The Dedalus Book of British Fantasy Read online

  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, has 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 has 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 & 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 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, strange or magnificent:

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

  Whether to faint Elysium, or whe
re

  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 shall I 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 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 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 lent 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 Faeries, 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’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 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 II

  Love in a hut, with water and a crust,

  Is - Love, forgive us! - cinders, ashes, dust;