing then to dally, He mounted Latmos : and at last, again, Stood on its summit plain. XLVI. Trembling with hope and fear, he stood, while grimly Darkness descended — Darkness, child of Night ! — With slowly circling flight, — And watched the East, where, distantly and dimly, The moon, through ebon gloom, of splendor shorn, Arose, weak, wan and worn. XL VII. Throughout the heavens were rifts of clouds that drifted Hurriedly o'er her face, and all the stars, Save the stern planet Mars, Had shrunk from sight ; but when the gloom was lifted — As soon it was — one, here and there, alone, With sickly lustre shone. CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 49 XLVIII. Endymion stood and watched, his spirit shrouded With gloom like to a pall, as the moon rose Coldly, the while he froze ; For, from the icy North, dark, raven-clouded, Shrilled gusts of wind that chilled him, and he grew As stone beneath the dew. XLIX. Slowly his senses left him and he fainted ; And as he fell, there, spectral, wan and pale, Stood Dian with a wail On her blue lips, and cheeks that seemed as painted With stripes of scalding tears; and from her brow, In damp, dishevelled flow, L. Trembled her tresses, while her frame was shaking With gusts of grief. All ghostly stood she there, A form of thinnest air, Making deep moans, but thinking not of waking The senseless youth. Her pallid hands she w r rung, Then spake with sorrowing tongue. 5 D 50 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. LI. "Alas ! alas ! Endymion," said she, weeping, " How had I loved thee had thy love been true ! Why, why didst thou undo Thyself and me ? The secret in thy keeping How durst thou breathe ? Ah ! me, my silver fame Is stained with spots of shame ! LII. " Thou wast too vain : I should have known thee better And cautioned thee. To one that loved thee so, How couldst thou bring such woe ? Had I been earthly woman, thou my debtor For favor shown, thou hadst been silent. Well Thy folly broke the spell ; LIII. "And, traitor, what remains to thee ? A sorrow That has no end, save death ; for, never more This side the Stygian shore Shalt thou fold woman's form, or else the morrow Beholds thee — dead : the lip that lay on mine Shall know no meaner shrine : CANTO n.] ENDYMION. 51 LIV. " This is thy punishment and mine ! for lonely Henceforth am I, and if thy grief is great? Think what must be my fate, Who am immortal. Thine is agony only Enduring for a day, the woe of earth ; Mine has a loftier birth ; LV. "And as the Cimmerian shades of Styx are denser Than those of Night, so, deeper is my gloom, And heavier my doom, I being a God, which makes my agony tenser, And also woman, so my passion wrings My heart with scorpion stings. LVI. "Awake, arise Endymion ! Henceforth ever My memory haunts thee, as thy memory me ; And sad one, it must be To thee a madness ; for a fordless river Shall roar between us : yet, by frequent prayer (Much may be done by prayer), 52 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. LVII. " This have I won from Jove — that, being haunted By constant sorrow, if with steadfast faith (And true love knows no death), Thou keep'st my image, and with eye undaunted Meet'st evils which shall compass thee, — in sleep That shall be sweet, long, deep, LVIII. " Still may I cheer thee ; and when thou, declining, Diest, thy death shall give thee endless youth, A Godhead and a ruth For what thou wast ; for as the sun reclining In Indian skies outshines the simple cars That bear the feeble stars, LIX. " So shall thy bliss surpass all earthly blisses : My love shall overgrow thee like a vine ; And shadowing me with thine, Together through Olympian wildernesses Wandering, eternity shall waste away In the waning of a day I" CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 53 LX. Endymion rose, with outstretched hands imploring Dian to pause ; but nothing, save a haze, Met his astonished gaze. The amber-circled moon, behind a lowering And gloomy cloud was sinking: desolate Night Sat only in his sight. LXI. Was this a dream ? — This, too, the vague ideal Of a distempered brain ? The wonders growing Each moment greater, flowing Grandly around him, fancies ? No, too real, Too sadly real they ! — Blest, he had cast His bliss in folly past. LXII. Through the dense darkness wearily he wandered Along, athwart the sacred spot, 'till day Rose in the Orient way. And then, more calm, but grieving he had squandered Such holy hopes, he turned and sought the vale, Even as its lilies, pale. 5* 54 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. LXIII. Treasuring each word his heavenly love had uttered, And pondering on them, maddening, as he came Among his friends, a flame Seemed roaring round him, and his senses fluttered With too much woe. Tottering he sank and swooned Upon the grassy ground. LXIV. Clustering about him, every eye-lash glistening With tears of pity — for Endymion From earliest youth had won Their simple love, — and bending o'er him, listening If he still breathed, they leant. Bathing his brow, They saw a rosy glow LXV. Creep o'er his cheek. He stirred, and with a shiver Tremblingly rose. Some brought him wine ; some food. Fiercely he ate, and stood Again revived, though still a gentle quiver Ran o'er his limbs ; at last his faintness fled. Sudden a shepherd said, CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 55 LXVI. "Alas, for our Endymion ! he hath slumbered In Dian's rays, and they have woven a strain Whose sweetness crushed his brain. Poor moon-struck youth ! what happy hours he numbered With dove-eyed Chromia : now, his bridal bed Shall only bear him — dead." LXVII. "Thou liest !" exclaimed Endymion fiercely. " Try me If I am mad. Yon is the sky, and thou Hsephestion ; there the brow Of Latmos kisses heaven ; floating by me, Seeking its sire the sea, yon river flows ; There golden Phoebus glows. LXVIII. " Discourse with me, and learn from me that madness (Even were I mad,) is reason so sublimed That it is inter-chimed With Jove's own thoughts. And