her
loveliness
is dead with him.
Shelley
CYCLOPS:
Should I not share this liquor with my brothers?
ULYSSES:
Keep it yourself, and be more honoured so.
CYCLOPS:
I were more useful, giving to my friends. _540
ULYSSES:
But village mirth breeds contests, broils, and blows.
CYCLOPS:
When I am drunk none shall lay hands on me. --
ULYSSES:
A drunken man is better within doors.
CYCLOPS:
He is a fool, who drinking, loves not mirth.
ULYSSES:
But he is wise, who drunk, remains at home. _545
CYCLOPS:
What shall I do, Silenus? Shall I stay?
SILENUS:
Stay--for what need have you of pot companions?
CYCLOPS:
Indeed this place is closely carpeted
With flowers and grass.
SILENUS:
And in the sun-warm noon
'Tis sweet to drink. Lie down beside me now, _550
Placing your mighty sides upon the ground.
CYCLOPS:
What do you put the cup behind me for?
SILENUS:
That no one here may touch it.
CYCLOPS:
Thievish One!
You want to drink;--here place it in the midst.
And thou, O stranger, tell how art thou called? _555
ULYSSES:
My name is Nobody. What favour now
Shall I receive to praise you at your hands?
CYCLOPS:
I'll feast on you the last of your companions.
ULYSSES:
You grant your guest a fair reward, O Cyclops.
CYCLOPS:
Ha! what is this? Stealing the wine, you rogue! _560
SILENUS:
It was this stranger kissing me because
I looked so beautiful.
CYCLOPS:
You shall repent
For kissing the coy wine that loves you not.
SILENUS:
By Jupiter! you said that I am fair.
CYCLOPS:
Pour out, and only give me the cup full. _565
SILENUS:
How is it mixed? let me observe.
CYCLOPS:
Curse you!
Give it me so.
SILENUS:
Not till I see you wear
That coronal, and taste the cup to you.
CYCLOPS:
Thou wily traitor!
SILENUS:
But the wine is sweet.
Ay, you will roar if you are caught in drinking. _570
CYCLOPS:
See now, my lip is clean and all my beard.
SILENUS:
Now put your elbow right and drink again.
As you see me drink--. . .
CYCLOPS:
How now?
SILENUS:
Ye Gods, what a delicious gulp!
CYCLOPS:
Guest, take it;--you pour out the wine for me. _575
ULYSSES:
The wine is well accustomed to my hand.
CYCLOPS:
Pour out the wine!
ULYSSES:
I pour; only be silent.
CYCLOPS:
Silence is a hard task to him who drinks.
ULYSSES:
Take it and drink it off; leave not a dreg.
Oh that the drinker died with his own draught! _580
CYCLOPS:
Papai! the vine must be a sapient plant.
ULYSSES:
If you drink much after a mighty feast,
Moistening your thirsty maw, you will sleep well;
If you leave aught, Bacchus will dry you up.
CYCLOPS:
Ho! ho! I can scarce rise. What pure delight! _585
The heavens and earth appear to whirl about
Confusedly. I see the throne of Jove
And the clear congregation of the Gods.
Now if the Graces tempted me to kiss
I would not--for the loveliest of them all _590
I would not leave this Ganymede.
SILENUS:
Polypheme,
I am the Ganymede of Jupiter.
CYCLOPS:
By Jove, you are; I bore you off from Dardanus.
. . .
[ULYSSES AND THE CHORUS. ]
ULYSSES:
Come, boys of Bacchus, children of high race,
This man within is folded up in sleep, _595
And soon will vomit flesh from his fell maw;
The brand under the shed thrusts out its smoke,
No preparation needs, but to burn out
The monster's eye;--but bear yourselves like men.
CHORUS:
We will have courage like the adamant rock, _600
All things are ready for you here; go in,
Before our father shall perceive the noise.
ULYSSES:
Vulcan, Aetnean king! burn out with fire
The shining eye of this thy neighbouring monster!
And thou, O Sleep, nursling of gloomy Night, _605
Descend unmixed on this God-hated beast,
And suffer not Ulysses and his comrades,
Returning from their famous Trojan toils,
To perish by this man, who cares not either
For God or mortal; or I needs must think _610
That Chance is a supreme divinity,
And things divine are subject to her power.
NOTE:
_606 God-hated 1824; God-hating (as an alternative) B.
CHORUS:
Soon a crab the throat will seize
Of him who feeds upon his guest,
Fire will burn his lamp-like eyes _615
In revenge of such a feast!
