Lycus the Centaur

OM AN

ED

PT OF

US

US (The Argument:

Lycus, detained by Circe in her magical dominion, is beloved by a Water Nymph, who, desiring to render him immortal, has recourse to the Sorceress.

Circe gives her an incantation to pronounce, which should turn Lycus into a horse; but the horrible effect of the charm causing her to break off in the midst, he becomes a Centaur).

Who hath ever been lured and bound by a spell To wander, fore-doomed, in that circle of hell Where Witchery works with her will like a god,

Works more than the wonders of time at a nod,— At a word,—at a touch,—at a flash of the eye,

But each form is a cheat, and each sound is a lie,

Things born of a wish—to endure for a thought,

Or last for long ages—to vanish to nought,

Or put on new semblance?

O Jove,

I had given The throne of a kingdom to know if that heaven,

And the earth and its streams were of Circe, or whether They kept the world's birthday and brighten'd together!

For I loved them in terror, and constantly dreaded That the earth where I trod, and the cave where I bedded,

The face I might dote on, should live out the lease Of the charm that created, and suddenly cease:

And I gave me to slumber, as if from one dream To another—each horrid,—and drank of the stream Like a first taste of blood, lest as water I quaff'd Swift poison, and never should breathe from the draught,— Such drink as her own monarch husband drain'd up When he pledged her, and Fate closed his eyes in the cup.

And I pluck'd of the fruit with held breath, and a fear That the branch would start back and scream out in my ear;

For once, at my suppering,

I plucked in the dusk An apple, juice-gushing and fragrant of musk;

But by daylight my fingers were crimson'd with gore,

And the half-eaten fragment was flesh at the core;

And once—only once—for the love of its blush,

I broke a bloom bough, but there came such a gush On my hand, that it fainted away in weak fright,

While the leaf-hidden woodpecker shriek'd at the sight;

And oh! such an agony thrill'd in that note,

That my soul, startling up, beat its wings in my throat,

As it long'd to be free of a body whose hand Was doom'd to work torments a Fury had plann'd!

There I stood without stir, yet how willing to flee,

As if rooted and horror-turn'd into a tree,— Oh! for innocent death,—and to suddenly win it,

I drank of the stream, but no poison was in it;

I plunged in its waters, but ere I could sink,

Some invisible fate pull'd me back to the brink;

I sprang from the rock, from its pinnacle height,

But fell on the grass with a grasshopper's flight;

I ran at my fears—they were fears and no more,

For the bear would not mangle my limbs, nor the boar,

But moan'd—all their brutalized flesh could not smother The horrible truth,—we were kin to each other!

They were mournfully gentle, and group'd for relief,

All foes in their skin, but all friends in their grief:

The leopard was there,—baby-mild in its feature;

And the tiger, black-barr'd, with the gaze of a creature That knew gentle pity; the bristle-back'd boar,

His innocent tusks stain'd with mulberry gore;

And the laughing hyena—but laughing no more;

And the snake, not with magical orbs to devise Strange death, but with woman's attraction of eyes;

The tall ugly ape, that still bore a dim shine Through his hairy eclipse of a manhood divine;

And the elephant stately, with more than its reason,

How thoughtful in sadness! but this is no season To reckon them up from the lag-bellied toad To the mammoth, whose sobs shook his ponderous load.

There were woes of all shapes, wretched forms, when I came,

That hung down their heads with a human-like shame;

The elephant hid in the boughs, and the bear Shed over his eyes the dark veil of his hair;

And the womanly soul turning sick with disgust,

Tried to vomit herself from her serpentine crust;

While all groan'd their groans into one at their lot,

As I brought them the image of what they were not.