more ! This solemn sadness At which ye scoff, is offspring of my folly In whispering secrets holy. 56 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. LXIX. " Ye look on me with wonder, seeing changes In me from what I was. Well, I am changed, And being so, estranged From such as ye ; for my proud spirit ranges Beyond the stars, basks in Olympian light And scorns its pristine night. LXX. " Chromia ! — I loved her once — Alas, sweet maiden Whose soul, so lily-white, bowed down to mine As to high Here's shrine ! Great is my grief that I must leave her laden With swarthy sorrow ; but it is her fate : I, too, am desolate !" LXXI. And like a child succumbing to emotion Endymion wept, but with a haughty heart Strode silently apart, Covering his face. At once a loud commotion Ran through the crowd, and threats and savage cries Rose fiercely toward the skies. CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 57 LXXII. Proudly he turned, and stern, and smiling coldly? With lofty scorn illumining his face, " Death !" said he, " 'Twill erase The bitter Past. Shepherds, behold how boldly I stand to meet it." As he spoke a strain Of harmony swept the plain. LXXIIL It was a hymn which, faint and far, ascended To awful Jove, — a prayer of peace — and slowly, Arrayed in vestments holy, Appeared the priests, who, at first sight seemed blended Like shadows with the shadows of the wood. In the stern throng they stood. LXXIV. Astonishment imprinted on each feature, They gazed around; but when the patriarch learned The cause of tumult, burned His sacred eyes uplifted. " Guilty creature," He murmured, trembling, " speak ! and speak the truth : Else dream not of my ruth !" 58 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. LXXV. "Father," replied Endymion, " though I humbly Acknowledge thy high office — though I feel Thy simple word can seal My future fate — still, like a statue, dumbly I must remain before thee : yet, to thy decree Shall bend my willing knee." LXXVI. " Thou hast blasphemed, proud boy !" " No, father, never ! Truth is not blasphemy. Thy Gods and mine Acknowledge it divine. The past is mine and must remain so ever, The rest I leave to heaven. Now, work your will, I can be patient still." LXXVII. The aged patriarch stood in silent wonder — Silent with rage — while from the angry crowd A murmur growing loud As the far growling of awakening thunder Rose hoarsely on the wind. He waved his hand, And silence ruled the band. CANTO II.] ENDYMION. 59 LXXVIII. Then spake the passionate patriarch, — " Idle, dreaming, Perverse, blasphemous boy, and mad, begone ! Hence, wander forth alone ! The Gods have punished thee ; the fiery gleaming Of thy great eyes proclaims it. We are free From sin — so banish thee ! LXXIX. " Leave us — Accursed, and by all forsaken ! Repent thy sins. Those that thou scornd'st, in turn, ! fool ! scorn thee ! Forlorn In the grey wilderness — if such may be — awaken Again to sense ; and then, to senseless stones Give penitential groans." LXXX. "'Tis just,oldman — most just, when over-leaping Thee and thy fellows with a knowledge they Call madness — that my way Should be distinct from theirs. I go, and keeping AH to myself, turn to the wilderness As to a bride's caress. 60 ENDYMION. [CANTO II. LXXXI. " Farewell ! Be kind to Chromia, and remember Me as one long since dead." With eyes that burned To weep, Endymion turned Proudly away, crushing hope's smouldering ember, And with a stately step walked sternly forth, A wanderer o'er the earth. E N D Y M I N. CANTO III. ENDYMION. CANTO III. I. 'T was autumn on the mountain : fluttering, falling, Lifted or sinking on the breeze that rolled Shrill, sharp and icy cold From the white North, and low and mournfully calling One to the other, yellow, golden, brown, The withering leaves came down. II. All round was wasting, save the pines that proudly Sustained their primal heads, and one stout oak That, gnarled and mossy, broke Out of a sheltered hollow, where it loudly Creaked in the wind: and it seemed stricken; for now A hoar-frost marked its brow — (63) 64 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. III. An untimely frost, for still the valley greenly Shone as in summer, while the circling plain Glittered with grass and grain. Beside the rivers that were glistening queenly 'Tween dewy banks, were scattered herds of sheep, Lying in peaceful sleep. IV. A cliff looked down upon the valley. Reaching Across the gulf, a blasted hemlock leant, — A tree by lightning rent — Dead ere its time ; and on it, faintly stretching Its feeble neck, a falcon sat alone, Deserted, making moan. V. A hunter's shaft had stricken him, when soaring Through the blue air; and now, his plumage soiled, His limbs of strength despoiled, He sat, supremely desolate, while roaring The mountain w T inds swept round him, bearing past The dead leaves, falling fast. CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 65 VI. Flight after flight of crows swept by, descending, Cawing, seeking the south ; and, scarce in sight, So lofty was their height, Flew lines of cranes, their shadowy figures blending Slowly with shadow, till the distant skies Wrapped them from human eyes. VII. Mournfully from the withering woods a moaning Rose on the wind — the wail of Dryads pale ; And from a mountain dale Echoed the pipe of Pan — Pan, who was groaning Over the dying season — Satyr Pan, A God, mourning like man. VIII. There was a crackling of the leaves, and screaming The falcon proudly strove to soar, but fell Heavily toward the dell, As suddenly, while over Latmos gleaming Trembled the sunrise, in the sylvan scene Stood one of noble mien. 6* e 66 ENDYM10N. [CANTO HI. IX. He was not old ; and yet his hair, though golden, Was mixed with silver, and his pallid brow Paler beneath its flow, Revealed the lingering marks that age or olden Care had imprinted there: his eyes were fraught With sadness and deep thought. X. His cheek was ashen-wan ; his figure, stooping ; And yet a beauty, like that painters trace Pourtraying Gods, his