And quaint Priapus with his company,
All came, much wondering how the enwombed rocks Could have brought forth so beautiful a birth ;— Her love subdued their wonder and their mirth.
The herdsmen and the mountain maidens came,
And the rude kings of pastoral Garamant-
Their spirits shook within them, as a flame
Stirred by the air under a cavern gaunt:
Pigmies, and Polyphemes, by many a name,
Centaurs and Satyrs, and such shapes as haunt
Wet clefts, and lumps neither alive nor dead,
Dog-headed, bosom-eyed, and bird-footed.
For she was beautiful: her beauty made
The bright world dim, and everything beside
Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade :
No thought of living spirit could abide
(Which to her looks had ever been betrayed)
On any object in the world so wide,
On any hope within the circling skies,
But on her form, and in her inmost eyes.
Which when the lady knew, she took her spindle
And twined three threads of fleecy mist, and three
Long lines of light, such as the dawn may kindle
The clouds and waves and mountains with, and she
As many star-beams, ere their lamps could dwindle
In the belated moon, wound skilfully ;
And with these threads a subtle veil she wove-
A shadow for the splendour of her love.
The deep recesses of her odorous dwelling
Were stored with magic treasures-sounds of air,
Which had the power all spirits of compelling,
Folded in cells of crystal silence there;
Such as we hear in youth, and think the feeling
Will never die—yet ere we are aware,
The feeling and the sound are fled and gone,
And the regret they leave remains alone.
And there lay visions swift, and sweet, and quaint,
Each in its thin sheath like a chrysalis ;
Some eager to burst forth, some weak and faint
With the soft burthen of intensest bliss
It is its work to bear to many a saint
Whose heart adores the shrine which holiest is, Even Love's-and others white, green, grey, and black, And of all shapes-and each was at her beck.
And odours in a kind of aviary
Of ever-blooming Eden-trees she kept, Clipt in a floating net, a love-sick Fairy
Had woven from dew-beams while the moon yet slept; As bats at the wired window of a dairy,
They beat their vans; and each was an adept, When loosed and missioned, making wings of winds, To stir sweet thoughts or sad, in destined minds.
And liquors clear and sweet, whose healthful might
Could medicine the sick soul to happy sleep,
And change eternal death into a night
Of glorious dreams-or if eyes needs must weep
Could make their tears all wonder and delight,
She in her crystal vials did closely keep :
If men could drink of those clear vials, 'tis said
The living were not envied of the dead.
Her cave was stored with scrolls of strange device,
The works of some Saturnian Archimage,
Which taught the expiations at whose price
Men from the Gods might win that happy age
Too lightly lost, redeeming native vice ;
And which might quench the earth-consuming rage Of gold and blood-till men should live and move Harmonious as the sacred stars above.
And how all things that seem untameable,
Not to be checked and not to be confined,
Obey the spells of wisdom's wizard skill;
Time, Earth and Fire-the Ocean and the Wind,
And all their shapes-and man's imperial will;
And other scrolls whose writings did unbind
The inmost lore of Love-let the profane
Tremble to ask what secrets they contain.
And wondrous works of substances unknown,
To which the enchantment of her father's power
Had changed those ragged blocks of savage stone,
Were heaped in the recesses of her bower;
Carved lamps and chalices, and phials which shone
In their own golden beams—each like a flower,
Out of whose depth a fire-fly shakes his light
Under a cypress in a starless night.
At first she lived alone in this wild home,
And her thoughts were each a minister,
Clothing themselves or with the ocean-
n-foam,
Or with the wind, or with the speed of fire,
To work whatever purposes might come
Into her mind such power her mighty Sire Had girt them with, whether to fly or run, Through all the regions which he shines upon.
The Ocean-nymphs and Hamadryades,
Oreads and Naiads with long weedy locks,
Offered to do her bidding through the seas,
Under the earth, and in the hollow rocks,
And far beneath the matted roots of trees,
And in the gnarled heart of stubborn oaks,
So they might live for ever in the light
Of her sweet presence-each a satellite.
This may not be," the wizard maid replied;
The fountains where the Naiades bedew
Their shining hair, at length are drained and dried; The solid oaks forget their strength, and strew Their latest leaf upon the mountains wide;
The boundless ocean, like a drop of dew Will be consumed-the stubborn centre must Be scattered, like a cloud of summer dust.
"And ye with them will perish one by one:
If I must sigh to think that this shall be,
If I must weep when the surviving Sun
Shall smile on your decay-Oh, ask not me
To love you till your little race is run;
I cannot die as ye must-over me
Your leaves shall glance-the streams in which ye dwell Shall be my paths henceforth, and so farewell!"
She spoke and wept: the dark and azure well
Sparkled beneath the shower of her bright tears,
And every little circlet where they fell,
Flung to the cavern-roof inconstant spheres
And intertangled lines of light :-a knell
Of sobbing voices came upon her ears
From those departing Forms, o'er the serene
Of the white streams and of the forest green.
All day the wizard lady sat aloof,
Spelling out scrolls of dread antiquity,
Under the cavern's fountain-lighted roof;
Or broidering the pictured poesy
Of some high tale upon her growing woof,
Which the sweet splendour of her smiles could dye
In hues outshining heaven-and ever she
Added some grace to the wrought poesy.
While on her hearth lay blazing many a piece
Of sandal-wood, rare gums, and cinnamon;
Men scarcely know how beautiful fire is;
Each flame of it is as a precious stone
Dissolved in ever-moving light, and this
Belongs to each and all who gaze upon.
The Witch beheld it not, for in her hand
She held a woof that dimmed the burning brand.
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