Then rose a wild sound of the human voice choking Through vile brutal organs—low tremulous croaking:

Cries swallow'd abruptly—deep animal tones Attuned to strange passion, and full-utter'd groans;

All shuddering weaken, till hush'd in a pause Of tongues in mute motion and wide-yawning jaws;

And I guessed that those horrors were meant to tell o'er The tale of their woes; but the silence told more,

That writhed on their tongues; and I knelt on the sod,

And pray'd with my voice to the cloud-stirring god,

For the sad congregation of supplicants there,

That upturn'd to his heaven brute faces of prayer;

And I ceased, and they utter'd a moaning so deep,

That I wept for my heart-ease,—but they could not weep,

And gazed with red eyeballs, all wistfully dry,

At the comfort of tears in a stag's human eye.

Then I motion'd them round, and, to soothe their distress,

I caress'd, and they bent them to meet my caress,

Their necks to my arm, and their heads to my palm,

And with poor grateful eyes suffer'd meekly and calm Those tokens of kindness, withheld by hard fate From returns that might chill the warm pity to hate;

So they passively bow'd—save the serpent, that leapt To my breast like a sister, and pressingly crept In embrace of my neck, and with close kisses blister'd My lips in rash love,—then drew backward, and glister'd Her eyes in my face, and loud hissing affright,

Dropt down, but swift started away from my sight!

This sorrow was theirs, but thrice wretched my lot,

Turn'd brute in my soul, though my body was not,

When I fled from the sorrow of womanly faces,

That shrouded their woe in the shade of lone places,

And dash'd off bright tears, till their fingers were wet,

And then wiped their lids with long tresses of jet:

But I fled—though they stretch'd out their hands, all entangled With hair, and blood-stain'd of the breasts they had mangled,— Though they call'd—and perchance but to ask, had I seen Their loves, or to tell the vile wrongs that had been:

But I stayed not to hear, lest the story should hold Some hell-form of words, some enchantment, once told,

Might translate me in flesh to a brute; and I dreaded To gaze on their charms, lest my faith should be wedded With some pity,—and love in that pity perchance— To a thing not all lovely; for once at glance,

Methought, where one sat,

I descried a bright wonder That flow'd like a long silver rivulet under The long fenny grass,—with so lovely a breast,

Could it be a snake-tail made the charm of the rest?

So I roamed in that circle of horrors, and Fear Walk'd with me, by hills, and in valleys, and near Cluster'd trees for their gloom—not to shelter from heat— But lest a brute-shadow should grow at my feet;

And besides that full oft in the sunshiny place Dark shadows would gather like clouds on its face,

In the horrible likeness of demons (that none Could see, like invisible flames in the sun);

But grew to one monster that seized on the light,

Like the dragon that strangles the moon in the night;

Fierce sphinxes, long serpents, and asps of the south;

Wild birds of huge beak, and all horrors that drouth Engenders of slime in the land of the pest,

Vile shapes without shape, and foul bats of the West,

Bringing Night on their wings; and the bodies wherein Great Brahma imprisons the spirits of sin,

Many-handed, that blent in one phantom of fight Like a Titan, and threatfully warr'd with the light;

I have heard the wild shriek that gave signal to close,

When they rushed on that shadowy Python of foes,

That met with sharp beaks and wide gaping of jaws,

With flappings of wings, and fierce grasping of claws,

And whirls of long tails:—I have seen the quick flutter Of fragments dissevered,—and necks stretch'd to utter Long screamings of pain,—the swift motion of blows,

And wrestling of arms—to the flight at the close,

When the dust of the earth startled upward in rings,

And flew on the whirlwind that follow'd their wings.

Thus they fled—not forgotten—but often to grow Like fears in my eyes, when I walk'd to and fro In the shadows, and felt from some beings unseen The warm touch of kisses, but clean or unclean I knew not, nor whether the love I had won Was of heaven or hell—till one day in the sun,

In its very noon-blaze,

I could fancy a thing Of beauty, but faint as the cloud-mirrors fling On the gaze of the shepherd that watches the sky,

Half-seen and half-dream'd in the soul of his eye.

And when in my musings I gazed on the stream,

In motionless trances of thought, there would seem A face like that face, looking upward through mine:

With his eyes full of love, and the dim-drownd shine Of limbs and fair garments, like clouds in that blue Serene:—there I stood for long hours but to view Those fond earnest eyes that were ever uplifted Towards me, and wink'd as the water-weed drifted Between; but the fish knew that presence, and plied Their long curvy tails, and swift darted aside.

