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‘Whither the conqueror hurries me, still less;–
But follow thou, and from spectator turn 305
Actor or victim in this wretchedness,

‘And what thou wouldst be taught I then may learn
From thee. Now listen:–In the April prime,
When all the forest-tips began to burn

‘With kindling green, touched by the azure clime 310
Of the young season, I was laid asleep
Under a mountain, which from unknown time

‘Had yawned into a cavern, high and deep;
And from it came a gentle rivulet,
Whose water, like clear air, in its calm sweep 315

‘Bent the soft grass, and kept for ever wet
The stems of the sweet flowers, and filled the grove
With sounds, which whoso hears must needs forget

‘All pleasure and all pain, all hate and love,
Which they had known before that hour of rest; 320
A sleeping mother then would dream not of

‘Her only child who died upon the breast
At eventide–a king would mourn no more
The crown of which his brows were dispossessed

‘When the sun lingered o’er his ocean floor 325
To gild his rival’s new prosperity.
‘Thou wouldst forget thus vainly to deplore

‘Ills, which if ills can find no cure from thee,
The thought of which no other sleep will quell,
Nor other music blot from memory, 330

‘So sweet and deep is the oblivious spell;
And whether life had been before that sleep
The Heaven which I imagine, or a Hell

‘Like this harsh world in which I woke to weep,
I know not. I arose, and for a space 335
The scene of woods and waters seemed to keep,

Though it was now broad day, a gentle trace
Of light diviner than the common sun
Sheds on the common earth, and all the place

‘Was filled with magic sounds woven into one 340
Oblivious melody, confusing sense
Amid the gliding waves and shadows dun;

‘And, as I looked, the bright omnipresence
Of morning through the orient cavern flowed,
And the sun’s image radiantly intense 345

‘Burned on the waters of the well that glowed
Like gold, and threaded all the forest’s maze
With winding paths of emerald fire; there stood

‘Amid the sun, as he amid the blaze 350
Of his own glory, on the vibrating
Floor of the fountain, paved with flashing rays,

‘A Shape all light, which with one hand did fling
Dew on the earth, as if she were the dawn,
And the invisible rain did ever sing

‘A silver music on the mossy lawn; 355
And still before me on the dusky grass,
Iris her many-coloured scarf had drawn:

‘In her right hand she bore a crystal glass,
Mantling with bright Nepenthe; the fierce splendour
Fell from her as she moved under the mass 360

‘Of the deep cavern, and with palms so tender,
Their tread broke not the mirror of its billow,
Glided along the river, and did bend her