A great oak stump now is lying
In the ashes yet undying.
Come, Maron, come!
Raging let him fix the doom, _620
Let him tear the eyelid up
Of the Cyclops--that his cup
May be evil!
Oh! I long to dance and revel
With sweet Bromian, long desired, _625
In loved ivy wreaths attired;
Leaving this abandoned home--
Will the moment ever come?
ULYSSES:
Be silent, ye wild things! Nay, hold your peace,
And keep your lips quite close; dare not to breathe, _630
Or spit, or e'en wink, lest ye wake the monster,
Until his eye be tortured out with fire.
CHORUS:
Nay, we are silent, and we chaw the air.
ULYSSES:
Come now, and lend a hand to the great stake
Within--it is delightfully red hot. _635
CHORUS:
You then command who first should seize the stake
To burn the Cyclops' eye, that all may share
In the great enterprise.
SEMICHORUS 1:
We are too far;
We cannot at this distance from the door
Thrust fire into his eye.
SEMICHORUS 2:
And we just now _640
Have become lame! cannot move hand or foot.
CHORUS:
The same thing has occurred to us,--our ankles
Are sprained with standing here, I know not how.
ULYSSES:
What, sprained with standing still?
CHORUS:
And there is dust
Or ashes in our eyes, I know not whence. _645
ULYSSES:
Cowardly dogs! ye will not aid me then?
CHORUS:
With pitying my own back and my back-bone,
And with not wishing all my teeth knocked out,
This cowardice comes of itself--but stay,
I know a famous Orphic incantation _650
To make the brand stick of its own accord
Into the skull of this one-eyed son of Earth.
ULYSSES:
Of old I knew ye thus by nature; now
I know ye better. --I will use the aid
Of my own comrades. Yet though weak of hand _655
Speak cheerfully, that so ye may awaken
The courage of my friends with your blithe words.
CHORUS:
This I will do with peril of my life,
And blind you with my exhortations, Cyclops.
Hasten and thrust, _660
And parch up to dust,
The eye of the beast
Who feeds on his guest.
Burn and blind
The Aetnean hind! _665
Scoop and draw,
But beware lest he claw
Your limbs near his maw.
CYCLOPS:
Ah me! my eyesight is parched up to cinders.
CHORUS:
What a sweet paean! sing me that again! _670
CYCLOPS:
Ah me! indeed, what woe has fallen upon me!
But, wretched nothings, think ye not to flee
Out of this rock; I, standing at the outlet,
Will bar the way and catch you as you pass.
CHORUS:
What are you roaring out, Cyclops?
CYCLOPS:
I perish! _675
CHORUS:
For you are wicked.
CYCLOPS:
And besides miserable.
CHORUS:
What, did you fall into the fire when drunk?
CYCLOPS:
'Twas Nobody destroyed me.
CHORUS:
Why then no one
Can be to blame.
CYCLOPS:
I say 'twas Nobody
Who blinded me.
CHORUS:
Why then you are not blind. _680
CYCLOPS:
I wish you were as blind as I am.
CHORUS:
Nay,
It cannot be that no one made you blind.
CYCLOPS:
You jeer me; where, I ask, is Nobody?
CHORUS:
Nowhere, O Cyclops.
CYCLOPS:
It was that stranger ruined me:--the wretch _685
First gave me wine and then burned out my eye,
For wine is strong and hard to struggle with.
Have they escaped, or are they yet within?
CHORUS:
They stand under the darkness of the rock
And cling to it.
CYCLOPS:
At my right hand or left? _690
CHORUS:
Close on your right.
CYCLOPS:
Where?
CHORUS:
Near the rock itself.
You have them.
CYCLOPS:
Oh, misfortune on misfortune!
I've cracked my skull.
CHORUS:
Now they escape you--there.
NOTE:
_693 So B. ; Now they escape you there 1824.
CYCLOPS:
Not there, although you say so.
CHORUS:
Not on that side.
CYCLOPS:
Where then?
CHORUS:
They creep about you on your left. _695
CYCLOPS:
Ah! I am mocked! They jeer me in my ills.
CHORUS:
Not there! he is a little there beyond you.
CYCLOPS:
Detested wretch! where are you?
ULYSSES:
Far from you
I keep with care this body of Ulysses.
CYCLOPS:
What do you say? You proffer a new name. _700
ULYSSES:
My father named me so; and I have taken
A full revenge for your unnatural feast;
I should have done ill to have burned down Troy
And not revenged the murder of my comrades.
