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 • 6 • L / p p I N c OT T- c o^m P^N y ■ 
 
 ^^I£^^_£T^^'^^fe^ ^P-PRINTE:R5'RH/LAPELPHfA J 
 
ROBERT LOVIS STEVENSON \ 
 " -V| 
 
 MVVTORKrNTUJBOOK 
 
Lamia P'^ge i 
 
 Title 3 
 
 Dedication 5 
 
 Title to List of Drawings .7 
 
 Head-pieces to List of Drawings . . . . . . . . . 8, 9 
 
 "A nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt." Head-piece, Part L . .11 
 "On this side of Jove's clouds". . . . . . . . . -13 
 
 "And so he rested, on the lonely ground" 15 
 
 "The words she spake came, as through bubbling honey' . . . .17 
 
 " 'I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes' " 18 
 
 " 'She bathes unseen' " -19 
 
 " 'Pale grew her immortality, for woe of all these lovers' " . . . .20 
 
 "The guarded nymph near-smiling on the green" 21 
 
 "Into the green-recessed woods they flew" ....... 23 
 
 Decoration — Daffodils ............ 26 
 
 "By a clear pool, wherein she passioned to see herself" . . . .27 
 
 "Foremost in the envious race" ......... 30 
 
 " ' Lycius, look back! and be some pity shown' " 32 
 
 Decoration — Love's mesh 32 
 
"Swoon'd, murmuring of love, and pale with pain" . . . Page 35 
 
 "The vvide-spreaded night above her towers" 39 
 
 " As one came near with curl'd gray beard, sharp eyes, and smooth bald crown" 41 
 
 " They had arrived before a pillar'd porch " 43 
 
 " Shut from the busy world of more incredulous." Tail-piece to Part I. . 44 
 "They were enthroned, in the even tide, upon a couch." Head-piece, Part 11. 45 
 "Deafening the swallow's twitter, came a thrill of trumpets". . . -47 
 "She nothing said, but, pale and meek, arose and knelt before him" . . 49 
 "It was the custom then to bring away the bride from home" . . -51 
 
 "And shut the chamber up, close, hush'd and still" 53 
 
 "He met within the murmurous vestibule his young disciple" . . .55 
 
 "They all moved to the feast" 56 
 
 " What wreath for Lamia ? What for Lycius? What for the sage, old Apollonius?" 60 
 "Checking his love-trance, a cup he took full brimm'd" . . . .61 
 
 "The sophist's eye, like a sharp spear, went through her utterly". . . 64 
 "And Lycius' arms were empty of delight" ....... 65 
 
 "And in its marriage robe the heavy body wound" 67 
 
 Decoration to Note ............ 69 
 
 Tail-piece — The History of the Book 70 
 
Upon a time, before the faery broods 
 Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods, 
 Before King Oberon's bright diadem, 
 Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem, 
 Frighted away the Dryads and the P'auns 
 From rushes green, and brakes, and cowshpp'd lawns. 
 The ever-smitten Hermes empty left 
 His golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft : 
 
From high Olympus had he stolen light, 
 
 On this side of Jove's clouds, to escape the sight 
 
 Of his great summoner, and made retreat 
 
 Into a forest on the shores of Crete. 
 
 For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt 
 
 A nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt ; 
 
 At whose white feet the languid Tritons poin-'d 
 
 Pearls, while on land they wither'cl and adored. 
 
 Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont, 
 
 And in those meads where sometime she might haunt, 
 
 Were strewn rich gitts, unknown to any JNIuse, 
 
 Though Fancy's casket were unlock'd to choose. 
 
 Ah, what a world of love was at her feet ! 
 
 So Hermes thought, and a celestial heat 
 
 Burnt from his winged heels to either ear, 
 
 That from a whiteness, as the lily clear, 
 
 Blush'd into roses 'mid his golden hair. 
 
 Fallen in jealous curls about his shoulders bare. 
 
