“Lamia” Summary

“Lamia” Themes

• 

  The Glories and Dangers of the Imagination

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• 

  The Overwhelming Power of Passion

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• 

  Love, Fantasy, and Disillusionment

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• 

  The Limitations of Reason

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Line-by-Line Explanation & Analysis of “Lamia”

• Lines 1-26

  Upon a time, before the faery broods
  Drove Nymph and Satyr from the prosperous woods,
  Before King Oberon's bright diadem,
  Sceptre, and mantle, clasp'd with dewy gem,
  Frighted away the Dryads and the Fauns
  From rushes green, and brakes, and cowslip'd lawns,
  The ever-smitten Hermes empty left
  His golden throne, bent warm on amorous theft:
  From high Olympus had he stolen light,
  On this side of Jove's clouds, to escape the sight
  Of his great summoner, and made retreat
  Into a forest on the shores of Crete.
  For somewhere in that sacred island dwelt
  A nymph, to whom all hoofed Satyrs knelt;
  At whose white feet the languid Tritons poured
  Pearls, while on land they wither'd and adored.
  Fast by the springs where she to bathe was wont,
  And in those meads where sometime she might haunt,
  Were strewn rich gifts, unknown to any Muse,
  Though Fancy's casket were unlock'd to choose.
  Ah, what a world of love was at her feet!
  So Hermes thought, and a celestial heat
  Burnt from his winged heels to either ear,
  That from a whiteness, as the lily clear,
  Blush'd into roses 'mid his golden hair,
  Fallen in jealous curls about his shoulders bare.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 27-46

  From vale to vale, from wood to wood, he flew,
  Breathing upon the flowers his passion new,
  And wound with many a river to its head,
  To find where this sweet nymph prepar'd her secret bed:
  In vain; the sweet nymph might nowhere be found,
  And so he rested, on the lonely ground,
  Pensive, and full of painful jealousies
  Of the Wood-Gods, and even the very trees.
  There as he stood, he heard a mournful voice,
  Such as once heard, in gentle heart, destroys
  All pain but pity: thus the lone voice spake:
  "When from this wreathed tomb shall I awake!
  When move in a sweet body fit for life,
  And love, and pleasure, and the ruddy strife
  Of hearts and lips! Ah, miserable me!"
  The God, dove-footed, glided silently
  Round bush and tree, soft-brushing, in his speed,
  The taller grasses and full-flowering weed,
  Until he found a palpitating snake,
  Bright, and cirque-couchant in a dusky brake.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 47-67

  She was a gordian shape of dazzling hue,
  Vermilion-spotted, golden, green, and blue;
  Striped like a zebra, freckled like a pard,
  Eyed like a peacock, and all crimson barr'd;
  And full of silver moons, that, as she breathed,
  Dissolv'd, or brighter shone, or interwreathed
  Their lustres with the gloomier tapestries—
  So rainbow-sided, touch'd with miseries,
  She seem'd, at once, some penanced lady elf,
  Some demon's mistress, or the demon's self.
  Upon her crest she wore a wannish fire
  Sprinkled with stars, like Ariadne's tiar:
  Her head was serpent, but ah, bitter-sweet!
  She had a woman's mouth with all its pearls complete:
  And for her eyes: what could such eyes do there
  But weep, and weep, that they were born so fair?
  As Proserpine still weeps for her Sicilian air.
  Her throat was serpent, but the words she spake
  Came, as through bubbling honey, for Love's sake,
  And thus; while Hermes on his pinions lay,
  Like a stoop'd falcon ere he takes his prey.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 68-91