There I gazed for lost time, and forgot all the things That once had been wonders—the fishes with wings,

And the glimmer of magnified eyes that look'd up From the glooms of the bottom like pearls in a cup,

And the huge endless serpent of silvery gleam,

Slow winding along like a tide in the stream.

Some maid of the waters, some Naiad, methought Held me dear in the pearl of her eye—and I brought My wish to that fancy; and often I dash'd My limbs in the water, and suddenly splash'd The cool drops around me, yet clung to the brink,

Chill'd by watery fears, how that beauty might sink With my life in her arms to her garden, and bind me With its long tangled grasses, or cruelly wind me In some eddy to hum out my life in her ear,

Like a spider-caught bee,—and in aid of that fear Came the tardy remembrance—Oh falsest of men!

Why was not that beauty remember'd till then?

My love, my safe love, whose glad life would have run Into mine—like a drop—that our fate might be one,

That now, even now,—may-be,—clasp'd in a dream,

That form which I gave to some jilt of the stream,

And gazed with fond eyes that her tears tried to smother On a mock of those eyes that I gave to another!

Then I rose from the stream, but the eyes of my mind,

Still full of the tempter, kept gazing behind On her crystalline face, while I painfully leapt To the bank, and shook off the curst waters, and wept With my brow in the reeds; and the reeds to my ear Bow'd, bent by no wind, and in whispers of fear,

Growing small with large secrets, foretold me of one That loved me,—but oh to fly from her, and shun Her love like a pest—though her love was as true To mine as her stream to the heavenly blue;

For why should I love her with love that would bring All misfortune, like hate, on so joyous a thing?

Because of her rival,—even Her whose witch-face I had slighted, and therefore was doom'd in that place To roam, and had roam'd, where all horrors grew rank,

Nine days ere I wept with my brow on that bank;

Her name be not named, but her spite would not fail To our love like a blight; and they told me the tale Of Scylla,—and Picus, imprison'd to speak His shrill-screaming woe through a woodpecker's beak.

Then they ceased—I had heard as the voice of my star That told me the truth of my fortunes—thus far I had read of my sorrow, and lay in the hush Of deep meditation,—when lo! a light crush Of the reeds, and I turn'd and look'd round in the night Of new sunshine, and saw, as I sipp'd of the light Narrow-winking, the realized nymph of the stream,

Rising up from the wave with the bend and the gleam Of a fountain, and o'er her white arms she kept throwing Bright torrents of hair, that went flowing and flowing In falls to her feet, and the blue waters roll'd Down her limbs like a garment, in many a fold,

Sun-spangled, gold-broider'd, and fled far behind,

Like an infinite train.

So she came and reclined In the reeds, and I hunger'd to see her unseal The buds of her eyes that would ope and reveal The blue that was in them;—they oped and she raised Two orbs of pure crystal, and timidly gazed With her eyes on my eyes; but their color and shine Was of that which they look'd on, and mostly of mine— For she loved me,—except when she blush'd, and they sank,

Shame-humbled, to number the stones on the bank,

Or her play-idle fingers, while lisping she told me How she put on her veil, and in love to behold me Would wing through the sun till she fainted away Like a mist, and then flew to her waters and lay In love-patience long hours, and sore dazzled her eyes In watching for mine 'gainst the midsummer skies.

But now they were heal'd,—O my heart, it still dances When I think of the charm of her changeable glances,

And my image how small when it sank in the deep Of her eyes where her soul was,—Alas! now they weep,

And none knoweth where.

In what stream do her eyes Shed invisible tears?

Who beholds where her sighs Flow in eddies, or sees the ascent of the leaf She has pluck'd with her tresses?

Who listens her grief Like a far fall of waters, or hears where her feet Grow emphatic among the loose pebbles, and beat Them together?