 From vale to vale, from wood to 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 prepared 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 orrasses and full-flowerine 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. 
 Dissolved, 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 Avore a wannish lire 
 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 e)'es do there 
 But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair ? 
 As Pioserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air. 
 
 i6 
 
Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake 
 Came, as through bubbhng honey, for Love's sake, 
 And thus ; while Hermes on his pinions lay. 
 Like a stoop'd falcon ere he takes liis 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 01)-mpus old, 
 The only sad one ; for thou didst not hear 
 The soft, lute-finger'd Muses chanting clear. 
 Nor even Apollo when he sang alone. 
 Deaf to his throbbingr throat's lono-, lontr melodious moan. 
 
 17 
 
I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes, 
 
 Break amorous throuoh the clouds, as mornino' breaks. 
 
 And, swiftly as a bright Phoebean 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 e)es, and b)- thy starry crown !" 
 
 Light flew his earnest words, among the blossoms blown. 
 
 iS 
 
Then thus acrain the brilHance femuiine : 
 
 "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 o-rass and flowers sweet : 
 
 o 
 
 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. 
 
 19 
 
Pale grew her immortalit)-, 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 beean 
 
 An oath, and through the serpent's ears it ran 
 
 Warm, tremulous, devout, psalterian. 
 
Ravish'd she lifted her Circean head, 
 
 Blush'd a hve damask, and swift-hsping 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." 
 
 ^-"'-' .^^'^^'^f*'^* 
 ^■i^"^ 
 
The God on half-shut feathers sank serene, 
 
 She breathed 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 swoon'd serpent, and with languid arm, 
 
 Delicate, put to proof the lithe Caducean charm. 
 
 So done, upon the nymph his eyes he bent 
 
 Full of adoring tears and blandishment. 
 
 And towards her stept : she, like a moon in wane, 
 
 Faded before him, cower'd, nor could restrain 
 
 Her fearful sobs, self-folding like a flower 
 
 That faints into itself at evening hour: 
 
 But the God fostering her chilled hand, 
 
 She felt the warmth, her eyelids open'd bland. 
 
 And, like new flowers at morning song of bees, 
 
 Bloom'd, and gave up her honey to the lees. 
 
 Into the green-recessed woods they flew ; 
 
 Nor grew they pale, as mortal lovers do. 
 
Left to herself, the serpent now began 
 To change ; her elfin blood in madness ran, 
 Her mouth foam'd, and the grass, therewith besprent, 
 Wither'd at dew so sweet and virulent ; 
 Her eyes in torture hx'd, and anguish drear, 
 Hot, glazed, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear, 
 Flash'd phosphor and sharp sparks, without one cooling tear. 
 The colors all infiamed throughout her train. 
 She writhed about, convulsed with scarlet pain : 
 A deep volcanian yellow took the place 
 Of all her milder-mooned body's grace ; 
 And, as the lava ravishes the mead. 
 Spoilt all her silver mail, and golden brede ; 
 Made gloom of all her frecklings, streaks and bars, 
 Eclipsed her crescents, and lick'd up her stars : 
 So that, in moments few, she was undrest 
 Of all her sapphires, greens, and amethyst, 
 And rubious-argent : of all these bereft. 
 Nothing but pain and ugliness were left. 
 Still shone her crown ; that vanish'd, also she 
 Melted and disappear'd as suddenly : 
 And in the air, her new voice luting soft, 
 
Cried, "Lycius! gentle Lycius !" — Borne aloft 
 With the bright mists about the mountains hoar 
 These words dissolved : Crete's forests heard no more. 
 
 Whither fled Lamia, now a lady bright, 
 A full-born beauty new and exquisite ? 
 She fled into that valley they pass o'er 
 Who go to Corinth from Cenchreas' shore ; 
 And rested at the foot of those wild hills, 
 The ruo"o;ed tounts of the Percean rills. 
 And of that other ridge whose barren back 
 Stretches, with all its mist and cloudy rack, 
 South-westward to Cleone. There she stood 
 About a young bird's flutter from a wood, 
 Fair, on a sloping green of mossy tread. 
 By a clear pool, wherein she passioned 
 To see herself escaped from so sore ills. 
 While her robes flaunted with the daffodils. 
 