  "Fair Hermes, crown'd with feathers, fluttering light,
  I had a splendid dream of thee last night:
  I saw thee sitting, on a throne of gold,
  Among the Gods, upon Olympus old,
  The only sad one; for thou didst not hear
  The soft, lute-finger'd Muses chaunting clear,
  Nor even Apollo when he sang alone,
  Deaf to his throbbing throat's long, long melodious moan.
  I dreamt I saw thee, robed in purple flakes,
  Break amorous through the clouds, as morning breaks,
  And, swiftly as a bright Phoebean dart,
  Strike for the Cretan isle; and here thou art!
  Too gentle Hermes, hast thou found the maid?"
  Whereat the star of Lethe not delay'd
  His rosy eloquence, and thus inquired:
  "Thou smooth-lipp'd serpent, surely high inspired!
  Thou beauteous wreath, with melancholy eyes,
  Possess whatever bliss thou canst devise,
  Telling me only where my nymph is fled,—
  Where she doth breathe!" "Bright planet, thou hast said,"
  Return'd the snake, "but seal with oaths, fair God!"
  "I swear," said Hermes, "by my serpent rod,
  And by thine eyes, and by thy starry crown!"
  Light flew his earnest words, among the blossoms blown.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 92-114

  Then thus again the brilliance feminine:
  "Too frail of heart! for this lost nymph of thine,
  Free as the air, invisibly, she strays
  About these thornless wilds; her pleasant days
  She tastes unseen; unseen her nimble feet
  Leave traces in the grass and flowers sweet;
  From weary tendrils, and bow'd branches green,
  She plucks the fruit unseen, she bathes unseen:
  And by my power is her beauty veil'd
  To keep it unaffronted, unassail'd
  By the love-glances of unlovely eyes,
  Of Satyrs, Fauns, and blear'd Silenus' sighs.
  Pale grew her immortality, for woe
  Of all these lovers, and she grieved so
  I took compassion on her, bade her steep
  Her hair in weïrd syrops, that would keep
  Her loveliness invisible, yet free
  To wander as she loves, in liberty.
  Thou shalt behold her, Hermes, thou alone,
  If thou wilt, as thou swearest, grant my boon!"
  Then, once again, the charmed God began
  An oath, and through the serpent's ears it ran
  Warm, tremulous, devout, psalterian.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 115-122

  Ravish'd, she lifted her Circean head,
  Blush'd a live damask, and swift-lisping said,
  "I was a woman, let me have once more
  A woman's shape, and charming as before.
  I love a youth of Corinth—O the bliss!
  Give me my woman's form, and place me where he is.
  Stoop, Hermes, let me breathe upon thy brow,
  And thou shalt see thy sweet nymph even now."

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 123-145

  The God on half-shut feathers sank serene,
  She breath'd upon his eyes, and swift was seen
  Of both the guarded nymph near-smiling on the green.
  It was no dream; or say a dream it was,
  Real are the dreams of Gods, and smoothly pass
  Their pleasures in a long immortal dream.
  One warm, flush'd moment, hovering, it might seem
  Dash'd by the wood-nymph's beauty, so he burn'd;
  Then, lighting on the printless verdure, turn'd
  To the swoon'd serpent, and with languid arm,
  Delicate, put to proof the lythe Caducean charm.
  So done, upon the nymph his eyes he bent,
  Full of adoring tears and blandishment,
  And towards her stept: she, like a moon in wane,
  Faded before him, cower'd, nor could restrain
  Her fearful sobs, self-folding like a flower
  That faints into itself at evening hour:
  But the God fostering her chilled hand,
  She felt the warmth, her eyelids open'd bland,
  And, like new flowers at morning song of bees,
  Bloom'd, and gave up her honey to the lees.
  Into the green-recessed woods they flew;
  Nor grew they pale, as mortal lovers do.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 146-170