CYCLOPS:
Ai! ai! the ancient oracle is accomplished; _705
It said that I should have my eyesight blinded
By your coming from Troy, yet it foretold
That you should pay the penalty for this
By wandering long over the homeless sea.
ULYSSES:
I bid thee weep--consider what I say; _710
I go towards the shore to drive my ship
To mine own land, o'er the Sicilian wave.
CYCLOPS:
Not so, if, whelming you with this huge stone,
I can crush you and all your men together;
I will descend upon the shore, though blind, _715
Groping my way adown the steep ravine.
CHORUS:
And we, the shipmates of Ulysses now,
Will serve our Bacchus all our happy lives.
***
EPIGRAMS.
[These four Epigrams were published--numbers 2 and 4 without title--by
Mrs. Shelley, "Poetical Works", 1839, 1st edition. ]
1. --TO STELLA.
FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO.
Thou wert the morning star among the living,
Ere thy fair light had fled;--
Now, having died, thou art as Hesperus, giving
New splendour to the dead.
2. --KISSING HELENA.
FROM THE GREEK OF PLATO.
Kissing Helena, together
With my kiss, my soul beside it
Came to my lips, and there I kept it,--
For the poor thing had wandered thither,
To follow where the kiss should guide it, _5
Oh, cruel I, to intercept it!
3. --SPIRIT OF PLATO.
FROM THE GREEK.
Eagle! why soarest thou above that tomb?
To what sublime and star-ypaven home
Floatest thou? --
I am the image of swift Plato's spirit,
Ascending heaven; Athens doth inherit _5
His corpse below.
NOTE:
_5 doth Boscombe manuscript; does edition 1839.
4. --CIRCUMSTANCE.
FROM THE GREEK.
A man who was about to hang himself,
Finding a purse, then threw away his rope;
The owner, coming to reclaim his pelf,
The halter found; and used it. So is Hope
Changed for Despair--one laid upon the shelf, _5
We take the other. Under Heaven's high cope
Fortune is God--all you endure and do
Depends on circumstance as much as you.
***
FRAGMENT OF THE ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF ADONIS.
PROM THE GREEK OF BION.
[Published by Forman, "Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1876. ]
I mourn Adonis dead--loveliest Adonis--
Dead, dead Adonis--and the Loves lament.
Sleep no more, Venus, wrapped in purple woof--
Wake violet-stoled queen, and weave the crown
Of Death,--'tis Misery calls,--for he is dead. _5
The lovely one lies wounded in the mountains,
His white thigh struck with the white tooth; he scarce
Yet breathes; and Venus hangs in agony there.
The dark blood wanders o'er his snowy limbs,
His eyes beneath their lids are lustreless, _10
The rose has fled from his wan lips, and there
That kiss is dead, which Venus gathers yet.
A deep, deep wound Adonis. . .
A deeper Venus bears upon her heart.
See, his beloved dogs are gathering round-- _15
The Oread nymphs are weeping--Aphrodite
With hair unbound is wandering through the woods,
'Wildered, ungirt, unsandalled--the thorns pierce
Her hastening feet and drink her sacred blood.
Bitterly screaming out, she is driven on _20
Through the long vales; and her Assyrian boy,
Her love, her husband, calls--the purple blood
From his struck thigh stains her white navel now,
Her bosom, and her neck before like snow.
Alas for Cytherea--the Loves mourn-- _25
The lovely, the beloved is gone! --and now
Her sacred beauty vanishes away.
For Venus whilst Adonis lived was fair--
Alas!
her loveliness is dead with him.
The oaks and mountains cry, Ai! ai! Adonis! _30
The springs their waters change to tears and weep--
The flowers are withered up with grief. . .
Ai! ai! . . . Adonis is dead
Echo resounds . . . Adonis dead.
Who will weep not thy dreadful woe. O Venus? _35
Soon as she saw and knew the mortal wound
Of her Adonis--saw the life-blood flow
From his fair thigh, now wasting,--wailing loud
She clasped him, and cried . . . 'Stay, Adonis!
Stay, dearest one,. . . _40
and mix my lips with thine--
Wake yet a while, Adonis--oh, but once,
That I may kiss thee now for the last time--
But for as long as one short kiss may live--
Oh, let thy breath flow from thy dying soul _45
Even to my mouth and heart, that I may suck
That. . . '
NOTE:
_23 his Rossetti, Dowden, Woodberry; her Boscombe manuscript, Forman.
***
FRAGMENT OF THE ELEGY ON THE DEATH OF BION.
FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHUS.
[Published from the Hunt manuscripts by Forman, "Poetical Works of P. B.
S. ", 1876. ]
Ye Dorian woods and waves, lament aloud,--
Augment your tide, O streams, with fruitless tears,
For the beloved Bion is no more.
Let every tender herb and plant and flower,
From each dejected bud and drooping bloom, _5
Shed dews of liquid sorrow, and with breath
Of melancholy sweetness on the wind
Diffuse its languid love; let roses blush,
Anemones grow paler for the loss
Their dells have known; and thou, O hyacinth, _10
Utter thy legend now--yet more, dumb flower,
Than 'Ah! alas! '--thine is no common grief--
Bion the [sweetest singer] is no more.
NOTE:
_2 tears]sorrow (as alternative) Hunt manuscript.
***
FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHUS.
[Published with "Alastor", 1816. ]
Tan ala tan glaukan otan onemos atrema Balle--k. t. l.
When winds that move not its calm surface sweep
The azure sea, I love the land no more;
The smiles of the serene and tranquil deep
Tempt my unquiet mind. --But when the roar
Of Ocean's gray abyss resounds, and foam _5
Gathers upon the sea, and vast waves burst,
I turn from the drear aspect to the home
Of Earth and its deep woods, where, interspersed,
When winds blow loud, pines make sweet melody.
Whose house is some lone bark, whose toil the sea, _10
Whose prey the wandering fish, an evil lot
Has chosen. --But I my languid limbs will fling
Beneath the plane, where the brook's murmuring
Moves the calm spirit, but disturbs it not.
***
PAN, ECHO, AND THE SATYR.
FROM THE GREEK OF MOSCHUS.
[Published (without title) by Mrs. Shelley, "Posthumous Poems", 1824.
There is a draft amongst the Hunt manuscripts. ]
Pan loved his neighbour Echo--but that child
Of Earth and Air pined for the Satyr leaping;
The Satyr loved with wasting madness wild
The bright nymph Lyda,--and so three went weeping.
As Pan loved Echo, Echo loved the Satyr, _5
The Satyr, Lyda; and so love consumed them. --
And thus to each--which was a woful matter--
To bear what they inflicted Justice doomed them;
For, inasmuch as each might hate the lover,
Each, loving, so was hated. --Ye that love not _10
Be warned--in thought turn this example over,
That when ye love, the like return ye prove not.
NOTE:
_6 so Hunt manuscript; thus 1824.
_11 So 1824; This lesson timely in your thoughts turn over, The moral of
this song in thought turn over (as alternatives) Hunt manuscript.
***
FROM VERGIL'S TENTH ECLOGUE.
[VERSES 1-26. ]
[Published by Rossetti, "Complete Poetical Works of P. B. S. ", 1870,
from the Boscombe manuscripts now in the Bodleian. Mr. Locock
("Examination", etc. , 1903, pages 47-50), as the result of his collation
of the same manuscripts, gives a revised and expanded version which we
print below. ]
Melodious Arethusa, o'er my verse
Shed thou once more the spirit of thy stream:
Who denies verse to Gallus? So, when thou
Glidest beneath the green and purple gleam
Of Syracusan waters, mayst thou flow _5
Unmingled with the bitter Doric dew!
Begin, and, whilst the goats are browsing now
The soft leaves, in our way let us pursue
The melancholy loves of Gallus. List!
We sing not to the dead: the wild woods knew _10
His sufferings, and their echoes. . .
Young Naiads,. . . in what far woodlands wild
Wandered ye when unworthy love possessed
Your Gallus? Not where Pindus is up-piled,
Nor where Parnassus' sacred mount, nor where _15
Aonian Aganippe expands. . .
The laurels and the myrtle-copses dim.
The pine-encircled mountain, Maenalus,
The cold crags of Lycaeus, weep for him;
And Sylvan, crowned with rustic coronals, _20
Came shaking in his speed the budding wands
And heavy lilies which he bore: we knew
Pan the Arcadian.
. . .
'What madness is this, Gallus? Thy heart's care
With willing steps pursues another there. ' _25
***
THE SAME.
(As revised by Mr. C. D. Locock. )
Melodious Arethusa, o'er my verse
Shed thou once more the spirit of thy stream:
(Two lines missing. )
Who denies verse to Gallus? So, when thou
Glidest beneath the green and purple gleam
Of Syracusan waters, mayest thou flow _5
Unmingled with the bitter Dorian dew!
