LITMIR.BIZ

Скачать книгу

wood, he flew,

      Breathing upon the flowers his passion new,

      And wound with many a river to its head,

      To find where this sweet nymph prepar’d her secret bed:

      In vain; the sweet nymph might nowhere be found,

      And so he rested, on the lonely ground,

      Pensive, and full of painful jealousies

      Of the Wood-Gods, and even the very trees.

      There as he stood, he heard a mournful voice,

      Such as once heard, in gentle heart, destroys

      All pain but pity: thus the lone voice spake:

      “When from this wreathed tomb shall I awake!

      When move in a sweet body fit for life,

      And love, and pleasure, and the ruddy strife

      Of hearts and lips! Ah, miserable me!”

      The God, dove-footed, glided silently

      Round bush and tree, soft-brushing, in his speed,

      The taller grasses and full-flowering weed,

      Until he found a palpitating snake,

      Bright, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake.

      She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,

      Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue;

      Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard,

      Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr’d;

      And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed,

      Dissolv’d, or brighter shone, or interwreathed

      Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries –

      So rainbow-sided, touch’d with miseries,

      She seem’d, at once, some penanced lady elf,

      Some demon’s mistress, or the demon’s self.

      Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire

      Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne’s tiar:

      Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet!

      She had a woman’s mouth with all its pearls complete:

      And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there

      But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?

      As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air.

      Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake

      Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love’s sake,

      And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay,

      Like a stoop’d falcon ere he takes his prey.

      “Fair Hermes, crown’d with feathers, fluttering light,

      I had a splendid dream of thee last night:

      I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold,

      Among the Gods, upon Olympus old,

      The only sad one; for thou didst not hear

      The soft, lute-finger’d Muses chaunting clear,

      Nor even Apollo when he sang alone,

      Deaf to his throbbing throat’s long, long melodious moan.

      I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes,

      Break amorous through the clouds, as morning breaks,

      And, swiftly as a bright Phœbean dart,

      Strike for the Cretan isle; and here thou art!

      Too gentle Hermes, hast thou found the maid?”

      Whereat the star of Lethe not delay’d

      His rosy eloquence, and thus inquired:

      “Thou smooth-lipp’d serpent, surely high inspired!

      Thou beauteous wreath, with melancholy eyes,

      Possess whatever bliss thou canst devise,

      Telling me only where my nymph is fled, –

      Where she doth breathe!” “Bright planet, thou hast said,”

      Return’d the snake, “but seal with oaths, fair God!”

      “I swear,” said Hermes, “by my serpent rod,

      And by thine eyes, and by thy starry crown!”

      Light flew his earnest words, among the blossoms blown.

      Then thus again the brilliance feminine:

      “Too frail of heart! for this lost nymph of thine,

      Free as the air, invisibly, she strays

      About these thornless wilds; her pleasant days

      She tastes unseen; unseen her nimble feet

      Leave traces in the grass and flowers sweet;

      From weary tendrils, and bow’d branches green,

      She plucks the fruit unseen, she bathes unseen:

      And by my power is her beauty veil’d

      To keep it unaffronted, unassail’d

      By the love-glances of unlovely eyes,

      Of Satyrs, Fauns, and blear’d Silenus’ sighs.

      Pale grew her immortality, for woe

      Of all these lovers, and she grieved so

      I took compassion on her, bade her steep

      Her hair in weird syrops, that would keep

      Her loveliness invisible, yet free

      To wander as she loves, in liberty.

      Thou shalt behold her, Hermes, thou alone,

      If thou wilt, as thou swearest, grant my boon!”

      Then, once again, the charmed God began

      An oath, and through the serpent’s ears it ran

      Warm, tremulous, devout, psalterian.

      Ravish’d, she lifted her Circean head,

      Blush’d a live damask, and swift-lisping said,

      “I was a woman, let me have once more

      A woman’s shape, and charming as before.

      I love a youth of Corinth – O the bliss!

      Give me my woman’s form, and place me where he is.

      Stoop, Hermes, let me breathe upon thy brow,

      And thou shalt see thy sweet nymph even now.”

      The God on half-shut feathers sank serene,

      She breath’d upon his eyes, and swift was seen

      Of both the guarded nymph near-smiling on the green.

      It was no dream; or say a dream it was,

      Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass

      Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.

      One warm, flush’d moment, hovering, it might seem

      Dash’d by the wood-nymph’s beauty, so he burn’d;

      Then, lighting on the printless verdure, turn’d

      To the

Скачать книгу