She passed at dewfall to a space extended, 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- 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 his 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 a 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 veined 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 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, XXXV. Then by strange art she kneaded fire and snow XXXVI. A sexless thing it was, and in its growth In gentleness and strength its limbs were decked; The bosom lightly swelled with its full youth, The countenance was such as might select Some artist that his skill should never die, Imaging forth such perfect purity. XXXVII. From its smooth shoulders hung two rapid wings, "Sit here!" And pointed to the prow and took her seat XXXVIII. And down the streams which clove those moun tains vast, Around their inland islets, and amid The panther-peopled forests, whose shade cast XXXIX. The silver moon into that winding dell, XL. And ever as she went, the Image lay The busy dreams, as thick as summer flies, And drinking the warm tears, and the sweet sighs Inhaling, which, with busy murmur vain, They had aroused from that full heart and brain. XLI. And ever down the prone vale, like a cloud XLII. And down the earthquaking cataracts, which shiver Their snow-like waters into golden air, Or under chasms unfathomable ever Sepulchre them, till in their rage they tear A subterranean portal for the river, It fled the circling sunbows did upbear Its fall down the hoar precipice of spray, Lighting it far upon its lampless way. XLIII. And when the wizard lady would ascend |