Daphne

MUSING on the fate of Daphne,Many feelings urged my breast,For the God so keen desiring,And the Nymph so deep distrest.

Never flashed thro’ sylvan valleyVisions so divinely fair!He with early ardour glowing,She with rosy anguish rare.

Only still more sweet and lovelyFor those terrors on her brows,Those swift glances wild and brilliant,Those delicious panting vows.

Timidly the timid shouldersShrinking from the fervid hand!Dark the tide of hair back-flowingFrom the blue-veined temples bland!

Lovely, too, divine ApolloIn the speed of his pursuit;With his eye an azure lustre,And his voice a summer lute!

Looking like some burnished eagleHovering o’er a fluttered bird;Not unseen of silver Naiad,And of wistful Dryad heard!

Many a morn the naked beautySaw her bright reflection drownIn the flowing smooth-faced river,While the god came sheening down.

Down from Pindus bright PeneusTells its muse-melodious source;Sacred is its fountained birthplace,And the Orient floods its course.

Many a morn the sunny darlingSaw the rising chariot-rays,From the winding river-reaches,Mellowing in amber haze.

Thro’ the flaming mountain gorgesLo, the River leaps the plain;Like a wild god-stridden courser,Tossing high its foamy mane.

Then he swims thro’ laurelled sunlight,Full of all sensations sweet,Misty with his morning incense,To the mirrored maiden’s feet!

Wet and bright the dinting pebblesShine where oft she paused and stood;All her dreamy warmth revolving,While the chilly waters wooed.

Like to rosy-born Aurora,Glowing freshly into view,When her doubtful foot she venturesOn the first cold morning blue.

White as that Thessalian lily,Fairest Tempe’s fairest flower,Lo, the tall Peneïan virginStands beneath her bathing bower.

There the laurell’d wreaths o’erarchingCrown’d the dainty shuddering maid;There the dark prophetic laurelKiss’d her with its sister shade.

There the young green glistening leafletsHush’d with love their breezy peal;There the little opening floweretsBlush’d beneath her vermeil heel!

There among the conscious arboursSounds of soft tumultuous wail,Mysteries of love, melodious,Came upon the lyric gale!

Breathings of a deep enchantment,Effluence of immortal grace,Flitted round her faltering footstep,Spread a balm about her face!

Witless of the enamour’d presence,Like a dreamy lotus budFrom its drowsy stem down-drooping,Gazed she in the glowing flood.

Softly sweet with fluttering presage,Felt she that ethereal sense,Drinking charms of love delirious,Reaping bliss of love intense!

All the air was thrill’d with sunrise,Birds made music of her name,And the god-impregnate waterClaspt her image ere she came.

Richer for that glance unconscious!Dearer for that soft dismay!And the sudden self-possession!And the smile as bright as day!

Plunging ’mid her scattered tresses,With her blue invoking eyes;See her like a star descending!Like a rosebud see her rise!

Like a rosebud in the morningDashing off its jewell’d dews,Ere unfolding all its fragranceIt is gathered by the muse!

Beauteous in the foamy laughterBubbling round her shrinking waist,Lo! from locks and lips and eyelidsRain the glittering pearl-drops chaste!

And about the maiden raptureStill the ruddy ripples play’d,Ebbing round in startled circletsWhen her arms began to wade;

Flowing in like tides attractedTo the glowing crescent shine!Clasping her ambrosial whitenessLike an Autumn-tinted vine!

Sinking low with love’s emotion!Levying with look and toneAll love’s rosy arts to mimicCytherea’s magic zone!

Trembling up with adorationTo the crimson daisy tipBudding from the snowy bosom—Fainter than the rose-red lip!

Rising in a storm of wavelets,That for shelter, feigning fright,Prest to those twin-heaving havens,Harbour’d there beneath her light;

Gleaming in a whirl of eddiesRound her lucid throat and neck;Eddying in a gleam of dimplesUp against her bloomy cheek;

Bribing all the breezy waterWith rich warmth, the nymph to keepIn a self-imprison’d plaisance,Tempting her from deep to deep.

Till at last delirious passionThrill’d the god to wild excess,And the fervour of a momentMade divinity confess;

And he stood in all his glory!But so radiant, being near,That her eyes were frozen on himIn a fascinated fear!

All with orient splendour shining,All with roseate birth aglow,Gleam’d the golden god before her,With his golden crescent bow.

Soon the dazzled light subsided,And he seem’d a beauteous youth,Form’d to gain the maiden’s murmurs,And to pledge the vows of truth.

Ah! that thus he had continued!O, that such for her had been!Graceful with all godlike beauty,But so humanly serene!

