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
She burnt, she loved 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 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 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 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, 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 royal 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 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 panel fuming stood
A censer fed with myrrh and spiced wood, 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'c By ministering slaves, upon his hands and feet, And fragrant oils with ceremony meet
Pour'd on his hair, they all moved 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 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 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
« НазадПродовжити » |