XXIII.

"This may not be,” the wizard maid replied;

"The fountains where the Naiades bedew

"Their shining hair, at length are drained and dried; "The solid oaks forget their strength, and strew "Their latest leaf upon the mountains wide;

"The boundless ocean like a drop of dew

"Will be consumed the stubborn centre must

"Be scattered, like a cloud of summer dust.

XXIV.

"And ye with them will perish, one by one ;· 66 If I must sigh to think that this shall be,

"If I must weep when the surviving Sun

"Shall smile on your decay- Oh, ask not me "To love you till your little race is run;

"I cannot die as ye must-over me

"Your leaves shall glance the streams in which ye

dwell

"Shall be my paths henceforth, and so - farewell!"

XXV.

She spoke and wept :—the dark and azure well
Sparkled beneath the shower of her bright tears,

And every little circlet where they fell

Flung to the cavern-roof inconstant spheres

And intertangled lines of light :

a knell

Of sobbing voices came upon her ears From those departing Forms, o'er the serene Of the white streams and of the forest green.

XXVI.

All day the wizard lady sate aloof,
Spelling out scrolls of dread antiquity,
Under the cavern's fountain-lighted roof;
Or broidering the pictured poesy
Of some high tale upon her growing woof,

Which the sweet splendour of her smiles could dye
In hues outshining Heaven - and ever she
Added some grace to the wrought poesy.

XXVII.

While on her hearth lay blazing many a piece
Of sandal wood, rare gums and cinnamon;
Men scarcely know how beautiful fire is

Each flame of it is as a precious stone
Dissolved in ever-moving light, and this

Belongs to each and all who gaze upon.
The Witch beheld it not, for in her hand
She held a woof that dimmed the burning brand.

XXVIII.

This lady never slept, but lay in trance

All night within the fountain-as in sleep.
Its emerald crags glowed in her beauty's glance;

Through the green splendour of the water 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
From the white pinnacles of that cold hill,
She past at dewfall to a space extended,

Where in a lawn of flowering asphodel
Amid a wood of pines and cedars blended,
There yawned an inextinguishable well
Of crimson fire-full even to the brim,
And overflowing all the margin trim.

XXX.

Within the which she lay when the fierce war
Of wintry winds shook that innocuous liquor
In many a mimic moon and bearded star

O'er woods and lawns ;

-

the serpent heard it flicker

In sleep, and dreaming still, he crept afar

And when the windless snow descended thicker Than autumn leaves, she watched it as it came Melt on the surface of the level flame.

XXXI.

She had a Boat, which some say Vulcan wrought
For Venus, as the chariot of her star;

But it was found too feeble to be fraught
With all the ardours in that sphere which are,
And so she sold it, and Apollo bought

And gave it to this daughter: from a car
Changed to the fairest and the lightest boat
Which ever upon mortal stream did 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,

Stole a strange seed, and wrapt it up in mould,
And sowed it in his mother's star, and kept
Watering it all the summer with sweet dew,
And with his wings fanning it as it grew.

XXXIII.

The plant grew strong and green, the snowy flower
Fell, and the long and gourd-like fruit began
To turn the light and dew by inward power

To its own substance; woven tracery ran
Of light firm texture, ribbed and branching, o'er
The solid rind, like a leaf's veinèd fan

Of which Love scooped this boat — and with soft motion
Piloted it round the circumfluous ocean.

XXXIV.

This boat she moored upon her fount, and lit

A living spirit within all its frame, Breathing the soul of swiftness into it.

Couched on the fountain like a panther tame, One of the twain at Evan's feet that sit

Or as on Vesta's sceptre a swift flame
Or on blind Homer's heart a wingèd thought, -
In joyous expectation lay the boat.

XXXV.

Then by strange art she kneaded fire and snow
Together, tempering the repugnant mass

With liquid love all things together grow

Through which the harmony of love can pass;