Cheeks, and mouth, and mellow ringlets,Bounteous as the mid-day beam;Pleading looks and wistful tremour,Tender as a maiden’s dream!

Palms that like a bird’s throbb’d bosomPalpitate with eagerness,Lips, the bridals of the roses,Dewy sweet from the caress!

Lips and limbs, and eyes and ringlets,Swaying, praying to one prayer,Like a lyre, swept by a spirit,In the still, enraptur’d air.

Like a lyre in some far valley,Uttering ravishments divine!All its strings to viewless fingersYearning, modulations fine!

Yearning with melodious fervour!Like a beauteous maiden flower,When the young beloved three pacesHovers from the bridal bower.

Throbbing thro’ the dawning stillness!As a heart within a breast,When the young beloved is steppingRadiant to the nuptial nest.

O for Daphne! gentle DaphneEver warmer by degreesWhispers full of hopes and visionsThrong her ears like honey bees!

Never yet was lonely blossomWoo’d with such delicious voice!Never since hath mortal maidenDwelt on such celestial choice!

Love-suffused she quivers, falters—Falters, sighs, but never speaks,All her rosy blood up-gushingOverflows her ripe young cheeks.

Blushing, sweet with virgin blushes,All her loveliness a-flame,Stands she in the orient waters,Stricken o’er with speechless shame!

Ah! but lovelier, ever lovelier,As more deep the colour glows,And the honey-laden lilyChanges to the fragrant rose.

While the god with meek embraces,Whispering all his sacred charms,Softly folds her, gently holds her,In his white encircling arms!

But, O Dian! veil not whollyThy pale crescent from the morn!Vanish not, O virgin goddess,With that look of pallid scorn!

Still thy pure protecting influenceShed from those fair watchful eyes!—Lo! her angry orb has vanished,And the bright sun thrones the skies!

Voicelessly the forest VirginVanished! but one look she gave—Keen as Niobean arrowThro’ the maiden’s heart it drave.

Thus toward that throning bosomWhere all earth is warmed,—each spotNourished with autumnal blessings—Icy chill was Daphne caught.

Icy chill! but swift revulsionAll her gentler self renewed,Even as icy Winter quickensWith bud-opening warmth imbued.

Even as a torpid brooklet,That to the night-gleaming moonFlashed in turn the frozen glances,Melts upon the breast of noon.

But no more—O never, never,Turns she to that bosom bright,Swiftly all her senses counsel,All her nerves are strung to flight.

O’er the brows of radiant PindusRolls a shadow dark and cold,And a sound of lamentationIssues from its mournful fold.

Voice of the far-sighted Muses!Cry of keen foreboding song!Every cleft of startled TempeTingles with it sharp and long.

Over bourn and bosk and dingle,Over rivers, over rills,Runs the sad subservient EchoToward the dim blue distant hills!

And another and another!’Tis a cry more wild than all;And the hills with muffled voicesAnswer ‘Daphne!’ to the call.

And another and another!’Tis a cry so wildly sweet,That her charmed heart turns rebelTo the instinct of her feet;

And she pauses for an instant;But his arms have scarcely slidRound her waist in cestian girdles,And his low voluptuous lid

Lifted pleading, and the honeyOf his mouth for hers athirst,Ruby glistening, raised for moisture—Like a bud that waits to burst

In the sweet espousing showers—And his tongue has scarce begunWith its inarticulate burthen,And the clouds scarce show the sun

As it pierces thro’ a creviceOf the mass that closed it o’er,When again the horror flashes—And she turns to flight once more!

And again o’er radiant PindusRolls the shadow dark and cold,And the sound of lamentationIssues from its sable fold!

And again the light winds chide herAs she darts from his embrace—And again the far-voiced echoesSpeak their tidings of the chase.

Loudly now as swiftly, swiftly,O’er the glimmering sands she speeds;Wildly now as in the furzesFrom the piercing spikes she bleeds.

Deeply and with direful anguish,As above each crimson dropPassion checks the god Apollo,And love bids him weep and stop.—

He above each drop of crimsonShadowing—like the laurel leafThat above himself will shadow—Sheds a fadeless look of grief.

Then with love’s remorseful discord,With its own desire at war,Sighing turns, while dimly fleetingDaphne flies the chase afar.

But all nature is against her!Pan, with all his sylvan troop,Thro’ the vista’d woodland valleysBlocks her course with cry and whoop!

In the twilights of the thicketsTrees bend down their gnarled boughs,Wild green leaves and low curved branchesHold her hair and beat her brows.

Many a brake of brushwood covert,Where cold darkness slumbers mute,Slips a shrub to thwart her passage,Slides a hand to clutch her foot.