  Left to herself, the serpent now began
  To change; her elfin blood in madness ran,
  Her mouth foam'd, and the grass, therewith besprent,
  Wither'd at dew so sweet and virulent;
  Her eyes in torture fix'd, and anguish drear,
  Hot, glaz'd, and wide, with lid-lashes all sear,
  Flash'd phosphor and sharp sparks, without one cooling tear.
  The colours all inflam'd throughout her train,
  She writh'd about, convuls'd with scarlet pain:
  A deep volcanian yellow took the place
  Of all her milder-mooned body's grace;
  And, as the lava ravishes the mead,
  Spoilt all her silver mail, and golden brede;
  Made gloom of all her frecklings, streaks and bars,
  Eclips'd her crescents, and lick'd up her stars:
  So that, in moments few, she was undrest
  Of all her sapphires, greens, and amethyst,
  And rubious-argent: of all these bereft,
  Nothing but pain and ugliness were left.
  Still shone her crown; that vanish'd, also she
  Melted and disappear'd as suddenly;
  And in the air, her new voice luting soft,
  Cried, "Lycius! gentle Lycius!"—Borne aloft
  With the bright mists about the mountains hoar
  These words dissolv'd: Crete's forests heard no more.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 171-199

  Whither fled Lamia, now a lady bright,
  A full-born beauty new and exquisite?
  She fled into that valley they pass o'er
  Who go to Corinth from Cenchreas' shore;
  And rested at the foot of those wild hills,
  The rugged founts of the Peraean rills,
  And of that other ridge whose barren back
  Stretches, with all its mist and cloudy rack,
  South-westward to Cleone. There she stood
  About a young bird's flutter from a wood,
  Fair, on a sloping green of mossy tread,
  By a clear pool, wherein she passioned
  To see herself escap'd from so sore ills,
  While her robes flaunted with the daffodils.
  Ah, happy Lycius!—for she was a maid
  More beautiful than ever twisted braid,
  Or sigh'd, or blush'd, or on spring-flowered lea
  Spread a green kirtle to the minstrelsy:
  A virgin purest lipp'd, yet in the lore
  Of love deep learned to the red heart's core:
  Not one hour old, yet of sciential brain
  To unperplex bliss from its neighbour pain;
  Define their pettish limits, and estrange
  Their points of contact, and swift counterchange;
  Intrigue with the specious chaos, and dispart
  Its most ambiguous atoms with sure art;
  As though in Cupid's college she had spent
  Sweet days a lovely graduate, still unshent,
  And kept his rosy terms in idle languishment.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 200-228

  Why this fair creature chose so fairily
  By the wayside to linger, we shall see;
  But first 'tis fit to tell how she could muse
  And dream, when in the serpent prison-house,
  Of all she list, strange or magnificent:
  How, ever, where she will'd, her spirit went;
  Whether to faint Elysium, or where
  Down through tress-lifting waves the Nereids fair
  Wind into Thetis' bower by many a pearly stair;
  Or where God Bacchus drains his cups divine,
  Stretch'd out, at ease, beneath a glutinous pine;
  Or where in Pluto's gardens palatine
  Mulciber's columns gleam in far piazzian line.
  And sometimes into cities she would send
  Her dream, with feast and rioting to blend;
  And once, while among mortals dreaming thus,
  She saw the young Corinthian Lycius
  Charioting foremost in the envious race,
  Like a young Jove with calm uneager face,
  And fell into a swooning love of him.
  Now on the moth-time of that evening dim
  He would return that way, as well she knew,
  To Corinth from the shore; for freshly blew
  The eastern soft wind, and his galley now
  Grated the quaystones with her brazen prow
  In port Cenchreas, from Egina isle
  Fresh anchor'd; whither he had been awhile
  To sacrifice to Jove, whose temple there
  Waits with high marble doors for blood and incense rare.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 229-246

  Jove heard his vows, and better'd his desire;
  For by some freakful chance he made retire
  From his companions, and set forth to walk,
  Perhaps grown wearied of their Corinth talk:
  Over the solitary hills he fared,
  Thoughtless at first, but ere eve's star appeared
  His phantasy was lost, where reason fades,
  In the calm'd twilight of Platonic shades.
  Lamia beheld him coming, near, more near—
  Close to her passing, in indifference drear,
  His silent sandals swept the mossy green;
  So neighbour'd to him, and yet so unseen
  She stood: he pass'd, shut up in mysteries,
  His mind wrapp'd like his mantle, while her eyes
  Follow'd his steps, and her neck regal white
  Turn'd—syllabling thus, "Ah, Lycius bright,
  And will you leave me on the hills alone?
  Lycius, look back! and be some pity shown."