face And form displayed ; while, though there was a drooping About the man, a majesty remained As in one self-sustained. XI. A snowy tunic, edged with gold, was belted About him, fitting perfectly ; while fell, In many a fold and swell, A toga from his shoulders, whence, as melted One with the other, many a glistening gem Ran rippling down its hem. CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 67 XII. A helm was on his brow, a cuirass sparkled Beneath his robe, and at his girdle hung A massive sword which rung With every movement : — from his helmet darkled A mass of plumes, that, swaying in the wind, Drooped gracefully behind. XIII. Pausing, the warrior stood, perchance retracing The wastes of memory ; and in pensive mood, Through shadowy glens pursued Old recollections — like a child, erasing The present from his mind. A sudden start— A heaving of the heart — . XIV. A lifting of the eye-brows, and a gleaming Of sentient eyes — and suddenly he strode Adown the rocky road. 'Twas now broad day. He saw the meadows beaming With morning light, and far away — so far, The harmony of a star 68 ENDYMION. [CANTO in. XV. It seemed — floated a shepherd's song, whose falter Was like his heart's ; and with 't he felt the blush Of boyish memories rush Warm to his cheek and brow. As at an altar, He stood in thought. Recovering, again He sought the distant plain. XVI. Entering the woods that, like an arm enfolding The mountain's base, spread wide, he heard a humming Of many voices. Coming Slowly more near, he found the speakers holding Council, while accents, fraught with timorous fear, Struck his attentive ear. XVII. Parting the interlacing twigs, he stood, surveying The timid group. The patriarch was there, — Old priests with hoary hair, — Sages with wrinkled brows, — and youths a Maying Party seemed fitter for, than sword or shield, Or strife on the red field. CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 69 XVIII. " Brothers/' exclaimed the elder of the sages, " We are too weak to struggle. Let us send Envoys, and humbly bend Before these Phrygians ; for their army rages, Boar-like, around us. We can then enjoy Our homes with small alloy." XIX. " Rather," returned a youth with passion, " drive them Like deer before us. Know, though we are few, If we are firm and true — True to ourselves — our honest hands shall rive them Of all they rent from us. No tribute ! None ! To arms each Carian son !" XX. " But who shall lead ye V 9 asked the sage. " A craven, Unmanly fear is on us, ignorant as we are Of deeds, or art of war. Our peaceful life — watching our flocks — has shaven Our limbs of strength. Go to, proud boy, be dumb! 'Tis better to succumb." 70 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. XXI. The stranger heard, trembling with rage, his figure Rising majestic, and his practised hand Grasped his great brand. He had been weak, but now a sudden vigor Coursed through his frame, which quivered with his ire: His very veins were fire. XXII. He sprang among them. " Shepherds," said he, " listen And fear not \" But in tremulous amaze They leapt apart, each gaze Earnest with dread. " Nay, never let the glisten Of steel appal ye. At a single blade Are Latmians thus dismayed ? XXIII. " Be firm ; be brave : I am a friend. Go, gather Your rusted arms : I '11 lead ye ! Were your foe A myriad, rise ! and lo ! He falls before ye. Jove is with ye, rather Sustaining right than might. Yours is the right : What fear ye from the fight V 9 CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 71 XXIV. He paused. " To arms ! To arms !" arose like thunder, Startling the mountain from its stony sleep ; Whose response, loud and deep, Broke on their ears, like sound of surf that under Black, beetling cliffs, breaks on a craggy strand, Shaking the granite land. XXV. Like an old man awoke from midnight slumber, Pale, palsied, gazing round with tremulous fear, The forest far and near Heard it, and trembled. Doubts no more encumber The shepherd's souls. Each in his brother's eye Reads courage strong and high. XXVI. " But," asked the aged Patriarch, " noble stranger, Who and what art thou ? From what purple shore, What land with glory hoar, Comest thou to aid us? Art thou not a ranger Of the blue spheres ? Perchance, majestic Mars, The warrior of the stars !" 72 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. XXVII. " Who and what am I, or whence come — if mortal Or God/' replied he, smiling, " none may know. Go ; at once, warriors ; go Burnish your arms ; and at the forest's portal Meet me at noon, attired in steel array : Night sees us far aw T ay. XXVIII. "Now, soldiers, hence!" Like those that felt, and feeling The presence of some loftier being, bend Unquestioning, they wend Among the trees. Like silent shadows, stealing, Some, one way, some, the other, they are gone. The stranger stands alone. XXIX. Not long he stands ; for soon Apollo, rounding The mighty globe, flashes his fiercest rays, Piercing the forest ways. Time passes, and remembering — lightly bounding; For love of glory, in that hour, with strength Endued his limbs — at length CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 73 XXX. He reached the appointed spot, — a sentience swelling To being in him, that his hand should clasp Some greatness which his grasp 'Till then had sought in vain. High thoughts came welling, Like springs in granite, through his soul, which rose Superior to its woes. XXXI. Under a mighty oak, w T hose noon-tide shadow Slept at its foot, he musingly reclined With proud, but pensive mind. Sudden ! a sharp, shrill scream along the meadow Startled his ears. He rose, as through the sky Floated that piercing cry. XXXII. And, as he sprang erect, a pard, cinque-spotted, Bearing a lamb, toward the near forest dashed, Unseeing him, while crashed The twigs before it, and the leaves, half-rotted, Crackled beneath its tread. The forest's night Concealed its further flight. 