Begin, and whilst the goats are browsing now
The soft leaves, in our song let us pursue
The melancholy loves of Gallus. List!
We sing not to the deaf: the wild woods knew _10
His sufferings, and their echoes answer. . .
Young Naiades, in what far woodlands wild
Wandered ye, when unworthy love possessed
Our Gallus? Nor where Pindus is up-piled,
Nor where Parnassus' sacred mount, nor where _15
Aonian Aganippe spreads its. . .
(Three lines missing. )
The laurels and the myrtle-copses dim,
The pine-encircled mountain, Maenalus,
The cold crags of Lycaeus weep for him.
(Several lines missing. )
'What madness is this, Gallus? thy heart's care, _20
Lycoris, mid rude camps and Alpine snow,
With willing step pursues another there. '
(Some lines missing. )
And Sylvan, crowned with rustic coronals,
Came shaking in his speed the budding wands
And heavy lilies which he bore: we knew _25
Pan the Arcadian with. . . .
. . . and said,
'Wilt thou not ever cease? Love cares not.
The meadows with fresh streams, the bees with thyme,
The goats with the green leaves of budding spring _30
Are saturated not--nor Love with tears. '
***
FROM VERGIL'S FOURTH GEORGIC.
[VERSES 360 ET SEQ. ]
[Published by Locock, "Examination", etc. , 1903. ]
And the cloven waters like a chasm of mountains
Stood, and received him in its mighty portal
And led him through the deep's untrampled fountains
He went in wonder through the path immortal
Of his great Mother and her humid reign _5
And groves profaned not by the step of mortal
Which sounded as he passed, and lakes which rain
Replenished not girt round by marble caves
'Wildered by the watery motion of the main
Half 'wildered he beheld the bursting waves _10
Of every stream beneath the mighty earth
Phasis and Lycus which the . . . sand paves,
[And] The chasm where old Enipeus has its birth
And father Tyber and Anienas[? ] glow
And whence Caicus, Mysian stream, comes forth _15
And rock-resounding Hypanis, and thou
Eridanus who bearest like empire's sign
Two golden horns upon thy taurine brow
Thou than whom none of the streams divine
Through garden-fields and meads with fiercer power, _20
Burst in their tumult on the purple brine
***
SONNET.
FROM THE ITALIAN OF DANTE.
[Published with "Alastor", 1816; reprinted, "Posthumous Poems", 1824. ]
DANTE ALIGHIERI TO GUIDO CAVALCANTI:
Guido, I would that Lapo, thou, and I,
Led by some strong enchantment, might ascend
A magic ship, whose charmed sails should fly
With winds at will where'er our thoughts might wend,
So that no change, nor any evil chance _5
Should mar our joyous voyage; but it might be,
That even satiety should still enhance
Between our hearts their strict community:
And that the bounteous wizard then would place
Vanna and Bice and my gentle love, _10
Companions of our wandering, and would grace
With passionate talk, wherever we might rove,
Our time, and each were as content and free
As I believe that thou and I should be.
_5 So 1824; And 1816.
***
THE FIRST CANZONE OF THE CONVITO.
FROM THE ITALIAN OF DANTE.
[Published by Garnett, "Relics of Shelley", 1862; dated 1820. ]
1.
Ye who intelligent the Third Heaven move,
Hear the discourse which is within my heart,
Which cannot be declared, it seems so new.
The Heaven whose course follows your power and art,
Oh, gentle creatures that ye are! me drew, _5
And therefore may I dare to speak to you,
Even of the life which now I live--and yet
I pray that ye will hear me when I cry,
And tell of mine own heart this novelty;
How the lamenting Spirit moans in it, _10
And how a voice there murmurs against her
Who came on the refulgence of your sphere.
2.
A sweet Thought, which was once the life within
This heavy heart, man a time and oft
Went up before our Father's feet, and there _15
It saw a glorious Lady throned aloft;
And its sweet talk of her my soul did win,
So that I said, 'Thither I too will fare. '
That Thought is fled, and one doth now appear
Which tyrannizes me with such fierce stress, _20
That my heart trembles--ye may see it leap--
And on another Lady bids me keep
Mine eyes, and says--Who would have blessedness
Let him but look upon that Lady's eyes,
Let him not fear the agony of sighs. _25
3.
This lowly Thought, which once would talk with me
Of a bright seraph sitting crowned on high,
Found such a cruel foe it died, and so
My Spirit wept, the grief is hot even now--
And said, Alas for me! how swift could flee _30
That piteous Thought which did my life console!
