LITMIR.BIZ

      O it has ruffled every spirit there,

      Saving love’s self, who stands superb to share

      The general gladness: awfully he stands;

      A sovereign quell is in his waving hands;

      No sight can bear the lightning of his bow;

      His quiver is mysterious, none can know

      What themselves think of it; from forth his eyes

      There darts strange light of varied hues and dyes:

      A scowl is sometimes on his brow, but who

      Look full upon it feel anon the blue

      Of his fair eyes run liquid through their souls.

      Endymion feels it, and no more controls

      The burning prayer within him; so, bent low,

      He had begun a plaining of his woe.

      But Venus, bending forward, said: “My child,

      Favour this gentle youth; his days are wild

      With love–he–but alas! too well I see

      Thou know’st the deepness of his misery.

      Ah, smile not so, my son: I tell thee true,

      That when through heavy hours I used to rue

      The endless sleep of this new-born Adon’,

      This stranger ay I pitied. For upon

      A dreary morning once I fled away

      Into the breezy clouds, to weep and pray

      For this my love: for vexing Mars had teaz’d

      Me even to tears: thence, when a little eas’d,

      Down-looking, vacant, through a hazy wood,

      I saw this youth as he despairing stood:

      Those same dark curls blown vagrant in the wind;

      Those same full fringed lids a constant blind

      Over his sullen eyes: I saw him throw

      Himself on wither’d leaves, even as though

      Death had come sudden; for no jot he mov’d,

      Yet mutter’d wildly. I could hear he lov’d

      Some fair immortal, and that his embrace

      Had zoned her through the night. There is no trace

      Of this in heaven: I have mark’d each cheek,

      And find it is the vainest thing to seek;

      And that of all things ’tis kept secretest.

      Endymion! one day thou wilt be blest:

      So still obey the guiding hand that fends

      Thee safely through these wonders for sweet ends.

      ’Tis a concealment needful in extreme;

      And if I guess’d not so, the sunny beam

      Thou shouldst mount up to with me. Now adieu!

      Here must we leave thee.”–At these words up flew

      The impatient doves, up rose the floating car,

      Up went the hum celestial. High afar

      The Latmian saw them minish into nought;

      And, when all were clear vanish’d, still he caught

      A vivid lightning from that dreadful bow.

      When all was darkened, with Etnean throe

      The earth clos’d–gave a solitary moan–

      And left him once again in twilight lone.

      He did not rave, he did not stare aghast,

      For all those visions were o’ergone, and past,

      And he in loneliness: he felt assur’d

      Of happy times, when all he had endur’d

      Would seem a feather to the mighty prize.

      So, with unusual gladness, on he hies

      Through caves, and palaces of mottled ore,

      Gold dome, and crystal wall, and turquois floor,

      Black polish’d porticos of awful shade,

      And, at the last, a diamond balustrade,

      Leading afar past wild magnificence,

      Spiral through ruggedest loopholes, and thence

      Stretching across a void, then guiding o’er

      Enormous chasms, where, all foam and roar,

      Streams subterranean tease their granite beds;

      Then heighten’d just above the silvery heads

      Of a thousand fountains, so that he could dash

      The waters with his spear; but at the splash,

      Done heedlessly, those spouting columns rose

      Sudden a poplar’s height, and ‘gan to enclose

      His diamond path with fretwork, streaming round

      Alive, and dazzling cool, and with a sound,

      Haply, like dolphin tumults, when sweet shells

      Welcome the float of Thetis. Long he dwells

      On this delight; for, every minute’s space,

      The streams with changed magic interlace:

      Sometimes like delicatest lattices,

      Cover’d with crystal vines; then weeping trees,

      Moving about as in a gentle wind,

      Which, in a wink, to watery gauze refin’d,

      Pour’d into shapes of curtain’d canopies,

      Spangled, and rich with liquid broideries

      Of flowers, peacocks, swans, and naiads fair.

      Swifter than lightning went these wonders rare;

      And then the water, into stubborn streams

      Collecting, mimick’d the wrought oaken

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