'Tis said, she first was changed into a And first the spotted cameleopard came, And then the wise and fearless elephant ; vapour, And then into a cloud, such clouds as flit, Like splendour-winged moths about a taper, Round the red west when the sun dies in it : And then into a meteor, such as caper On hill-tops when the moon is in a fit: Then the sly serpent, in the golden flame Of his own volumes intervolved ;-all gaunt And sanguine beasts her gentle looks made tame. They drank before her at her sacred fount; Then, into one of those mysterious stars And every beast of beating heart grew Which hide themselves between the Earth and Mars. IV bold, Such gentleness and power even to behold. VII Ten times the Mother of the Months had The brinded lioness led forth her young, bent Her bow beside the folding-star, and bidden With that bright sign the billows to indent The sea-deserted sand-like children chidden, At her command they ever came and went Since in that cave a dewy splendour hidden Took shape and motion with the living form Of this embodied Power, the cave grew warm. V A lovely lady garmented in light From her own beauty-deep her eyes, as are Two openings of unfathomable night Seen through a Temple's cloven roof -her hair That she might teach them how they should forego Their inborn thirst of death; the pard unstrung His sinews at her feet, and sought to know With looks whose motions spoke without a tongue How he might be as gentle as the doe. The magic circle of her voice and eyes All savage natures did imparadise. VIII And old Silenus, shaking a green stick Of lilies, and the wood-gods in a crew Came, blithe, as in the olive copses thick Cicada are, drunk with the noonday dew: And Dryope and Faunus followed quick, Teasing the God to sing them something new ; Dark-the dim brain whirls dizzy with Till in this cave they found the lady lone, delight, Picturing her form; her soft smiles shone afar, Sitting upon a seat of emerald stone. IX And her low voice was heard like love, And universal Pan, 'tis said, was there, and drew All living things towards this wondernew. And though none saw him,-through the adamant Of the deep mountains, through the Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade: And every shepherdess of Ocean's Long lines of light, such as the dawn flocks, Who drives her white waves over the green sea, may kindle The clouds and waves and mountains with; and she And Ocean with the brine on his gray As many star-beams, ere their lamps locks, And quaint Priapus with his company, All came, much wondering how the enwombed rocks could dwindle In the belated moon, wound skilfully; And with these threads a subtle veil she Wove Could have brought forth so beautiful A shadow for the splendour of her love. And the rude kings of pastoral Gara- | Which had the power all spirits of com Whose heart adores the shrine which Of gold and blood-till men should live holiest is, and move Even Love's:—and others white, green, Harmonious as the sacred stars above; gray, and black, And of all shapes-and each was at her beck. XVI And odours in a kind of aviary Of ever-blooming Eden-trees she kept, Clipt in a floating net, a love-sick Fairy Had woven from dew-beams while the moon yet slept; XIX And how all things that seem untame able, Not to be checked and not to be confined, Obey the spells of wisdom's wizard skill; Time, earth, and fire-the ocean and the wind, As bats at the wired window of a dairy, | And all their shapes—and man's imperial They beat their vans; and each was will; And other scrolls whose writings did unbind The inmost lore of Love-let the profane To stir sweet thoughts or sad, in destined Tremble to ask what secrets they conminds. XVII tain. XX And liquors clear and sweet, whose And wondrous works of substanccs un healthful might Could medicine the sick soul to happy sleep, And change eternal death into a night Of glorious dreams-or if eyes needs must weep, Could make their tears all wonder and delight, She in her crystal vials did closely keep: If men could drink of those clear vials, 'tis said The living were not envied of the dead. XVIII Her cave was stored with scrolls of strange device, The works of some Saturnian Archimage, known, To which the enchantment of her father's power Had changed those ragged blocks of savage stone, Were heaped in the recesses of her bower; Carved lamps and chalices, and vials which shone In their own golden beams—each like a flower, Out of whose depth a fire-fly shakes his light Under a cypress in a starless night. XXI At first she lived alone in this wild home, And her own thoughts were each a minister, Which taught the expiations at whose Clothing themselves, or with the ocean price Men from the Gods might win that happy age Too lightly lost, redeeming native vice; And which might quench the Earthconsuming rage foam, Or with the wind, or with the speed of fire, To work whatever purposes might come Into her mind; such power her mighty Sire Had girt them with, whether to fly or Shall be my paths henceforth, and so— "This may not be," the wizard maid Under the cavern's fountain-lighted Will be consumed-the stubborn centre While on her hearth lay blazing many All night within the fountain—as in And gave it to this daughter: from a sleep. car Its emerald crags glowed in her beauty's Changed to the fairest and the lightest glance; boat Through the green splendour of the water Which ever upon mortal stream did deep She saw the constellations reel and dance Like fire-flies-and withal did ever keep The tenour of her contemplations calm, With open eyes, closed feet and folded palm. XXIX And when the whirlwinds and the clouds descended float. XXXII And others say, that, when but three hours old, The first-born Love out of his cradle leapt, And clove dun Chaos with his wings of gold, And like an horticultural adept, From the white pinnacles of that cold Stole a strange seed, and wrapt it up in mould, She had a Boat, which some say Vulcan This boat she moored upon her fount, |