 26 
 
Ah ! happy Lycius ! — for she was a maid 
 More beautiful than ever twisted braid, 
 Or sigh'd, or blush'd, or on spring-flower'd lea 
 Spread a green kirtle to the minstrelsy : 
 A virgin purest lipp'd, yet in the lore 
 Of love deep learned to the red heart's core : 
 Not one hour old, yet of sciential brain 
 To unperplex bliss from its neighbor pain ; 
 Define their pettish limits, and estrange 
 Their points of contact, and swift counterchange ; 
 Intrigue with the specious chaos, and dispart 
 Its most ambio^uous atoms with sure art ; 
 As though in Cupid's college she had spent 
 Sweet days a lovely graduate, still unshent, 
 And kept his rosy terms in idle languishment. 
 
 Why this fair creature chose so faerily 
 By the wayside to linger, we shall see ; 
 But first 'tis fit to tell how she could muse 
 And dream, when in the serpent prison-house, 
 Of all she list, strano-e or masfnificent : 
 How, ever, where she will'd, her spirit went ; 
 
 29 
 
Whether to faint Elysium, or where 
 Down through tress-hftino: waves the Nereids fair 
 Wind into Thetis' bower by many a pearly stair ; 
 Or where God Bacchus drains his cups divine, 
 Stretch'd out, at ease, beneath a glutinous pine ; 
 Or where in Pluto's gardens palatine 
 Mulciber's columns gleam in tar piazzian line. 
 And sometimes into cities she would send 
 Her dream, with feast and rioting to blend ; 
 And once, while among mortals dreaming thus, 
 She saw the young Corinthian Lycius 
 Charioting foremost in the envious race. 
 Like a young Jove with calm uneager face. 
 
 
 m 
 
 \^ 
 
 '""«if 
 
 30 
 
And fell into a swooning love of him. 
 
 Now on the moth-time of that evening dim 
 
 He would return that way, as well she knew, 
 
 To Corinth from the shore ; for freshly blew 
 
 The eastern soft wind, and his galley now 
 
 Grated the quay-stones with her brazen prow 
 
 In port Cenchreas, from Egina isle 
 
 Fresh anchor'd ; whither he had been awhile 
 
 To sacrifice to Jove, whose temple there 
 
 Waits with high marble doors for blood and incense rare. 
 
 Jove heard his vows, and better'd his desire ; 
 
 For by some freakful chance he made retire 
 
 From his companions, and set forth to walk. 
 
 Perhaps grown wearied of their Corinth talk ; 
 
 Over the solitary hills he fared. 
 
 Thoughtless, at first, but ere eve's star appear'd 
 
 His phantasy was lost, where reason fades. 
 
 In the calm'd twilight of Platonic shades. 
 
 Lamia beheld him coming, near, more near — 
 
 Close to her passing, in indifference drear. 
 
 His silent sandals swept the mossy green ; 
 
 So neighbor'd to him, and yet so unseen 
 
 31 
 
She stood : he pass'd, shut up in mysteries, 
 
 His mind wrapp'd Hke his mantle, while her eyes 
 
 Follow'd his steps, and her neck regal white 
 
 Turn'd — syllabling thus, "Ah, Lycius bright! 
 
 And will you leave me on the hills alone ? 
 
 Lycius, look back ! and be some pity shown." 
 
 He did : not with cold wonder fearingly, 
 
 But (3rpheus-like at an Eurydice ; 
 
 For so delicious were the words she sung. 
 
 It seem'd he had loved them a whole summer long : 
 
 32 
 
And soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up, 
 
 Leaving no drop in the bewildering cup, 
 
 And still the cup was full, — while he, afraid 
 
 Lest she should vanish ere his lip had paid 
 
 Due adoration, thus began to adore ; 
 
 Her soft look growing coy, she saw his chain so sure 
 
 "Leave thee alone! Look back! Ah, Goddess, see 
 
 Whether my eyes can ever turn from thee ! 
 
 For pity do not this sad heart belie — 
 
 Even as thou vanishest so I shall die. 
 
 Stay ! though a Naiad of the rivers, stay ! 
 
 To thy far wishes will thy streams obey : 
 
 Stay ! though the greenest woods be thy domain, 
 
 Alone they can drink up the morning rain ; 
 
 Though a descended Pleiad, will not one 
 
 Of thine harmonious sisters keep in tune 
 
 Thy spheres, and as thy silver proxy shine ? 
 