And the afflicted one . . . questioning
Mine eyes, if such a Lady saw they never,
And why they would. . .
I said: 'Beneath those eyes might stand for ever _35
He whom . . . regards must kill with. . .
To have known their power stood me in little stead,
Those eyes have looked on me, and I am dead. '
4.
'Thou art not dead, but thou hast wandered,
Thou Soul of ours, who thyself dost fret,' _40
A Spirit of gentle Love beside me said;
For that fair Lady, whom thou dost regret,
Hath so transformed the life which thou hast led,
Thou scornest it, so worthless art thou made.
And see how meek, how pitiful, how staid, _45
Yet courteous, in her majesty she is.
And still call thou her Woman in thy thought;
Her whom, if thou thyself deceivest not,
Thou wilt behold decked with such loveliness,
That thou wilt cry [Love] only Lord, lo! here _50
Thy handmaiden, do what thou wilt with her.
5.
My song, I fear that thou wilt find but few
Who fitly shall conceive thy reasoning
Of such hard matter dost thou entertain.
Whence, if by misadventure chance should bring _55
Thee to base company, as chance may do,
Quite unaware of what thou dost contain,
I prithee comfort thy sweet self again,
My last delight; tell them that they are dull,
And bid them own that thou art beautiful. _60
NOTE:
C5. Published with "Epispychidion", 1821. --ED.
***
MATILDA GATHERING FLOWERS.
FROM THE PURGATORIO OF DANTE, CANTO 28, LINES 1-51.
[Published in part (lines 1-8, 22-51) by Medwin, "The Angler in Wales",
1834, "Life of Shelley", 1847; reprinted in full by Garnett, "Relics of
Shelley", 1862. ]
And earnest to explore within--around--
The divine wood, whose thick green living woof
Tempered the young day to the sight--I wound
Up the green slope, beneath the forest's roof,
With slow, soft steps leaving the mountain's steep, _5
And sought those inmost labyrinths, motion-proof
Against the air, that in that stillness deep
And solemn, struck upon my forehead bare,
The slow, soft stroke of a continuous. . .
In which the . . . leaves tremblingly were _10
All bent towards that part where earliest
The sacred hill obscures the morning air.
Yet were they not so shaken from the rest,
But that the birds, perched on the utmost spray,
Incessantly renewing their blithe quest, _15
With perfect joy received the early day,
Singing within the glancing leaves, whose sound
Kept a low burden to their roundelay,
Such as from bough to bough gathers around
The pine forest on bleak Chiassi's shore, _20
When Aeolus Sirocco has unbound.
My slow steps had already borne me o'er
Such space within the antique wood, that I
Perceived not where I entered any more,--
When, lo! a stream whose little waves went by, _25
Bending towards the left through grass that grew
Upon its bank, impeded suddenly
My going on. Water of purest hue
On earth, would appear turbid and impure
Compared with this, whose unconcealing dew, _30
Dark, dark, yet clear, moved under the obscure
Eternal shades, whose interwoven looms
The rays of moon or sunlight ne'er endure.
I moved not with my feet, but mid the glooms
Pierced with my charmed eye, contemplating _35
The mighty multitude of fresh May blooms
Which starred that night, when, even as a thing
That suddenly, for blank astonishment,
Charms every sense, and makes all thought take wing,--
A solitary woman! and she went _40
Singing and gathering flower after flower,
With which her way was painted and besprent.
'Bright lady, who, if looks had ever power
To bear true witness of the heart within,
Dost bask under the beams of love, come lower _45
Towards this bank. I prithee let me win
This much of thee, to come, that I may hear
Thy song: like Proserpine, in Enna's glen,
Thou seemest to my fancy, singing here
And gathering flowers, as that fair maiden when _50
She lost the Spring, and Ceres her, more dear.
NOTES:
_2 The 1862; That 1834.
_4, _5 So 1862;
Up a green slope, beneath the starry roof,
With slow, slow steps-- 1834.
_6 inmost 1862; leafy 1834.
_9 So 1862; The slow, soft stroke of a continuous sleep cj. Rossetti, 1870.
_9-_28 So 1862;
Like the sweet breathing of a child asleep:
Already I had lost myself so far
Amid that tangled wilderness that I
Perceived not where I ventured, but no fear
Of wandering from my way disturbed, when nigh
A little stream appeared; the grass that grew
Thick on its banks impeded suddenly
My going on. 1834.
_13 the 1862; their cj. Rossetti, 1870.
_26 through]the cj.
