Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/164



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 Æolian Breathed from the hinges, as the ample span