Page:The poetical works of Matthew Arnold, 1897.djvu/228

190 CIRCE.

Whence art thou, sleeper?

THE YOUTH.

When the white dawn first

Through the rough fir-planks

Of my hut, by the chestnuts,

Up at the valley-head,

Came breaking, goddess!

I sprang up, I threw round me

My dappled fawn-skin;

Passing out, from the wet turf,

Where they lay, by the hut door,

I snatched up my vine-crown, my fir-staff,

All drenched in dew,—

Came swift down to join

The rout early gathered

In the town, round the temple,

Iacchus' white fane

On yonder hill.

Quick I passed, following

The woodcutters' cart-track

Down the dark valley. I saw

On my left, through the beeches,

Thy palace, goddess,

Smokeless, empty!

Trembling, I entered; beheld

The court all silent,

The lions sleeping,

On the altar this bowl.

I drank, goddess!

And sank down here, sleeping,

On the steps of thy portico.