7 7i ENDYMION. CANTO III.] xxxin. Swiftly the stranger followed, — disappearing In the dense undergrowth. Scarce had he gone, When slowly, one by one, Arrived the shepherds, each new-comer peering In his companion's face with smiles, that there He saw no shade of fear. XXXIV. As yet they stood — the while, their doubts beguiling With warlike songs, the stranger with the dead Pard and the lamb, and red With conflict, came in haste, serenely smiling, And paused among them. " Friends," said he, " behold ! This leopard, scarcely cold, XXXV. " Attacked yon herd. I saw the deed, and, starting In swift, pursuit, destroyed him. Awful Jove Regards our acts with love : This omen breathes it. Follow me, and darting Like lightning on these Phrygians, win a crown Of ever-bright renown." CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 75 XXXVI. Responsive rose their cries, the concave rending, Rousing the echoes; and their brazen shields Striking, each warrior wields His massive brand. "Away ! The day is blending With shadowy eve," they shouted. " Let us go: We burn to face the foe ! XXXVII. " Revenge or death ! We languish for the slaughter ! Hurrah !" The stranger heard, his eye ablaze, Gleaming with lurid rays, And wide dilated. " Yes," cried he, " like water, Spill their base blood : death else to all our band- Death for your father land ! XXXVIII. " Now, let us pray." They knelt, with accents solemn, Entreating Jove ; then rose, and gathering, formed, Each heart with phrenzy warmed, Proudly before their chief, in serried column. " Forward !" he cried ; — and soon in solitude Slept the majestic wood. 70 ENDYM10N. [CANTO III. XXXIX. Days glided by like dreams ; and one sweet morning — A warm, bright morn in autumn — when the skies Were placid as the eyes Of those that watched — when, gloriously adorning The yellowing plains with golden light, Apollo Peopled each glen and hollow XL. With radiant rays — sudden — far distant — ringing Arose a clarion's silver note. The sound Fluttered and floated round, Like an embodied cloud singing, while swinging Poised in mid air. The Spirit of the Wind, Pale Echo — who had pined XLI. For days, in dim and silent glades, in sadness, Wanting the shepherd's songs — took up the strain, And murmured o'er the plain Aerial response. Thronging, wild with gladness, Rushed forth both old and young, and many a maiden With anxious love o'erladen. CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 77 XLII. Louder arose the clarion's silver thunder; Louder and prouder; while the listeners gazed One on the other, 'mazed With too much bliss ; for in its notes, that under The fretted woods, along the streams, and through The concave's circling blue, XLIII. Floated, was triumph — triumph great and glorious ! And over ancient Latmos flashed the lightning Of armour grandly brightening In the red sun. " Io, O ! Io ! Lo ! they come, victorious ! Sisters ! away to where the laurel grows ! Bays for our victor's brows !" XLIV. Through the green woods they hasten, gathering blossoms And wreathing chaplets, as the clarion near, And nearer, and more clear, Rings on the silence, while their swelling bosoms Heave to its notes. Loudly the cymbals, ringing, Clang to the maidens' singing, 7* 78 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. XLV. Then joyously they mingle, while the prancing Of steeds comes nearer, and the clank of steel, And trumpet tones that reel On the clear air; when forth, with dizzy dancing, And song, and sylvan mirth, they haste to greet Their friends' returning feet. XL VI. Grandly they come : each manly bosom swelling With glorious joy ; — each eye aflame with fire. Nigher they come and nigher — Nigher and nigher, 'till each homely dwelling Stands full in sight ; and then, despite their years, The warriors pause in tears. XLVII. But, through the woods, even while their eye-lids glis- tened, Swell over swell, arose the welcome home. And now their kinsmen come, Chaunting their paeans, as entranced they listened, Leaning upon their spears ; when, loud, a shout Like thunder leapt from out CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 79 XLVIII. Their trembling lips ; the sun-light on their lances Flashed silver flame, and even the murmuring air, Delighted, seemed to share Their joyous madness. Proud each war-horse prances, Spurning the ground — proudly as though he trod, Backed by some warrior-god. XLIX. The stranger came ; gleaming his armour golden ; Snowy his plumes; while from his brow a joyance Displaced the pale annoyance That grief or time had made. Like to an olden Knight of romance, he ruled his restless steed, Spurring him o'er the mead. L. There was a shout of welcome — a commotion Of many voices — and each loving one Had singled out her own ; But, like a desert isle in some dark ocean, Which none, save God has seen, the stranger only Sat in his glory lonely. 80 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. LI. He signed ! — The clarion's voice, like thunder rolling, Disturbed their joy. Obedient to its call The soldiers slowly fall Once more in ranks, with sinewy arms controlling Their snorting steeds : then, at the word, again Rode toward their native plain. LII. Once more the Latmian shepherds stand assembled, The priests, the people, and the wrinkled seer Of many a hoary year, Sitting in council ; while each bosom trembled Lest he, their warrior, should depart. One rose, — A man of many snows, — LIII. And spake. " Children," said he, " our bold defender, — Our champion, — he, who was our guard, — What shall be his reward ? We must be just. What is it we can render To him for these great joys ? What joy as great? What grand — what golden estate? CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 81 LIV. " Remember, that he came when war had kindled His torches at our hearths — when, weak as deer, We fled, aghast with fear, Before our hunters — when our strength had dwindled To nothing : none to govern ; none to guide. The world, I grant, was wide: LV. " Yet, 't was not Caria. What had we been, banished From our old homes ? On what tempestuous strand Could we have