 So sweetly to these ravish'd ears of mine 
 
 Came thy sweet greeting, that if thou shouldst fade 
 
 Thy memoiy will waste me to a shade : — 
 
 For pity do not melt!" — "If I should stay," 
 
 Said Lamia, "here, upon this floor of clay, 
 
And pain my steps upon these flowers too rough, 
 
 What canst thou say or do of charm enough 
 
 To dull the nice remembrance of my home ? 
 
 Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam 
 
 Over these hills and vales, where no joy is, — 
 
 Empty of immortality and bliss ! 
 
 Thou art a scholar, Lycius, and must know 
 
 That finer spirits cannot breathe below 
 
 In human climes, and live. Alas ! poor )outh. 
 
 What taste of purer air hast thou to soothe 
 
 My essence ? What serener palaces. 
 
 Where I may all my many senses please. 
 
 And by mysterious sleights a hundred thirsts appease? 
 
 It cannot be — Adieu !" So said, she rose 
 
 Tiptoe with white arms spread. He, sick to lose 
 
 The amorous promise of her lone complain, 
 
 Swoon'd, murmuring of love, and pale with pain. 
 
 The cruel lady, without any show 
 
 Of sorrow for her tender favorite's woe. 
 
 But rather, if her eyes could brighter be, 
 
 With brighter eyes and slow amenity, 
 
 Put her new lips to his, and gave afresh 
 
 34 
 
The life she had so tangled in her mesh : 
 
 And as he from one trance was wakening 
 
 Into another, she began to sing, 
 
 Happy in beauty, life, and love, and everything, 
 
 A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres, 
 
 While, like held breath, the stars drew in their panting fires. 
 
 And then she whisper'd in such trembling tone. 
 
 As those who, safe together met alone 
 
 For the first time through many anguish'd clays. 
 
 Use other speech than looks ; bidding him raise 
 
 His drooping head, and clear his soul of doubt. 
 
 For that she was a woman, and without 
 
 Any more subtle fluid in her veins 
 
 Than throbbing blood, and that the self-same pains 
 
 Inhabited her frail-strunof heart as his. 
 
 And next she wonder'd how his ej'es could miss 
 
 Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said. 
 
 She dwelt but half retired, and there had led 
 
 Days happy as the gold coin could invent 
 
 Without the aid of love ; yet in content 
 
 Till she saw him, as once she pass'd him by, 
 
 Where 'gainst a column he leant thoughtfully 
 
 37 
 
At Venus' temple porch, 'mid baskets heap'd 
 
 Of amorous herbs and flowers, newly reap'd 
 
 Late on that eve, as 'twas the night before 
 
 The Adonian feast ; whereof she saw no more. 
 
 But wept alone those days, for why should she adore ? 
 
 Lycius from death awoke into amaze, 
 
 To see her still, and singing so sweet lays ; 
 
 Then from amaze into delight he fell 
 
 To hear her whisper woman's lore so well ; 
 
 And every word she spake enticed him on 
 
 To unperplex'd delight and pleasure known. 
 
 Let the mad poets say whate'er they please 
 
 Of the sweets of Faeries, Peris, Goddesses, 
 
 There is not such a treat among them all. 
 
 Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall, 
 
 As a real w'oman, lineal indeed 
 
 From Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed. 
 
 Thus gentle Lamia judged, and judged aright, 
 That Lycius could not lo\'e in half a fright, 
 So threw the goddess off and won his heart 
 More pleasantly by playing woman's part. 
 
 38 
 
With no more awe than what her beauty gave, 
 That, while it smote, still guaranteed to save. 
 Lycius to all made eloquent reply, 
 Marrying to every word a twin-born sigh ; 
 x^nd last, 23ointing to Corinth, ask'd her sweet, 
 If 'twas too far that night for her soft feet. 
 The way was short, for Lamia's eagerness 
 Made, by a spell, the triple league decrease 
 To a few paces ; not at all surmised 
 By blinded Lycius, so in her comprised. 
 They pass'd the city gates, he knew not how, 
 So noiseless, and he never thought to know. 
 
