ery spell;

And, sitting down close by, began to muse What it might mean. Perhaps, thought I,

Morpheus,

In passing here, his owlet pinions shook; Or, it may be, ere matron Night uptook 561 Her ebon urn, young Mercury, by stealth, Had dipt his rod in it: such garland wealth Came not by common growth. Thus on I thought,

Until my head was dizzy and distraught. Moreover, through the dancing poppies stole

A breeze, most softly lulling to my soul;
And shaping visions all about my sight
Of colours, wings, and bursts of spangly
light;

The which became more strange, and strange, and dim,

570

Could figure out and to conception bring
All I beheld and felt. Methought I lay
Watching the zenith, where the milky way
Among the stars in virgin splendour pours;
And travelling my eye, until the doors 581
Of heaven appear'd to open for my flight,
I became loth and fearful to alight

From such high soaring by a downward glance:

So kept me steadfast in that airy trance,
Spreading imaginary pinions wide.
When, presently, the stars began to glide,
And faint away, before my eager view:
At which I sigh'd that I could not pursue,
And dropt my vision to the horizon's verge;
And lo! from opening clouds, I saw
emerge

591

The loveliest moon, that ever silver'd o'er A shell for Neptune's goblet; she did

soar

So passionately bright, my dazzled soul

Ah, desperate mortal! I ev'n dared to press
Her very cheek against my crowned lip,
And, at that moment, felt my body dip
Into a warmer air: a moment more,
Our feet were soft in flowers. There was
store

Of newest joys upon that alp. Sometimes
A scent of violets, and blossoming limes,
Loiter'd around us; then of honey cells,
Made delicate from all white-flower bells;
And once, above the edges of our nest, 670
An arch face peep'd, an Oread as I
guess'd.

roses;

Ghosts of melodious prophesyings rave Round every spot where trod Apollo's foot;

790

Bronze clarions awake, and faintly bruit,
Where long ago a giant battle was;
And, from the turf, a lullaby doth pass
In every place where infant Orpheus slept.
Feel we these things?—that moment have
we stept

Into a sort of oneness, and our state

Is like a floating spirit's. But there are Richer entanglements, enthralments far More self-destroying, leading, by degrees, To the chief intensity: the crown of these Is made of love and friendship, and sits high

Upon the forehead of humanity.

801

All its more ponderous and bulky worth
Is friendship, whence there ever issues forth
A steady splendour; but at the tip-top,
There hangs by unseen film, an orbed drop
Of light, and that is love: its influence
Thrown in our eyes genders a novel sense,
At which we start and fret: till in the end,
Melting into its radiance, we blend,
Mingle, and so become a part of it, —
Nor with aught else can our souls interknit
So wingedly: when we combine therewith,
Life's self is nourish'd by its proper pith,
And we are nurtured like a pelican brood.
Aye, so delicious is the unsating food,
That men, who might have tower'd in the

van

810

How tiptoe Night holds back her darkgray hood.

Just so may love, although 't is understood The mere commingling of passionate breath, Produce more than our searching witnesseth:

What I know not: but who, of men, can tell

That flowers would bloom, or that green fruit would swell

To melting pulp, that fish would have bright mail,

The earth its dower of river, wood, and vale,

Which we should see but for these darkening boughs,

Lies a deep hollow, from whose ragged brows

Bushes and trees do lean all round athwart, And meet so nearly, that with wings out

raught,

And spreaded tail, a vulture could not glide Past them, but he must brush on every side.

Some moulder'd steps lead into this cool cell,

Far as the slabbed margin of a well, Whose patient level peeps its crystal eye

870

sky. Oft have I brought thee flowers, on their stalks set

Like vestal primroses, but dark velvet Edges them round, and they have golden pits:

'T was there I got them, from the gaps and slits

In a mossy stone, that sometimes was my seat,

When all above was faint with mid-day heat.

And there in strife no burning thoughts to heed,

I'd bubble up the water through a reed; So reaching back to boyhood: make me ships

881

Of moulted feathers, touchwood, alder chips,

With leaves stuck in them; and the Neptune be

Of their petty ocean. Oftener, heavily, When lovelorn hours had left me less a

child,

I sat contemplating the figures wild
Of o'er-head clouds melting the mirror

through.

Upon a day, while thus I watch'd, by flew A cloudy Cupid, with his bow and quiver; So plainly character'd, no breeze would shiver 890

The happy chance: so happy, I was fain
To follow it upon the open plain,