Page:The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats, 1899.djvu/186

150 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 appear'd

His phantasy was lost, where reason fades,

In the calm'd twilight of Platonic shades.

Lamia beheld him coining, 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 loved 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 lips 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.