found a land Which would have welcomed us 1 He came : woe vanished Like mist in sun-light. Now, our soil is free As the unfettered sea. LVI. " Shall he depart, then ? Sons, it were a story To sully through all time the Carian name — A bitter, blighting shame To dim the grandeur of our novel glory And blast our triumph. Ay, and should he go, What then ? Our ancient foe F 82 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. LVII. " Would once more rush to crush us. Let our voices Proclaim our thanks ; and not in words alone, But acts. The Carian throne Let us bestow on him. Each heart rejoices In his great deeds, and his is our renown. Yield him the Latmian crown !" LVIII. The stranger rose in wonder, tears upstarting Filling his eyes. He would have spoken, but loud — As summer thunder loud — Leapt forth their shouts, like winged arrows, darting, Piercing the skies, as still he stood, and pale:— < " Hail ! King of Caria, hail I" LIX. But not alone from manly voices rushing Arose that cry ; for many a maiden gave Her treble to the w T ave Which floated o'er him. Every heart was gushing With rapturous joy, as, gazing o'er the field, Borne on a brazen shield, CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 83 LX. Their new-made monarch bowed ; his glances beaming With joy as great. — Even while he stood, a maid Stole slowly o'er the glade — Slowly and sadly — with her tresses streaming Dishevelled o'er her robe. Among the throng, Making her way along, LXI. She gazed around with wondering looks, whose meekness Struck all with sadness, and filled many eyes With tears, and hearts with sighs. "Ah ! me," said one, "our Chromia ! In the weakness Of love she walks, seeking her banished one, — Our lost Endymion." LXII. Parting, they let her pass, the while, regarding Them one by one, she stole from man to man, As pitying murmurs ran Through all. With patience that deserved rewarding She wandered unrewarded, desolate, Succumbing to her fate. 84 ENDYMION. [CANTO III. LXIII. Leaning against an oak, she seemed a spirit, (For she was white as one, and all as fair,) As she stood nestling there Dove-like, love-stricken, and yearning to inherit Immortal life, that she might once more lie 'Neath dead Endymion's eye. LXIV. " Carians," said the monarch, " why encumber Me with such honors — me, — a stranger, too, Unknown to all ! But do Even as ye will with me. The soothing slumber, The dreaming after toil I sought, alas ! I yield. Well, let it pass I" LXV. Sudden, the statue-like and silent maiden Sprang forward as convulsed : her heaving breast Swelling with wild unrest. " I take your gift," continued he, " though laden It is with cares. Henceforward be to me As I shall be to ye." CANTO HI.] ENDYMION. 85 LXVI. Forward, still forward, with a music singing In ears that heard naught else, she passed. One glance As if in dizzy trance, She flung upon the king, whose voice came ringing Once more around, and then — her lips apart — Stood silent, save her heart. LXVII. The monarch, even as he beheld her, started — Some mental conflict pictured in his face, Which showed his mind's wide space Was filled with doubt and fear. It passed ; — and darted, Like sun-light from a cloud, a smiling glow O'er lip, and eye, and brow. LXVIII. Fixedly he gazed ; the maiden, pale and trembling, And silent : when, while anxious wonder crowned The looks of all around, Sudden he turned and spake — it seemed, dissembling Even with himself, for, with a frown, he said ; — " Whence comes this frantic maid ?" 8 86 endymion. [canto in. LXIX. That voice again ! 'T was music to her madness ! Eyes, brow, cheeks, lips aflame, she sprang and grasped His mantle's hem, and clasped His mailed knees, and gazed, trembling with gladness, Up in his face. " Nay ! Tell me, gentle maiden!" His voice with pity laden, LXX. Quoth he, " what wouldst thou ?" All the while a meaning Lighting his eyes ; and stooping, kissed her cheek. Gasping, she strove to speak, Struggling for breath, but could not, faintly leaning Against him for support ; while, as she leant, A calm and sweet content LXXI. Hallowed her features. Every movement weighing, The shepherds stood astonished ; but at last The aged patriarch passed Toward the pale maid, and touched her, sternly saying " Chromia, arise and hence. What means this strain V 9 u No, priest ! She shall remain I" CANTO III.] ENDYMION. 87 LXXII. Passionately exclaimed the king. " Pale, prostrate blos- som! My hand shall tend her. Priest, I claim her, I, Her king ! — Beloved, lie Here, and thy throne shall be this beating bosom. Well has thy fealty such guerdon won From thine Endymion !" LXXIII. " Endymion !" cried the patriarch, pale with wonder : "Endymion!" shrieked the maid. "Yes! yes! 'T is he ! Brothers, behold him ! see, 9 T is my Endymion !" Like a crash of thunder, " Endymion !" echoed all. " Endymion ! — Hail, Brother — King — Saviour — Hail !" E N D Y M I N. t^/VS/WWWV>^VN^« CANTO IV. 8* ENDYMION. CANTO IV. A grassy dell, — a fragrant spot, secluded In noiseless woods, — a haunt for sylvan Pan, Where rarely step of man Startled the quiet, but where silence brooded Hushed as a dove, — slumbered in primal peace, The loveliest glen in Greece. II. The air was breathing gently. Trickling, gushing, Gurgling o'er rocks and moss, a brooklet sang, Sparkling, whenever it sprang From out the leafy gloom, its surface flushing Under the ardent glance of starry eyes, Scanning it from the skies. (91) 92 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. III. A mossy oak, the Druid of the valley, Shadowed a basin that for centuries drew Its food from rain and dew, — A lonely lake, where Nereids loved to dally, And Dian's huntresses, at noon-tide, came, With lips and cheeks aflame. IV. Wreathing the oak, a honey-suckle, laden With coral corymbs, travelled toward its brow. From limb to limb, and bough To bough of the tall tree, it stole, — a Dryad maiden, Clinging with speechless transport to the breast Where nature bade her rest: And in their arms, unnoting their emotion, A dove