Page:The complete poetical works and letters of John Keats, 1899.djvu/191

Rh 'T was 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:—'t was just as he foresaw.

He met within the murmurous vestibule

His young disciple. T is 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 panel fuming stood

A censer fed with myrrh and spiced wood,

Each by a sacred tripod held aloft,

Whose slender feet wide-swerved 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 inspher'd,

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

Came 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 antechamber every guest

Had felt the cold full sponge to pleasure press'd,

By ministering slaves, upon his hands and feet,

And fragrant oils with ceremony meet

Pour'd on his hair, they all moved 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 under-song

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