There by the river banks he wander'd on, Flush'd guests, and golden goblets, foam'd with wine; Splinter'd the silver arrows of the moon. It may be that sometimes his wondering soul From the loud joyful laughter of his lips Might shrink half startled, like a guilty man Gliding half hidden through the dusky stems, Would thrust a hand before the lifted bowl, Dwelt with mere outward seeming; he, within, It may be; but not less his brow was smooth, Nor, pall'd with its own fulness, ebb'd and died In the rich languor of long summer days; Nor wither'd, when the palm-tree plumes that roof'd Bent to the cold winds of the showerless Spring; And when the mirth wax'd loudest, with dull sound Sometimes from the grove's centre echoes came, CADMUS AND HARMONIA. FAR, far, from here, The Adriatic breaks in a warm bay Among the green Illyrian hills; and there The sunshine in the happy glens is fair, The grass is cool, the sea-side air Buoyant and fresh, the mountain flowers More virginal and sweet than ours. And there, they say, two bright and aged Snakes, Who once were Cadmus and Harmonia, Bask in the glens or on the warm sea-shore, In breathless quiet, after all their ills. Nor do they see their country, nor the place Where the Sphinx liv'd among the frowning hills, Nor the unhappy palace of their race, Nor Thebes, nor the Ismenus, any more. There those two live, far in the Illyrian brakes. Curse upon curse, pang upon pang, For years, they sitting helpless in their home, A grey And at the banquet all the Muses sang. Therefore they did not end their days In sight of blood; but were rapt, far away, And murmurs of the Adriatic come To those untrodden mountain lawns: and there |