POEMS WRITTEN IN 1820. (Continued.) THE WITCH OF ATLAS. 1. BEFORE those cruel Twins, whom at one birth And left us nothing to believe in, worth The pains of putting into learned rhyme, A lady-witch there lived on Atlas' mountain Within a cavern by a secret fountain. II. Her mother was one of the Atlantides: The all-beholding Sun had ne'er beholden In his wide voyage o'er continents and seas So fair a creature, as she lay enfolden In the warm shadow of her loveliness. He kissed her with his beams, and made all golden The chamber of gray rock in which she lay; III. Tis said, she was first changed into a 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, into one of those mysterious stars Which hide themselves between the Earth and Mars. IV. Ten times the Mother of the Months had 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 tempest's cloven rocf;-her hair Dark-the dim brain whirls dizzy with delight, Picturing her form;-her soft smiles shone afar, And her low voice was heard like love, and drew All living things towards this wonder new. VI. And first the spotted camelopard came, Of his own volumes intervolved;-all gaunt And sanguine beasts her gentle looks made tame. They drank before her at her sacred fount; And every beast of beating heart grew bold, Such gentleness and power even to behold. VII. The brinded lioness led forth her young, That she might teach them how they should forego Their inborn thirst of death; the pard unstrung VIII. And old Silenus, shaking a green stick IX. And universal Pan, 'tis said, was there, And though none saw him,-through the adamant Of the deep mountains, through the trackless air, And through those living spirits, like a want, Ile passed out of his everlasting lair Where the quick heart of the great world doth pant, And felt that wondrous lady all alone,— And she felt him upon her emerald throne. X. And every nymph of stream and spreading tree, All came, much wondering how the enwombed rocks Could have brought forth so beautiful a birth ;— Her love subdued their wonder and their mirth. XI. The herdsman and the mountain maidens came, And the rude kings of pastoral Garamant— Their spirits shook within them, as a flame Stirred by the air under a cavern gaunt: Pygmies, and Polyphemes, by many a name, Centaurs and Satyrs, and such shapes as haunt Wet clefts, and lumps neither alive nor dead, Dog-headed, bosom-eyed, and bird-footed. XII. For she was beautiful: her beauty made The bright world dim, and every thing beside Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade : No thought of living spirit could abide (Which to her looks had ever been betrayed) On any object in the world so wide, On any hope within the circling skies, But on her form, and in her inmost eyes. XIII. Which when the lady knew, she took her spindle And twined three threads of fleecy mist, and three Long lines of light, such as the dawn may kindle The clouds and waves and mountains with, and she As many star-beams, ere their lamps could dwindle In the belated moon, wound skilfully; And with these threads a subtile veil she wove, A shadow for the splendour of her love. XIV. The deep recesses of her odorous dwelling |