Lamia. Part II
Love
in
a
hut,
with
water
and
a
crust,
Is—Love,
forgive
us!—cinders,
ashes,
dust;
Love
in
a
palace
is
perhaps
at
last
More
grievous
torment
than
a
hermit’s
fast:—
That
is
a
doubtful
tale
from
faery
land,
Hard
for
the
non-elect
to
understand.
Had
Lycius
liv’d
to
hand
his
story
down,
He
might
have
given
the
moral
a
fresh
frown,
Or
clench’d
it
quite:
but
too
short
was
their
bliss
To
breed
distrust
and
hate,
that
make
the
soft
voice
hiss.
Besides,
there,
nightly,
with
terrific
glare,
Love,
jealous
grown
of
so
complete
a
pair,
Hover’d
and
buzz’d
his
wings,
with
fearful
roar,
Above
the
lintel
of
their
chamber
door,
And
down
the
passage
cast
a
glow
upon
the
floor.
For
all
this
came
a
ruin:
side
by
side
They
were
enthroned,
in
the
even
tide,
Upon
a
couch,
near
to
a
curtaining
Whose
airy
texture,
from
a
golden
string,
Floated
into
the
room,
and
let
appear
Unveil’d
the
summer
heaven,
blue
and
clear,
Betwixt
two
marble
shafts:—there
they
reposed,
Where
use
had
made
it
sweet,
with
eyelids
closed,
Saving
a
tythe
which
love
still
open
kept,
That
they
might
see
each
other
while
they
almost
slept;
When
from
the
slope
side
of
a
suburb
hill,
Deafening
the
swallow’s
twitter,
came
a
thrill
Of
trumpets—Lycius
started—the
sounds
fled,
But
left
a
thought,
a
buzzing
in
his
head.
For
the
first
time,
since
first
he
harbour’d
in
That
purple-lined
palace
of
sweet
sin,
His
spirit
pass’d
beyond
its
golden
bourn
Into
the
noisy
world
almost
forsworn.
The
lady,
ever
watchful,
penetrant,
Saw
this
with
pain,
so
arguing
a
want
Of
something
more,
more
than
her
empery
Of
joys;
and
she
began
to
moan
and
sigh
Because
he
mused
beyond
her,
knowing
well
That
but
a
moment’s
thought
is
passion’s
passing
bell.
“Why
do
you
sigh,
fair
creature?”
whisper’d
he:
“Why
do
you
think?”
return’d
she
tenderly:
“You
have
deserted
me;—where
am
I
now?
“Not
in
your
heart
while
care
weighs
on
your
brow:
“No,
no,
you
have
dismiss’d
me;
and
I
go
“From
your
breast
houseless:
ay,
it
must
be
so.”
He
answer’d,
bending
to
her
open
eyes,
Where
he
was
mirror’d
small
in
paradise,
“My
silver
planet,
both
of
eve
and
morn!
“Why
will
you
plead
yourself
so
sad
forlorn,
“While
I
am
striving
how
to
fill
my
heart
“With
deeper
crimson,
and
a
double
smart?
“How
to
entangle,
trammel
up
and
snare
“Your
soul
in
mine,
and
labyrinth
you
there
“Like
the
hid
scent
in
an
unbudded
rose?
“Ay,
a
sweet
kiss—you
see
your
mighty
woes.
“My
thoughts!
shall
I
unveil
them?
Listen
then!
“What
mortal
hath
a
prize,
that
other
men
“May
be
confounded
and
abash’d
withal,
“But
lets
it
sometimes
pace
abroad
majestical,
“And
triumph,
as
in
thee
I
should
rejoice
“Amid
the
hoarse
alarm
of
Corinth’s
voice.
“Let
my
foes
choke,
and
my
friends
shout
afar,
“While
through
the
thronged
streets
your
bridal
car
“Wheels
round
its
dazzling
spokes.”—The
lady’s
cheek
Trembled;
she
nothing
said,
but,
pale
and
meek,
Arose
and
knelt
before
him,
wept
a
rain
Of
sorrows
at
his
words;
at
last
with
pain
Beseeching
him,
the
while
his
hand
she
wrung,
To
change
his
purpose.