 As men talk in a dream, so Corinth all, 
 Throughout her palaces imperial, 
 And all her populous streets and temples lewd, 
 Mutter'd, like tempest in the distance brew'd, 
 
 39 
 
To the wide-spreaded night above her towers. 
 Men, women, rich and poor, in the cool hours, 
 Shuffled their sandals o'er the pavement white, 
 Companion'd or alone ; while many a light 
 Flared, here and there, from wealthy festivals, 
 And threw their moving shadows on the walls, 
 Or found them cluster'cl in the corniced shade 
 Of some arch'd temple door, or dusky colonnade. 
 
 Mufflino- his face, of greeting friends in fear, 
 Her fingers he press'd hard, as one came near 
 With curl'd gray beard, sharp eyes, and smooth bald crown, 
 Slow-stepp'd, and robed in philosophic gown : 
 Lycius shrank closer, as they met and past, 
 Into his mande, adding wings to haste. 
 While hurried Lamia trembled: "Ah," said he, 
 "W'hy do you shudder, love, so ruefully? 
 Why does your tender palm dissolve in dew?" — 
 "I'm wearied," said fair Lamia: "tell me who 
 Is that old man ? I cannot bring to mind 
 His features: — Lycius! wherefore did you blind 
 Yourself from his quick eyes?" Lycius replied, 
 
 40 
 
I 
 
" 'Tis Apollonius sage, my trusty guide 
 And Q-ood instructor ; but to-nis^-lit he seems 
 The ghost of folly haunting my sweet dreams." 
 
 While yet he spake, they had arrived before 
 A pillar'd porch, with lofty portal door, 
 Where hung a silver lamp, whose phosphor glow 
 Reflected in the slabbed steps below, 
 Mild as a star in water ; for so new 
 And so unsullied was the marble's hue. 
 So through the crystal polish, liquid fine, 
 Ran the dark veins, that none but feet divine 
 Could e'er have touch'd there. Sounds yEolian 
 Breathed from the hinges, as the ample span 
 Of the wide doors disclosed a place unknown 
 Some time to any, but those two alone, 
 
 43 
 
And a few Persian mutes, who that same year 
 Were seen about the markets : none knew where 
 They coukl inhabit ; the most curious 
 Were foil'd, who watcli'd to trace them to their house 
 And but the flitter-wino^ed verse must tell, 
 For truth's sake, what woe afterwards befell, 
 'Twould humor many a heart to leave them thus. 
 Shut from the busy world of more incredulous. 
 
 
 44 
 
Love in a hut, with water and a crust. 
 
 Is — Love, formve us ! — cinders, ashes, chist ; 
 
 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 lived to hand his story down, 
 
 He mitrht have (nven the moral a Iresh frown, 
 
 45 
 
Or clench'd it quite ; but too short was their hlhs 
 
 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 tithe which love still open kept, 
 That they might see each other while they almost slept ; 
 When from the slope side of a suburb hill, 
 Deafeninof the swallow's twitter, canie a thrill 
 Of trumpets — Lycius started — the sounds fled, 
 But left a thought, a buzzing in his head. 
 
 46 
 

 For the first time, since first lie harbor'd in 
 
 That purple-Hned 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?" returned 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 o-o 
 
 ' o 
 
 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, 
 
 47 
 
"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 — }'Ou see yoiu' mighty w^oes. 
 
 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, 
 
 4S 
 
Perverse, with stronger fancy to reclaim 
 
 Her wild and timid nature to his aim ; 
 
 Besides, for all his love, in self-despite, 
 
 Asrainst his better self, he took delicrht 
 
 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 loved the tyranny, 
 
 And, all subdued, consented to the hour 
 
 When to the bridal he should lead his paramour. 
 
 49 
 
Whispering in midnight silence, said the youth, 
 "Sure some sweet name thou liast, though, by my truth, 
 'I liave not ask'd it, ever thinl<;ing 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 dustv 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, 3'our 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. 
 
 53 
 
It was the custom then to bring away 
 The bride from home at bkishing shut of day, 
 Veil'd, in a chariot, heralded alonsf 
 By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage son^ 
 With other pageants ; but this fair unknown 
 Had not a friend. So beine left alone 
 
 51 
 
(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, mimickine a elade 
 
 Of palm and plantain, met from either side, 
 
 High in the midst, in honor 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 un tasted feast 
 
 Teeming with odors. Lamia, regal drest. 
 
