The Project Gutenberg EBook of Lamia, by John Keats

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

Title: Lamia

Author: John Keats

Release Date: December 23, 2008 [EBook #2490]

Last Updated: February 4, 2013

Language: English

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAMIA ***

Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger

LAMIA

By John Keats

Contents

Part 1

Part 2

Part 1

     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 Fauns

     From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip'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 poured

     Pearls, while on land they wither'd and adored.

     Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont,

     And in those meads where sometime she might haunt,

     Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse,

     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 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 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 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 swoon'd serpent, and with languid arm,

     Delicate, put to proof the lythe 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 fix'd, and anguish drear,

     Hot, glaz'd, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear,

     Flash'd phosphor and sharp sparks, without one cooling tear.

     The colours all inflam'd throughout her train,

     She writh'd about, convuls'd 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,

     Eclips'd 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 dissolv'd: 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 rugged founts of the Peraean 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 escap'd from so sore ills,

     While her robes flaunted with the daffodils.

        Ah, happy Lycius!—for she was a maid

     More beautiful than ever twisted braid,

     Or sigh'd, or blush'd, or on spring-flowered 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 neighbour pain;

     Define their pettish limits, and estrange

     Their points of contact, and swift counterchange;

     Intrigue with the specious chaos, and dispart

     Its most ambiguous 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 fairily

     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, strange or magnificent:

     How, ever, where she will'd, her spirit went;

     Whether to faint Elysium, or where

     Down through tress-lifting 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 far 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,

     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 quaystones 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 appeared

     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 neighbour'd to him, and yet so unseen

     She stood: he pass'd, shut up in mysteries,

     His mind wrapp'd like 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 Orpheus-like at an Eurydice;

     For so delicious were the words she sung,

     It seem'd he had lov'd them a whole summer long:

     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 memory 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 youth,

     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 favourite'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

     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 every thing,

     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 days,

     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-strung heart as his.

     And next she wonder'd how his eyes could miss

     Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said,

     She dwelt but half retir'd, 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

     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 entic'd him on

     To unperplex'd delight and pleasure known.

     Let the mad poets say whate'er they please

     Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses,

     There is not such a treat among them all,

     Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall,

     As a real woman, lineal indeed

     From Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed.

     Thus gentle Lamia judg'd, and judg'd aright,

     That Lycius could not love in half a fright,

     So threw the goddess off, and won his heart

     More pleasantly by playing woman's part,

     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 twinborn sigh;

     And last, pointing 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 comprized.

     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,

     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'd in the corniced shade

     Of some arch'd temple door, or dusky colonnade.

        Muffling 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 mantle, adding wings to haste,

     While hurried Lamia trembled: "Ah," said he,

     "Why 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,

     'Tis Apollonius sage, my trusty guide

     And good instructor; but to-night 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 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 Aeolian

     Breath'd from the hinges, as the ample span

     Of the wide doors disclos'd a place unknown

     Some time to any, but those two alone,

     And a few Persian mutes, who that same year

     Were seen about the markets: none knew where

     They could inhabit; the most curious

     Were foil'd, who watch'd to trace them to their house:

     And but the flitter-winged verse must tell,

     For truth's sake, what woe afterwards befel,

     'Twould humour many a heart to leave them thus,

     Shut from the busy world of more incredulous.

Part 2

     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

     Come 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.

End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Lamia, by John Keats

*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LAMIA ***

***** This file should be named 2490-h.htm or 2490-h.zip *****

This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:

        http://www.gutenberg.org/2/4/9/2490/

Produced by An Anonymous Volunteer, and David Widger

Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions

will be renamed.

Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no

one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation

(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without

permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,

set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to

copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to

protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project

Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you

charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you

do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the

rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose

such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and

research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do

practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is

subject to the trademark license, especially commercial

redistribution.

*** START: FULL LICENSE ***

THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE

PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK

To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free

distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work

(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project

Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project

Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at

http://gutenberg.org/license).

Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm

electronic works

1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm

electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to

and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property

(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all

the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy

all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.

If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project

Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the

terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or

entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.

1.B.  "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark.  It may only be

used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who

agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few

things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works

even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See

paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project

Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement

and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic

works.  See paragraph 1.E below.

1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation"

or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project

Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the

collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an

individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are

located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from

copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative

works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg

are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project

Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by

freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of

this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with

the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by

keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project

Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.

1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern

what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in

a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check

the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement

before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or

creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project

Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning

the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United

States.

1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:

1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate

access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently

whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the

phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project

Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,

copied or distributed:

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with

almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or

re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included

with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org

1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived

from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is

posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied

and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees

or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work

with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the

work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1

through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the

Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or

1.E.9.

1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted

with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution

must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional

terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked

to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the

permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.

1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm

License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this

work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.

1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this

electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without

prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with

active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project

Gutenberg-tm License.

1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,

compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any

word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or

distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than

"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version

posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),

you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a

copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon

request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other

form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm

License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.

1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,

performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works

unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.

1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing

access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided

that

- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from

     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method

     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is

     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he

     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the

     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments

     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you

     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax

     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and

     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the

     address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to

     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation."

- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies

     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he

     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm

     License.  You must require such a user to return or

     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium

     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of

     Project Gutenberg-tm works.

- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any

     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the

     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days

     of receipt of the work.

- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free

     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.

1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm

electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set

forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from

both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael

Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the

Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.

1.F.

1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable

effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread

public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm

collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic

works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain

"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or

corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual

property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a

computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by

your equipment.

1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right

of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project

Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project

Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project

Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all

liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal

fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT

LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE

PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE

TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE

LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR

INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH

DAMAGE.

1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a

defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can

receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a

written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you

received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with

your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with

the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a

refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity

providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to

receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy

is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further

opportunities to fix the problem.

1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth

in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER

WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO

WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.

1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied

warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.

If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the

law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be

interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by

the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any

provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.

1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the

trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone

providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance

with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,

promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,

harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,

that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do

or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm

work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any

Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.

Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm

Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of

electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers

including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists

because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from

people in all walks of life.

Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the

assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's

goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will

remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project

Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure

and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.

To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation

and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4

and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.

Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive

Foundation

The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit

501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the

state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal

Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification

number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at

http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg

Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent

permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.

The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.

Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered

throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at

809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email

business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact

information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official

page at http://pglaf.org

For additional contact information:

     Dr. Gregory B. Newby

     Chief Executive and Director

     gbnewby@pglaf.org

Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg

Literary Archive Foundation

Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide

spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of

increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be

freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest

array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations

($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt

status with the IRS.

The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating

charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United

States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a

considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up

with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations

where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To

SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any

particular state visit http://pglaf.org

While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we

have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition

against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who

approach us with offers to donate.

International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make

any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from

outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.

Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation

methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other

ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.

To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate

Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic

works.

Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm

concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared

with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project

Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.

Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed

editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.

unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily

keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.

Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:

     http://www.gutenberg.org

This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,

including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary

Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to

subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.