He
thereat
was
stung,
Perverse,
with
stronger
fancy
to
reclaim
Her
wild
and
timid
nature
to
his
aim:
Besides,
for
all
his
love,
in
self
despite,
Against
his
better
self,
he
took
delight
Luxurious
in
her
sorrows,
soft
and
new.
His
passion,
cruel
grown,
took
on
a
hue
Fierce
and
sanguineous
as
’twas
possible
In
one
whose
brow
had
no
dark
veins
to
swell.
Fine
was
the
mitigated
fury,
like
Apollo’s
presence
when
in
act
to
strike
The
serpent—Ha,
the
serpent!
certes,
she
Was
none.
She
burnt,
she
lov’d
the
tyranny,
And,
all
subdued,
consented
to
the
hour
When
to
the
bridal
he
should
lead
his
paramour.
Whispering
in
midnight
silence,
said
the
youth,
“Sure
some
sweet
name
thou
hast,
though,
by
my
truth,
“I
have
not
ask’d
it,
ever
thinking
thee
“Not
mortal,
but
of
heavenly
progeny,
“As
still
I
do.
Hast
any
mortal
name,
“Fit
appellation
for
this
dazzling
frame?
“Or
friends
or
kinsfolk
on
the
citied
earth,
“To
share
our
marriage
feast
and
nuptial
mirth?”
“I
have
no
friends,”
said
Lamia,
“no,
not
one;
“My
presence
in
wide
Corinth
hardly
known:
“My
parents’
bones
are
in
their
dusty
urns
“Sepulchred,
where
no
kindled
incense
burns,
“Seeing
all
their
luckless
race
are
dead,
save
me,
“And
I
neglect
the
holy
rite
for
thee.
“Even
as
you
list
invite
your
many
guests;
“But
if,
as
now
it
seems,
your
vision
rests
“With
any
pleasure
on
me,
do
not
bid
“Old
Apollonius—from
him
keep
me
hid.”
Lycius,
perplex’d
at
words
so
blind
and
blank,
Made
close
inquiry;
from
whose
touch
she
shrank,
Feigning
a
sleep;
and
he
to
the
dull
shade
Of
deep
sleep
in
a
moment
was
betray’d.
It
was
the
custom
then
to
bring
away
The
bride
from
home
at
blushing
shut
of
day,
Veil’d,
in
a
chariot,
heralded
along
By
strewn
flowers,
torches,
and
a
marriage
song,
With
other
pageants:
but
this
fair
unknown
Had
not
a
friend.
So
being
left
alone,
(Lycius
was
gone
to
summon
all
his
kin)
And
knowing
surely
she
could
never
win
His
foolish
heart
from
its
mad
pompousness,
She
set
herself,
high-thoughted,
how
to
dress
The
misery
in
fit
magnificence.
She
did
so,
but
’tis
doubtful
how
and
whence
Came,
and
who
were
her
subtle
servitors.
About
the
halls,
and
to
and
from
the
doors,
There
was
a
noise
of
wings,
till
in
short
space
The
glowing
banquet-room
shone
with
wide-arched
grace.
A
haunting
music,
sole
perhaps
and
lone
Supportress
of
the
faery-roof,
made
moan
Throughout,
as
fearful
the
whole
charm
might
fade.
Fresh
carved
cedar,
mimicking
a
glade
Of
palm
and
plantain,
met
from
either
side,
High
in
the
midst,
in
honour
of
the
bride:
Two
palms
and
then
two
plantains,
and
so
on,
From
either
side
their
stems
branch’d
one
to
one
All
down
the
aisled
place;
and
beneath
all
There
ran
a
stream
of
lamps
straight
on
from
wall
to
wall.
So
canopied,
lay
an
untasted
feast
Teeming
with
odours.