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 247-271

  He did; not with cold wonder fearingly,
  But Orpheus-like at an Eurydice;
  For so delicious were the words she sung,
  It seem'd he had lov'd them a whole summer long:
  And soon his eyes had drunk her beauty up,
  Leaving no drop in the bewildering cup,
  And still the cup was full,—while he, afraid
  Lest she should vanish ere his lip had paid
  Due adoration, thus began to adore;
  Her soft look growing coy, she saw his chain so sure:
  "Leave thee alone! Look back! Ah, Goddess, see
  Whether my eyes can ever turn from thee!
  For pity do not this sad heart belie—
  Even as thou vanishest so I shall die.
  Stay! though a Naiad of the rivers, stay!
  To thy far wishes will thy streams obey:
  Stay! though the greenest woods be thy domain,
  Alone they can drink up the morning rain:
  Though a descended Pleiad, will not one
  Of thine harmonious sisters keep in tune
  Thy spheres, and as thy silver proxy shine?
  So sweetly to these ravish'd ears of mine
  Came thy sweet greeting, that if thou shouldst fade
  Thy memory will waste me to a shade—
  For pity do not melt!"

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 271-289

  "If I should stay,"
  Said Lamia, "here, upon this floor of clay,
  And pain my steps upon these flowers too rough,
  What canst thou say or do of charm enough
  To dull the nice remembrance of my home?
  Thou canst not ask me with thee here to roam
  Over these hills and vales, where no joy is,—
  Empty of immortality and bliss!
  Thou art a scholar, Lycius, and must know
  That finer spirits cannot breathe below
  In human climes, and live: Alas! poor youth,
  What taste of purer air hast thou to soothe
  My essence? What serener palaces,
  Where I may all my many senses please,
  And by mysterious sleights a hundred thirsts appease?
  It cannot be—Adieu!" So said, she rose
  Tiptoe with white arms spread. He, sick to lose
  The amorous promise of her lone complain,
  Swoon'd, murmuring of love, and pale with pain.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 290-321

  The cruel lady, without any show
  Of sorrow for her tender favourite's woe,
  But rather, if her eyes could brighter be,
  With brighter eyes and slow amenity,
  Put her new lips to his, and gave afresh
  The life she had so tangled in her mesh:
  And as he from one trance was wakening
  Into another, she began to sing,
  Happy in beauty, life, and love, and every thing,
  A song of love, too sweet for earthly lyres,
  While, like held breath, the stars drew in their panting fires
  And then she whisper'd in such trembling tone,
  As those who, safe together met alone
  For the first time through many anguish'd days,
  Use other speech than looks; bidding him raise
  His drooping head, and clear his soul of doubt,
  For that she was a woman, and without
  Any more subtle fluid in her veins
  Than throbbing blood, and that the self-same pains
  Inhabited her frail-strung heart as his.
  And next she wonder'd how his eyes could miss
  Her face so long in Corinth, where, she said,
  She dwelt but half retir'd, and there had led
  Days happy as the gold coin could invent
  Without the aid of love; yet in content
  Till she saw him, as once she pass'd him by,
  Where 'gainst a column he leant thoughtfully
  At Venus' temple porch, 'mid baskets heap'd
  Of amorous herbs and flowers, newly reap'd
  Late on that eve, as 'twas the night before
  The Adonian feast; whereof she saw no more,
  But wept alone those days, for why should she adore?

