Page:Keats - Poetical Works, DeWolfe, 1884.djvu/97



'Twas freedom! and at once I visited The ceaseless wonders of this ocean-bed. No need to tell thee of them, for I see That thou hast been a witness—it must be For these I know thou canst not feel a drouth, By the melancholy corners of that mouth. So I will in my story straightway pass To more immediate matter. Woe, alas! That love should be my bane! Ah, Scylla fair! Why did poor Glaucus ever—ever dare To sue thee to his heart? Kind stranger-youth! I loved her to the very white of truth, And she would not conceive it. Timid thing! She fled me swift as sea-bird on the wing, Round every isle, and point, and promontory, From where large Hercules wound up his story Far as Egyptian Nile. My passion grew The more, the more I saw her dainty hue Gleam delicately through the azure clear: Until 'twas too fierce agony to bear; And in that agony, across my grief It flash'd, that Circe might find some relief— Cruel enchantress! So above the water I rear'd my head, and look'd for Phoebus' daughter, Ææa's isle was wondering at the moon:— It seem'd to whirl around me, and a swoon Left me dead-drifting to that fatal power.


 * "When I awoke, 'twas in a twilight bower;

Just when the light of morn, with hum of bees, Stole through its verdurous matting of fresh trees. How sweet, and sweeter! for I heard a lyre,