reposed — his plumage on the night Making a milky light Among the sombre leaves. Afar, the ocean, Low but distinct, broke languidly on the reach Of the long desolate beach. I CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 93 VI. His arm encircling her, just then a mortal, A mortal maiden with him, reached the glade. Few were the words they said, Yet sweet as few. It seemed Elysium's portal Was open to them, whence, through gates ajar, Shone love's delicious star. VII. Silent as statues were they, save their sighing And the audible beating of their happy hearts, — A throbbing that, by starts, As ever and anon the wind seemed dying, More felt than heard, swam in each other's ears, Like hymns from distant spheres. VIII. Endymion spoke. " Chromia," quoth he — a brightness Like that of new-born planets in his eyes — Tremulous his voice with sighs — " I am as one entranced. A fairy lightness, Rare as the fragrance of Olympian plains, Springs, dancing, through my veins. 94 ENDYMION, [CANTO IV. IX. " My brain is drunk with music, floating, flowing, Sounding like songs of Gods ; dim, yet how sweet ; How delicate, but complete; Like strains the pensive primrose breathes in blowing ; Serene as sounds of kisses that the blue Violet gives the dew. X. " It was not so till now : a passionate gladness, Born of my old and fervent love for thee, Thrills me. Each thing I see Seems lovelier : yet, withal, a sound of sadness Sighs in my ears — the prescience of a sorrow To cross me on the morrow." XI. Just then the moon rose o'er the mountain, beaming Bright on his brow. Ere the first shades of even The orb was high in heaven. A chill ran o'er him, as her light fell streaming Pallidly round him, and his brow grew white — White with unearthly light. CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 95 XII. * " Ah me, Endymion," gasped the maiden, feeling The nervous trembling of his icy hand, " Why, you can scarcely stand ! What ails you ? You are ill. The dew is stealing Through your thin robes. Come, hasten toward your home. Let me conduct you. Come." XIII. Even as she spoke, she led him unresisting And feeble as a child away; but when The shadows of the glen Concealed the moon, he paused. The maid persisting, Had forced him thence, but that a moan of love Burst from the slumbering dove. XIV. A gentle sound it was, heartful with gladness, Which falling on Endymion's sense, like balm, Produced a pleasing calm : With it, too, vanished Chromia's sudden sadness, For from her lover's cheek the pallor fled : Recovering, he said: 96 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. XV. " Let us repose here, Chromia : I am stronger Though languid still. 'Twas but a spasm — no more. 'Twill not be lon^ before I am myself again. Prythee, no longer Afflict thyself. Sit down, my gentle one — Here — on this mossy stone." XVI. Meanwhile, and as the embracing lovers entered The leafy shade, the planet, pale, but proud, Retired behind a cloud. Chromia regarding him in whom was centred Her earth and heaven, now spake. " Endymion, Dearest and noblest one, XVII. " Some mystery surely haunts, unapprehended By me, thy path. Else, wherefore came this strange Sudden and sorrowful change? Perhaps — I see it all — thou hast offended One of the Gods ! Alas ! if it be so, Woe to our future — w r oe !" CANTO IV.] ENDYMTON. 97 XVIII. "Not so;" replied Endymion. " Mine is sorrow Strengthened by time. Never hath mortal man, Since the first century ran Its round of gladness, languished for a morrow Of perfect peace, as I have. Girl ! My sadness Was near akin to madness. XIX. "I have sought Lethe; but its ebon waters Advanced before, receding from my grasp. How often in their clasp I sought to sleep ! From Night's relentless daughters, The awful Fates, I have asked death — in vain : Begged it with burning brain. XX. " But this was in the Past, ere I had wrestled, Despairing, with Despair — when, on yon peak, While on my woe-worn cheek, Wooing away my woe with kisses, nestled The Latmian winds, I heard my sheep-bell's chime For the last bitter time. 9 g 98 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. XXI. " I went my way, my passionate spirit yearning For action — action — action. All I sought Was to escape from thought. Volcano-like, my passionate heart was burning, Throwing its ashes on my phrenzied brain ; And lava was each vein. XXII. " Well ! Years rolled by. Over what purple oceans- Over what dim, deserted, desolate strands — Over what wondrous lands I passed, is little : through what fierce commotions I made my way, is less. At last, my home Was Rome — eternal Rome ! XXIII. " Behind me was the Tiber, Wide before me The city spread, — a world of sculptured stone, Whence sprang a sleepless moan Of many voices, surging over and o'er me, Like wakening thunder. Paiaces, like trees, Arose 'from marbie leas. CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 99 XXIV. "And temples, huge and massy as our mountains, Cast an eternal shadow on the ground ; And, in that shade, around, Were marble dragons, strange, ideal fountains, Whence, with a mighty bound, a sea of spray Sparkled, and sprang away. XXV. " There too the Gods we worship — (O, their glory !) — From spotless stone by lofty genius wrought, — Offspring of Titan thought — Arose gigantic ; while, before them, hoary Sages, and vestals lovelier than the light, Hymned to them day and night. XXVI. u Gold was as iron here, in strange profusion — The very people kings, and numberless — So strenuous was the press Of clustering thousands. And their wild diffusion! For all the earth seemed congregated there, To breathe the perfumed air. 100 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. XXVII. " Their warriors, Chromia ! Never, never, never Had I beheld such men ; for, with the sword, They made great Rome the lord Of earth and ocean, and a name for ever ! Surge over surge, returning from the wars They swept, those sons of Mars, XXVIII. " Like Deities by me, hailed with shouts, whose thunder Shook the surrounding