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 322-327

  Lycius from death awoke into amaze,
  To see her still, and singing so sweet lays;
  Then from amaze into delight he fell
  To hear her whisper woman's lore so well;
  And every word she spake entic'd him on
  To unperplex'd delight and pleasure known.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 328-349

  Let the mad poets say whate'er they please
  Of the sweets of Fairies, Peris, Goddesses,
  There is not such a treat among them all,
  Haunters of cavern, lake, and waterfall,
  As a real woman, lineal indeed
  From Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed.
  Thus gentle Lamia judg'd, and judg'd aright,
  That Lycius could not love in half a fright,
  So threw the goddess off, and won his heart
  More pleasantly by playing woman's part,
  With no more awe than what her beauty gave,
  That, while it smote, still guaranteed to save.
  Lycius to all made eloquent reply,
  Marrying to every word a twinborn sigh;
  And last, pointing to Corinth, ask'd her sweet,
  If 'twas too far that night for her soft feet.
  The way was short, for Lamia's eagerness
  Made, by a spell, the triple league decrease
  To a few paces; not at all surmised
  By blinded Lycius, so in her comprized.
  They pass'd the city gates, he knew not how
  So noiseless, and he never thought to know.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 350-377

  As men talk in a dream, so Corinth all,
  Throughout her palaces imperial,
  And all her populous streets and temples lewd,
  Mutter'd, like tempest in the distance brew'd,
  To the wide-spreaded night above her towers.
  Men, women, rich and poor, in the cool hours,
  Shuffled their sandals o'er the pavement white,
  Companion'd or alone; while many a light
  Flared, here and there, from wealthy festivals,
  And threw their moving shadows on the walls,
  Or found them cluster'd in the corniced shade
  Of some arch'd temple door, or dusky colonnade.
  Muffling his face, of greeting friends in fear,
  Her fingers he press'd hard, as one came near
  With curl'd gray beard, sharp eyes, and smooth bald crown,
  Slow-stepp'd, and robed in philosophic gown:
  Lycius shrank closer, as they met and past,
  Into his mantle, adding wings to haste,
  While hurried Lamia trembled: "Ah," said he,
  "Why do you shudder, love, so ruefully?
  Why does your tender palm dissolve in dew?"—
  "I'm wearied," said fair Lamia: "tell me who
  Is that old man? I cannot bring to mind
  His features—Lycius! wherefore did you blind
  Yourself from his quick eyes?" Lycius replied,
  "'Tis Apollonius sage, my trusty guide
  And good instructor; but to-night he seems
  The ghost of folly haunting my sweet dreams."

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 378-397

  While yet he spake they had arrived before
  A pillar'd porch, with lofty portal door,
  Where hung a silver lamp, whose phosphor glow
  Reflected in the slabbed steps below,
  Mild as a star in water; for so new,
  And so unsullied was the marble hue,
  So through the crystal polish, liquid fine,
  Ran the dark veins, that none but feet divine
  Could e'er have touch'd there. Sounds Aeolian
  Breath'd from the hinges, as the ample span
  Of the wide doors disclos'd a place unknown
  Some time to any, but those two alone,
  And a few Persian mutes, who that same year
  Were seen about the markets: none knew where
  They could inhabit; the most curious
  Were foil'd, who watch'd to trace them to their house:
  And but the flitter-winged verse must tell,
  For truth's sake, what woe afterwards befel,
  'Twould humour many a heart to leave them thus,
  Shut from the busy world of more incredulous.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 398-412

  Love in a hut, with water and a crust,
  Is—Love, forgive us!—cinders, ashes, dust;
  Love in a palace is perhaps at last
  More grievous torment than a hermit's fast—
  That is a doubtful tale from faery land,
  Hard for the non-elect to understand.
  Had Lycius liv'd to hand his story down,
  He might have given the moral a fresh frown,
  Or clench'd it quite: but too short was their bliss
  To breed distrust and hate, that make the soft voice hiss.
  Besides, there, nightly, with terrific glare,
  Love, jealous grown of so complete a pair,
  Hover'd and buzz'd his wings, with fearful roar,
  Above the lintel of their chamber door,
  And down the passage cast a glow upon the floor.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 413-442