Ah! surely her flowers float adown To the sea unaccepted, and little ones drown For need of her mercy,—even he whose twin-brother Will miss him forever; and the sorrowful mother Imploreth in vain for his body to kiss And cling to, all dripping and cold as it is,

Because that soft pity is lost in hard pain We loved,—how we loved!—for I thought not again Of the woes that were whisper'd like fears in that place If I gave me to beauty.

Her face was the face,

Far away, and her eyes were the eyes that were drown'd For my absence,—her arms were the arms that sought round And claspt me to nought; for I gazed and became Only true to my falsehood, and had but one name For two loves, and call'd ever on Ægle, sweet maid Of the sky-loving waters,—and was not afraid Of the sight of her skin;—for it never could be;

Her beauty and love were misfortunes to me!

Thus our bliss had endured for a time-shorten'd space,

Like a day made of three, and the smile of her face Had been with me for joy,—when she told me indeed Her love was self-task'd with a work that would need Some short hours, for in truth 'twas the veriest pity Our love should not last, and then sang me a ditty,

Of one with warm lips that should love her, and love her When suns were burnt dim and long ages past over.

So she fled with her voice, and I patiently nested My limbs in the reeds, in still quiet, and rested Till my thoughts grew extinct, and I sank in a sleep Of dreams,—but their meaning was hidden too deep To be read what their woe was;—but still it was woe That was writ on all faces that swam to and fro In that river of night;—and the gaze of their eyes Was sad,—and the bend of their brows,—and their cries Were seen, but I heard not.

The warm touch of tears Travell'd down my cold cheeks, and I shook till my fears Awaked me, and lo!

I was couch'd in a bower,

The growth of long summers rear'd up in an hour!

Then I said, in the fear of my dream,

I will fly From this magic, but could not, because that my eye Grew love-idle among the rich blooms; and the earth Held me down with its coolness of touch, and the mirth Of some bird was above me,—who, even in fear,

Would startle the thrush? and methought there drew near A form as of Ægle,—but it was not the face Hope made, and I knew the witch-Queen of that place,

Even Circe the Cruel, that came like a Death,

Which I fear'd, and yet fled not, for want of my breath.

There was thought in her face, and her eyes were not raised From the grass at her foot, but I saw, as I gazed,

Her spite—and her countenance changed with her mind As she plann'd how to thrall me with beauty, and bind My soul to her charms,—and her long tresses play'd From shade into shine and from shine into shade,

Like a day in mid-autumn,—first fair,

O how fair!

With long snaky locks of the adder-black hair That clung round her neck,—those dark locks that I prize,

For the sake of a maid that once loved me with eyes Of that fathomless hue,—but they changed as they roll'd,

And brighten'd, and suddenly blazed into gold That she comb'd into flames, and the locks that fell down Turn'd dark as they fell, but I slighted their brown,

Nor loved, till I saw the light ringlets shed wild,

That innocence wears when she is but a child;

And her eyes,—Oh I ne'er had been witched with their shine,

Had they been any other, my Ægle, than thine!

Then I gave me to magic, and gazed till I madden'd In the full of their light,—but I sadden'd and sadden'd The deeper I look'd,—till I sank on the snow Of her bosom, a thing made of terror and woe,

And answer'd its throb with the shudder of fears,

And hid my cold eyes from her eyes with my tears,

And strain'd her white arms with the still languid weight Of a fainting distress.

There she sat like the Fate That is nurse unto Death, and bent over in shame To hide me from her the true Ægle—that came With the words on her lips the false witch had fore-given To make me immortal—for now I was even At the portals of Death, who but waited the hush Of world-sounds in my ears to cry welcome, and rush With my soul to the banks of his black-flowing river.

Oh, would it had flown from my body forever,

Ere I listen'd those words, when I felt with a start,

The life-blood rush back in one throb to my heart,

And saw the pale lips where the rest of that spell Had perished in horror—and heard the farewell Of that voice that was drown'd in the dash of the stream!

How fain had I follow'd, and plunged with that scream Into death, but my being indignantly lagg'd Through the brutalized flesh that I painfully dragg'd Behind me:—O Circe!