walls. And then, their spoils, Acquired by giant toils, Rich as your dreams of heaven, girl ! Pale with wonder I saw them sweep away, — a fierce desire Flooding my soul with fire. XXIX. " I grew a warrior ; and the mountain eagle Sprang up among his fellows. Sweeping forth, Our screams alarmed the earth, For where we came, came death. The olden, regal Glories of centuries sank beneath the pinions Whose wind shook earth's dominions. CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 101 XXX. " But I grew sick of blood, and turned, how gladly I need not say, toward Caria. Weak and worn — For strange disease had torn My frame — in anguish, doubtfully and sadly, I took my way. Chromia, I came to sigh My life out here — to die." XXXI. " But why," said Chromia, her pale features glowing With loving pride, " this solemn sorrow? Why, Endymion, didst thou fly Thy native land ? Surely, some over-flowing Woe must have swept thy soul. For what didst roam From our loved Latmian home V 9 XXXII. "Alas !" replied he, " I had forgotten, maiden, You knew not all — that my inhuman scorn, When I felt most forlorn, Had driven you mad. Chromia, my soul teas laden With grievous woe. Girl ! I was banished — driven Forth, scorned of earth and heaven !" 9# 102 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. XXXIII. He told his simple tale, — how he saw Dian And she had blessed him with her love. "A dream It was," said he — " a gleam Born of my starry fancy — a sweet scion Reft from supernal spheres, that, taking root, Produced such bitter fruit. XXXIV. "At first, I deemed it real. There are stories, Chromia, dim with the dust of age, that tell How every dewy dell In golden Greece, hath seen the unveiled glories Of heavenly beauty — how the very trees, Shadowing our wood-land leas, XXXV. "The brooks, however small, and every river, Are haunts of spirits, who, it hath been said, Have often stooped to wed With earthly beings. Hourly, with a quiver Through my whole frame, I dreamed that chance one day Might throw such in my way. CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 103 XXXVI. "And yet I loved thee, Chromia, for, when turning Desponding from these dreams, thy softness fell Like dew on me. The spell, However, grew in strength : my spirit, burning To clasp the spiritual, turned away With scorn, from things of clay. XXXVII. " In vain, however. And this over-leaping Of my mortality had power to wring The soul whose soaring wing Had else attempted heaven. Forever steeping My brain in beauty's fountain, it became A reservoir of flame. XXXVIII. "None felt as I felt. Of all griefs the sorest Is unappreciation ; and, bereft Of sympathy, I left My fellows for the mighty, mystic forest, And there in solemn studies strove to find Tranquillity of mind. 104 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. XXXIX. " The trees spoke to me, and their gentle voices Lulled me. I raised my eyes to heaven, And straightway, maiden, was given To me great knowledge. Over the weary noises Of earth I heard for many, many years, The heart-beat of the spheres. XL. " Then came my dream of dreams ! My spirit, feeding So long on beauty, brought the vision forth. Soaring above the earth I seemed to walk with Gods, from out me weeding, More than before, my fellowship with man ; This placed me 'neath his ban. XLI. "I wandered forth, the fanciful upbraiding Of Dian haunting me ; but day by day Its influence passed away, And I grew more myself. A planet fading Leaves the sky darker, and my vision's flight Sunk me in denser night. CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 105 XLII. 11 1 cared no more for beauty : my endeavor Was to forget it. In the throng I grew Like others, and in new Excitements sought to drown the past — to sever My close-linked memories. 'Twas a struggle : still Passion succumbed to Will. XLIII. " So, the Immortal faded in the Human : I saw my folly, and became — a man. The dreams that over-ran My boyish soul were dead, and, thenceforth, woman Was hateful to me — from her lustrous charms I fled to deeds of arms. XLIV. " Returning, I am king: perhaps, am better And wiser by the change from what I was, For life's eternal buzz Has silenced fancy's follies. I am debtor, As all are, to the world : each something owes For what her hand bestows. 106 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. XLV. " Henceforth, I live to pay that debt. To-morrow Will make thee mine, sweet Chromia; and thy hours Shall be as banks of flowers Born under summer kisses. Never sorrow Shall reach thee — never, never ! In a spot, Hard by a haunted grot — " XL VI. " Haunted by one, who died, they say, forsaken, — A poor, pale Nereid, that like vernal snow Before Apollo's glow, Dissolved with love — where earliest birds awaken, And where the dappled deer delight to come, Is built our future home. XL VII. "Look up, Divinest ! Nor with mute upbraiding Punish forgotten folly. Sweet, look up : Love still will wreathe life's cup With roses for us. So ! 'Tis well, this fading Of what should not be — sorrow. — Dimly burn The stars. Let us return." CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 107 XL VIII. Chromia arose, doubting, but uncomplaining, And smiling as she went, yet as she passed Each open vista, cast Her glances on the moon : the orb was waning And lustreless, and wreathed with hazy clouds — The stars were in their shrouds. XLIX. It was a radiant sunset : such a glory As only glows in Grecia's golden heaven Illumed the brow of even: The amber rivers, famed in mythic story, The grassy meadows, and the hoary woods, — Primeval solitudes, — L. The rocky glens, adorned with vernal splendor, The mountains, crowned with beeches, waving green, With the whole sylvan scene, Caught from the skies a mellow tint and tender That slowly faded as the purple night Stood silently in sight. 