 52 
 
Silently paced about, and as she went, 
 In pale contented sort of discontent, 
 Mission'd her viewless servants to enrich 
 The fretted splendor of each nook and niche. 
 Between the tree-stems, marbled plain at first, 
 Came jasper panels ; 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 
 
 S3 
 
The silent-blessing fate, warm cloister'd hours, 
 And show to common eyes these secret bowers ? 
 The herd approach'cl ; each guest, with busy brain, 
 Arriving at the portal, gazed amain. 
 And enter'd marvelling ; for they knew the street, 
 Remember'd it from childhood all complete 
 Without a gap, yet ne'er before had seen 
 That roj-al porch, that high-built fair demesne ; 
 So in they hurried all, mazed, curious and keen : 
 Save one, who look'd thereon with eye severe. 
 And with calm-planted steps walk'd in austere ; 
 'Twas ApoUonius : something too he laugh'd. 
 As though some knott)- 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. 
 
 54 
 
And you forgive me." Lycius blush'cl, 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 panel fuming stood 
 A censer fed with mj^rrh and spiced wood. 
 
 55 
 
Each by a sacred tripod held aloft, 
 
 Whose slender feet wide-swerved 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 antechamber 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 moved to the feast 
 
 hi white robes, and themselves in order placed 
 
 Around the silken couches, wondering 
 
 Whence all this mighty cost and blaze of wealth could spring. 
 
 56 
 
Soft went the music the soft air along, 
 While fluent Greek a vowell'd under-song 
 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 splendor 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 g;o\d 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. 
 
 59 
 
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 thinirs. 
 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. 
 
 60 
 
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 a stir, 
 
 6i 
 
Full on the alarmed beauty of the bride, 
 
 Browbeating 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 gazed into her eyes, and not a jot 
 
 Own'd they the lovelorn piteous appeal : 
 
 More, more he gazed : his human senses reel : 
 
 Some hungry spell that loveliness absorbs ; 
 
 There was no recognition in those orbs. 
 
 "Lamia!" he cried — and no soft-tonecl 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'cl a horrid presence there. 
 
 And not a man but felt the terror in his hair. 
 
 62 
 
"Lamia!" he shriek'd ; and nothing but the shriek 
 
 With its sad echo did the silence break. 
 
 "Begone, foul dream !" he cried, o-azine asrain 
 
 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, Avhose dreadful imaofes 
 
 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 moved; "from every ill 
 
 Of life have I preserved thee to this day. 
 
 And shall I see thee made a serpent's prey?" 
 
 Then Lamia breathed 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 lite, from that same nisfht. 
 
 64 
 
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. 
 
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 67 
 
" Philostratus, in his fourth book de Vita Apollonii, hath a memorable 
 instance in this Icind, which I may not omit, of one Menippiis Lycius, a 
 young man twenty-five years of age, that, going betwixt Cenchreas and 
 Corinth, met such a phantasm in the haljit of a fair gentlewoman, which, 
 taking him by the hand, carried him home to her house, in the suburbs of 
 Corinth, and told him she was a Phoenician by birth, and if he would. tarry 
 with her, he should hear her sing and play, and drink such wine as never any 
 drank, and no man should molest him; but she, being fair and lovely, would 
 live and die with him, that was fair and lovely to behold. The young man, 
 a philosopher, otherwise staid and discreel, able to moderate his passions, 
 though not this of love, tarried with her awhile to his great content, and 
 at last married her, to whose wedding, amongst other guests, came Apol- 
 lonius ; who, by some probable conjectures, found her out to be a serpent, 
 a lamia; and that all her furniture was, like Tantalus' gold, described by 
 Homer, no substance, but mere illusions. When she saw herself descried, 
 she wept, and desired ApoUonius to be silent, but he would not be moved, 
 and thereupon she, plate, house, and all that was in it, vanished in an 
 instant ; many thousands took notice of this fact, for it was done in the 
 midst of Greece." — Burton's Anatomy of Melancholy, Part 3, Sect. 2, Memb. 
 I. Subs. I. 
 
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