Lamia,
regal
drest,
Silently
paced
about,
and
as
she
went,
In
pale
contented
sort
of
discontent,
Mission’d
her
viewless
servants
to
enrich
The
fretted
splendour
of
each
nook
and
niche.
Between
the
tree-stems,
marbled
plain
at
first,
Came
jasper
pannels;
then,
anon,
there
burst
Forth
creeping
imagery
of
slighter
trees,
And
with
the
larger
wove
in
small
intricacies.
Approving
all,
she
faded
at
self-will,
And
shut
the
chamber
up,
close,
hush’d
and
still,
Complete
and
ready
for
the
revels
rude,
When
dreadful
guests
would
come
to
spoil
her
solitude.
The
day
appear’d,
and
all
the
gossip
rout.
O
senseless
Lycius!
Madman!
wherefore
flout
The
silent-blessing
fate,
warm
cloister’d
hours,
And
show
to
common
eyes
these
secret
bowers?
The
herd
approach’d;
each
guest,
with
busy
brain,
Arriving
at
the
portal,
gaz’d
amain,
And
enter’d
marveling:
for
they
knew
the
street,
Remember’d
it
from
childhood
all
complete
Without
a
gap,
yet
ne’er
before
had
seen
That
royal
porch,
that
high-built
fair
demesne;
So
in
they
hurried
all,
maz’d,
curious
and
keen:
Save
one,
who
look’d
thereon
with
eye
severe,
And
with
calm-planted
steps
walk’d
in
austere;
’Twas
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:—’twas
just
as
he
foresaw.
He
met
within
the
murmurous
vestibule
His
young
disciple.
“’Tis
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
pannel
fuming
stood
A
censer
fed
with
myrrh
and
spiced
wood,
Each
by
a
sacred
tripod
held
aloft,
Whose
slender
feet
wide-swerv’d
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
insphered,
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
antichamber
every
guest
Had
felt
the
cold
full
sponge
to
pleasure
press’d,
By
minist’ring
slaves,
upon
his
hands
and
feet,
And
fragrant
oils
with
ceremony
meet
Pour’d
on
his
hair,
they
all
mov’d
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
undersong
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
High
as
the
handles
heap’d,
to
suit
the
thought
Of
every
guest;
that
each,
as
he
did
please,
Might
fancy-fit
his
brows,
silk-pillow’d
at
his
ease.
What
wreath
for
Lamia?
What
for
Lycius?
What
for
the
sage,
old
Apollonius?
Upon
her
aching
forehead
be
there
hung
The
leaves
of
willow
and
of
adder’s
tongue;
And
for
the
youth,
quick,
let
us
strip
for
him
The
thyrsus,
that
his
watching
eyes
may
swim
Into
forgetfulness;
and,
for
the
sage,
Let
spear-grass
and
the
spiteful
thistle
wage
War
on
his
temples.
Do
not
all
charms
fly
At
the
mere
touch
of
cold
philosophy?
There
was
an
awful
rainbow
once
in
heaven:
We
know
her
woof,
her
texture;
she
is
given
In
the
dull
catalogue
of
common
things.
Philosophy
will
clip
an
Angel’s
wings,
Conquer
all
mysteries
by
rule
and
line,
Empty
the
haunted
air,
and
gnomed
mine—
Unweave
a
rainbow,
as
it
erewhile
made
The
tender-person’d
Lamia
melt
into
a
shade.
By
her
glad
Lycius
sitting,
in
chief
place,
Scarce
saw
in
all
the
room
another
face,
Till,
checking
his
love
trance,
a
cup
he
took
Full
brimm’d,
and
opposite
sent
forth
a
look
’Cross
the
broad
table,
to
beseech
a
glance
From
his
old
teacher’s
wrinkled
countenance,
And
pledge
him.
The
bald-head
philosopher
Had
fix’d
his
eye,
without
a
twinkle
or
stir
Full
on
the
alarmed
beauty
of
the
bride,
Brow-beating
her
fair
form,
and
troubling
her
sweet
pride.