Glens and glades of lushest verdureToil her in their tawny mesh,Wilder-woofed ways and alleysLock her struggling limbs in leash.

Feathery grasses, flowery mosses,Knot themselves to make her trip;Sprays and stubborn sprigs outstretchingPut a bridle on her lip;

Many a winding lane betrays her,Many a sudden bosky shoot,And her knee makes many a stumbleO’er some hidden damp old root,

Whose quaint face peers green and dusky’Mongst the matted growth of plants,While she rises wild and weltering,Speeding on with many pants.

Tangles of the wild red strawberrySpread their freckled trammels frail;In the pathway creeping bramblesCatch her in their thorny trail.

All the widely sweeping greenswardShifts and swims from knoll to knoll;Grey rough-fingered oak and elm woodPush her by from bole to bole.

Groves of lemon, groves of citron,Tall high-foliaged plane and palm,Bloomy myrtle, light-blue olive,Wave her back with gusts of balm.

Languid jasmine, scrambling briony,Walls of close-festooning braid,Fling themselves about her, minglingWith her wafted looks, waylaid.

Twisting bindweed, honey’d woodbine,Cling to her, while, red and blue,On her rounded form ripe berriesDash and die in gory dew.

Running ivies dark and lingeringRound her light limbs drag and twine;Round her waist with languorous tendrilsReels and wreathes the juicy vine;

Reining in the flying creatureWith its arms about her mouth;Bursting all its mellowing bunchesTo seduce her husky drouth;

Crowning her with amorous clusters;Pouring down her sloping backFresh-born wines in glittering rillets,Following her in crimson track.

Buried, drenched in dewy foliage,Thus she glimmers from the dawn,Watched by every forest creature,Fleet-foot Oread, frolic Faun.

Silver-sandalled ArethusaNot more swiftly fled the sands,Fled the plains and fled the sunlights,Fled the murmuring ocean strands.

O, that now the earth would open!O, that now the shades would hide!O, that now the gods would shelter!Caverns lead and seas divide!

Not more faint soft-lowing IoPanted in those starry eyes,When the sleepless midnight meadowsPiteously implored the skies!

Still her breathless flight she urgesBy the sanctuary stream,And the god with golden swiftnessFollows like an eastern beam.

Her the close bewildering greeneryDarkens with its duskiest green,—Him each little leaflet welcomes,Flushing with an orient sheen.

Thus he nears, and now all TempeRings with his melodious cry,Avenues and blue expansesBeam in his large lustrous eye!

All the branches start to music!As if from a secret springThousands of sweet bills are bubblingIn the nest and on the wing.

Gleams and shines the glassy riverAnd rich valleys every one;But of all the throbbing beautyBrightest! singled by the sun!

Ivy round her glimmering ancle,Vine about her glowing brow,Never sure was bride so beauteous,Daphne, chosen nymph, as thou!

Thus he nears! and now she feels himBreathing hot on every limb;And he hears her own quick pantings—Ah! that they might be for him.

O, that like the flower he tramples,Bending from his golden tread,Full of fair celestial ardours,She would bow her bridal head.

O, that like the flower she presses,Nodding from her lily touch,Light as in the harmless breezes,She would know the god for such!

See! the golden arms are round her—To the air she grasps and clings!See! his glowing arms have wound her—To the sky she shrieks and springs!

See! the flushing chace of TempeTrembles with Olympian air—See! green sprigs and buds are shootingFrom those white raised arms of prayer!

In the earth her feet are rooting!—Breasts and limbs and lifted eyes,Hair and lips and stretching fingers,Fade away—and fadeless rise.

And the god whose fervent raptureClasps her finds his close embraceFull of palpitating branches,And new leaves that bud apace,

Bound his wonder-stricken forehead;—While in ebbing measures slowSounds of softly dying pulsesPause and quiver, pause and go;

Go, and come again, and flutterOn the verge of life,—then flee!All the white ambrosial beautyIs a lustrous Laurel Tree!

Still with the great panting love-chaseAll its running sap is warmed;—But from head to foot the virginIs transfigured and transformed.

Changed!—yet the green Dryad natureIs instinct with human ties,And above its anguish’d loverBreathes pathetic sympathies;

Sympathies of love and sorrow;Joy in her divine escape;Breathing through her bursting foliageComfort to his bending shape.

Vainly now the floating NaiadsSeek to pierce the laurel maze,Nought but laurel meets their glances,Laurel glistens as they gaze.

Nought but bright prophetic laurel!Laurel over eyes and brows,Over limbs and over bosom,Laurel leaves and laurel boughs!

And in vain the listening DryadShells her hand against her ear!—All is silence—save the echoTravelling in the distance drear.