O mother of spite!

Speak the last of that curse! and imprison me quite In the husk of a brute,—that no pity may name The man that I was,—that no kindred may claim— "The monster I am!

Let me utterly be Brute-buried, and Nature's dishonor with me Uninscribed!"—But she listen'd my prayer, that was praise To her malice, with smiles, and advised me to gaze On the river for love,—and perchance she would make In pity a maid without eyes for my sake,

And she left me like Scorn.

Then I ask'd of the wave,

What monster I was, and it trembled and gave The true shape of my grief, and I turn'd with my face From all waters forever, and fled through that place,

Till with horror more strong than all magic I pass'd Its bounds, and the world was before me at last.

There I wander'd in sorrow, and shunned the abodes Of men, that stood up in the likeness of Gods,

But I saw from afar the warm shine of the sun On the cities, where man was a million, not one;

And I saw the white smoke of their altars ascending,

That show'd where the hearts of many were blending,

And the wind in my face brought shrill voices that came From the trumpets that gather'd whole bands in one fame As a chorus of man,—and they stream'd from the gates Like a dusky libation poured out to the Fates.

But at times there were gentler processions of peace That I watch'd with my soul in my eyes till their cease,

There were women! there men! but to me a third sex I saw them all dots—yet I loved them as specks:

And oft to assuage a sad yearning of eyes I stole near the city, but stole covert-wise Like a wild beast of love, and perchance to be smitten By some hand that I rather had wept on than bitten!

Oh,

I once had a haunt near a cot where a mother Daily sat in the shade with her child, and would smother Its eyelids in kisses, and then in its sleep Sang dreams in its ear of its manhood, while deep In a thicket of willows I gazed o'er the brooks That murmur'd between us and kiss'd them with looks;

But the willows unbosom'd their secret, and never I return'd to a spot I had startled forever,

Though I oft long'd to know, but could ask it of none,

Was the mother still fair, and how big was her son?

For the haunters of fields they all shunn'd me by flight;

The men in their horror, the women in fright;

None ever remain'd save a child once that sported Among the wild bluebells, and playfully courted The breeze; and beside him a speckled snake lay Tight strangled, because it had hiss'd him away From the flower at his finger; he rose and drew near Like a Son of Immortals, one born to no fear,

But with strength of black locks and with eyes azure bright To grow to large manhood of merciful might.

He came, with his face of bold wonder, to feel,

The hair of my side, and to lift up my heel,

And question'd my face with wide eyes; but when under My lids he saw tears,—for I wept at his wonder,

He stroked me, and utter'd such kindliness then,

That the once love of women, the friendship of men In past sorrow, no kindness e'er came like a kiss On my heart in its desolate day such as this!

And I yearn'd at his cheeks in my love, and down bent,

And lifted him up in my arms with intent To kiss him,—but he cruel-kindly, alas!

Held out to my lips a pluck'd handful of grass!

Then I dropt him in horror, but felt as I fled The stone he indignantly hurl'd at my head,

That dissever'd my ear,—but I felt not, whose fate Was to meet more distress in his love than his hate!

Thus I wander'd, companion'd of grief and forlorn Till I wish'd for that land where my being was born But what was that land with its love, where my home Was self-shut against me; for why should I come Like an after-distress to my gray-bearded father,

With a blight to the last of his sight?—let him rather Lament for me dead, and shed tears in the urn Where I was not, and still in fond memory turn To his son even such as he left him.

Oh, how Could I walk with the youth once my fellows, but now Like Gods to my humbled estate?—or how bear The steeds once the pride of my eyes and the care Of my hands?

Then I turn'd me self-banish'd, and came Into Thessaly here, where I met with the same As myself.

I have heard how they met by a stream In games, and were suddenly changed by a scream That made wretches of many, as she roll'd her wild eyes Against heaven, and so vanish'd.—The gentle and wise Lose their thoughts in deep studies, and others their ill In the mirth of mankind where they mingle them still.