108 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. LI. The stars shone out, lighting a lovely valley- Slumbrous, save in the shouts of merriment That heaven-ward, hymn-like, went From happy youths and maids who musically Moved to the magic of the poet's rhyme, Or to the cymbal's chime. LII. A shadowy grove behind them threw a palace In bold relief; and, circling them, a lawn Lay, lit, as though with dawn, By rays from shrines where many a jewelled chalice, Mirroring their flames, threw back the mimic blaze Far through the forest ways. LIII. Before the building stood two pines which mounted Gigantic toward the stars, — two ancient trees The haunts of Dryades, Of the dim days of old. Meanwhile, uncounted, The hours expired in song, and the full moon Rose, crimson as in June. CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 109 LIV. Reposing on a rustic throne, enfolding Recovered Chromia, lay the new-made king — Love charming every thing That moved around — delighted at beholding His subjects' joy, and happy with the bride Reclining at his side. LV. And still the moon arose majestically, Till on the distant mountain's swarthy brow She set her feet of snow ; While Latmos, looking on the silent valley, Shone, like a god, arising on the night, Crowned with Olympian light. LVI. At last she rose and staggered onward, flying From maniac memory, while her lustrous eyes Dropped diamonds down the skies. Still glancing backward, loath to leave and sighing, She went her way, and passing frowning Mars, Walked onward through the stars. 10 110 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV, LVII. To where sat Chromia and her monarch lover, Suddenly broke a crowd of blushing maidens, With songs, whose every cadence, Petitioned Venus to descend and hover Above the twain. The gentle group had come To lead the young bride home. LVIII. Torches had they, and every eye was beaming Beneath them, as the hymeneal song Swelled from the lovely throng When Chromia stood among them, although streaming Athwart the group a dense and ebony gloom, Fell, like the shade of doom. LIX. It was the long-drawn shadow of the pines that grimly Stood in the moon. Away, away they flew, Scattering the dreaming dew That died as stars die, while their jewels dimly Faded in distance as they danced along; And last — expired their song. CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. Ill LX. Endymion watched them, with his manly bosom Heaving with happiness, while his thankful eyes Addressed the smiling skies: Life, when he least expected, burst in blossom; Music became the measure of his hours ; His paths were paths of flowers, LXL Slowly by dim degrees the moon had floated Above his throne, and on her countenance Rested his passionate glance; And she, returning feelings as devoted, Trembled with pleasure, yielding sigh for sigh, Under his loving eye. LXII. She gazed upon him, all the while beguiling His heart from out his breast, and smiled, and smiled, Till he was almost wild With her calm loveliness — for in her smiling, And in the intenseness of her glance, there shone A passion like his own, — 112 ENDYMION. CANTO IV. ] LXIII. A strange anxiety of look connected As it were with him! Gazing, again, again — Endeavoring, though in vain, To dream its meaning, he reclined, dejected, And drunk with wonder. Suddenly came the song Of the returning throng ! LXIV. " Endymion !" The charm was broken : he started Like one aroused from sleep : " Endymion !" He rose — " Endymion !" Downward to earth his human feelings darted, While, pallid, prey to anguish and dismay, The moon pursued her way. LXV. Recovering, she rose above her grief and slowly Walked toward the west: her rays were now aslant His happy heart, the haunt Of human joy by fervent love made holy, Endymion sought his palace, and the one Who thence was all his own. CANTO IV.^ ENDYMION. 113 LXVI. Meanwhile above the pines the moon had floated, And now between the twain her glances streamed Downward, and brightly gleamed Along the palace walls, like sun-light moted, In one broad blaze, and, passing through the door, Slept on the inner floor! LXVIL Just then Endymion with a heart whose lightness Surprised him, passed the pines whose shadows lay Densely athwart his way, And reached the door. Sudden — within the brightness A form opposed his path, her lifted hand Eloquent with command! LXVIII. He started backward : when, like flowing water, A voice, more musical than the melodious spheres, Broke on his wondering ears; And on the instant dread Latona's daughter, Her glances falling, like a fountain, o'er him, Stood — all the god — before him! 10* H 114 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. LXIX. "Endymion," was the cadence, modulated To such a strain of golden harmony As syrens on the sea Murmur by moon-light, " king of Caria, fated By thine own folly to a fearful doom, Thou treadest on thy tomb." LXX. " Speak ere it closes on thee : yet dare not endeavor To exculpate thyself, nor me deceive. Why didst thou not believe? Why foolishly forsake thy faith, and sever Thyself from me? The punishment I gave Endured but to the grave, LXXI. "And was deserved. And what was death ? The portal Whose ebony gates, unfolded once, had given To thee the highest heaven And me for ever. What sublime, immortal, Transcendent joys were thine ! ours, what delights, What long — what passionate nights, CANTO IV.] ENDYMION. 115 LXXII. "What days of boundless love! But now how altered! Thou art another's, and thy earthly mate Awaits thee, and thy fate ! Go, thinking what if thou hadst never faltered, Thy faith had gained — how pure, how rich the charms, That panted for thine arms." LXXIII. Endymion stood aghast: her words were thunder, Stunning his brain : naked as Truth, and vast The dim, departed Past, Returned upon him. Stricken dumb with wonder, He gazed and gazed, his large, expanded eyes Fixed with a blank surprise. LXXIV. "Wilt thou not live?" asked Dian — " live to sorrow? Did I not tell thee, man, that never more This side the Stygian shore Shouldst thou fold woman's form, or else the morrow Beheld thee dead ? Forsake thy bride, and live ! Thus far will I forgive." 116 ENDYMION. [CANTO IV. LXXV.