Lycius
then
press’d
her
hand,
with
devout
touch,
As
pale
it
lay
upon
the
rosy
couch:
’Twas
icy,
and
the
cold
ran
through
his
veins;
Then
sudden
it
grew
hot,
and
all
the
pains
Of
an
unnatural
heat
shot
to
his
heart.
“Lamia,
what
means
this?
Wherefore
dost
thou
start?
“Know’st
thou
that
man?”
Poor
Lamia
answer’d
not.
He
gaz’d
into
her
eyes,
and
not
a
jot
Own’d
they
the
lovelorn
piteous
appeal:
More,
more
he
gaz’d:
his
human
senses
reel:
Some
hungry
spell
that
loveliness
absorbs;
There
was
no
recognition
in
those
orbs.
“Lamia!”
he
cried—and
no
soft-toned
reply.
The
many
heard,
and
the
loud
revelry
Grew
hush;
the
stately
music
no
more
breathes;
The
myrtle
sicken’d
in
a
thousand
wreaths.
By
faint
degrees,
voice,
lute,
and
pleasure
ceased;
A
deadly
silence
step
by
step
increased,
Until
it
seem’d
a
horrid
presence
there,
And
not
a
man
but
felt
the
terror
in
his
hair.
“Lamia!”
he
shriek’d;
and
nothing
but
the
shriek
With
its
sad
echo
did
the
silence
break.
“Begone,
foul
dream!”
he
cried,
gazing
again
In
the
bride’s
face,
where
now
no
azure
vein
Wander’d
on
fair-spaced
temples;
no
soft
bloom
Misted
the
cheek;
no
passion
to
illume
The
deep-recessed
vision:—all
was
blight;
Lamia,
no
longer
fair,
there
sat
a
deadly
white.
“Shut,
shut
those
juggling
eyes,
thou
ruthless
man!
“Turn
them
aside,
wretch!
or
the
righteous
ban
“Of
all
the
Gods,
whose
dreadful
images
“Here
represent
their
shadowy
presences,
“May
pierce
them
on
the
sudden
with
the
thorn
“Of
painful
blindness;
leaving
thee
forlorn,
“In
trembling
dotage
to
the
feeblest
fright
“Of
conscience,
for
their
long
offended
might,
“For
all
thine
impious
proud-heart
sophistries,
“Unlawful
magic,
and
enticing
lies.
“Corinthians!
look
upon
that
gray-beard
wretch!
“Mark
how,
possess’d,
his
lashless
eyelids
stretch
“Around
his
demon
eyes!
Corinthians,
see!
“My
sweet
bride
withers
at
their
potency.”
“Fool!”
said
the
sophist,
in
an
under-tone
Gruff
with
contempt;
which
a
death-nighing
moan
From
Lycius
answer’d,
as
heart-struck
and
lost,
He
sank
supine
beside
the
aching
ghost.
“Fool!
Fool!”
repeated
he,
while
his
eyes
still
Relented
not,
nor
mov’d;
“from
every
ill
“Of
life
have
I
preserv’d
thee
to
this
day,
“And
shall
I
see
thee
made
a
serpent’s
prey?
Then
Lamia
breath’d
death
breath;
the
sophist’s
eye,
Like
a
sharp
spear,
went
through
her
utterly,
Keen,
cruel,
perceant,
stinging:
she,
as
well
As
her
weak
hand
could
any
meaning
tell,
Motion’d
him
to
be
silent;
vainly
so,
He
look’d
and
look’d
again
a
level--No!
“A
Serpent!”
echoed
he;
no
sooner
said,
Than
with
a
frightful
scream
she
vanished:
And
Lycius’
arms
were
empty
of
delight,
As
were
his
limbs
of
life,
from
that
same
night.
On
the
high
couch
he
lay!—his
friends
came
round--
Supported
him—no
pulse,
or
breath
they
found,
And,
in
its
marriage
robe,
the
heavy
body
wound.