  For all this came a ruin: side by side
  They were enthroned, in the even tide,
  Upon a couch, near to a curtaining
  Whose airy texture, from a golden string,
  Floated into the room, and let appear
  Unveil'd the summer heaven, blue and clear,
  Betwixt two marble shafts:—there they reposed,
  Where use had made it sweet, with eyelids closed,
  Saving a tythe which love still open kept,
  That they might see each other while they almost slept;
  When from the slope side of a suburb hill,
  Deafening the swallow's twitter, came a thrill
  Of trumpets—Lycius started—the sounds fled,
  But left a thought, a buzzing in his head.
  For the first time, since first he harbour'd in
  That purple-lined palace of sweet sin,
  His spirit pass'd beyond its golden bourn
  Into the noisy world almost forsworn.
  The lady, ever watchful, penetrant,
  Saw this with pain, so arguing a want
  Of something more, more than her empery
  Of joys; and she began to moan and sigh
  Because he mused beyond her, knowing well
  That but a moment's thought is passion's passing bell.
  "Why do you sigh, fair creature?" whisper'd he:
  "Why do you think?" return'd she tenderly:
  "You have deserted me—where am I now?
  Not in your heart while care weighs on your brow:
  No, no, you have dismiss'd me; and I go
  From your breast houseless: ay, it must be so."

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 443-480

  He answer'd, bending to her open eyes,
  Where he was mirror'd small in paradise,
  "My silver planet, both of eve and morn!
  Why will you plead yourself so sad forlorn,
  While I am striving how to fill my heart
  With deeper crimson, and a double smart?
  How to entangle, trammel up and snare
  Your soul in mine, and labyrinth you there
  Like the hid scent in an unbudded rose?
  Ay, a sweet kiss—you see your mighty woes.
  My thoughts! shall I unveil them? Listen then!
  What mortal hath a prize, that other men
  May be confounded and abash'd withal,
  But lets it sometimes pace abroad majestical,
  And triumph, as in thee I should rejoice
  Amid the hoarse alarm of Corinth's voice.
  Let my foes choke, and my friends shout afar,
  While through the thronged streets your bridal car
  Wheels round its dazzling spokes." The lady's cheek
  Trembled; she nothing said, but, pale and meek,
  Arose and knelt before him, wept a rain
  Of sorrows at his words; at last with pain
  Beseeching him, the while his hand she wrung,
  To change his purpose. He thereat was stung,
  Perverse, with stronger fancy to reclaim
  Her wild and timid nature to his aim:
  Besides, for all his love, in self despite,
  Against his better self, he took delight
  Luxurious in her sorrows, soft and new.
  His passion, cruel grown, took on a hue
  Fierce and sanguineous as 'twas possible
  In one whose brow had no dark veins to swell.
  Fine was the mitigated fury, like
  Apollo's presence when in act to strike
  The serpent—Ha, the serpent! certes, she
  Was none. She burnt, she lov'd the tyranny,
  And, all subdued, consented to the hour
  When to the bridal he should lead his paramour.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 482-502

  "Sure some sweet name thou hast, though, by my truth,
  I have not ask'd it, ever thinking thee
  Not mortal, but of heavenly progeny,
  As still I do. Hast any mortal name,
  Fit appellation for this dazzling frame?
  Or friends or kinsfolk on the citied earth,
  To share our marriage feast and nuptial mirth?"
  "I have no friends," said Lamia, "no, not one;
  My presence in wide Corinth hardly known:
  My parents' bones are in their dusty urns
  Sepulchred, where no kindled incense burns,
  Seeing all their luckless race are dead, save me,
  And I neglect the holy rite for thee.
  Even as you list invite your many guests;
  But if, as now it seems, your vision rests
  With any pleasure on me, do not bid
  Old Apollonius—from him keep me hid."
  Lycius, perplex'd at words so blind and blank,
  Made close inquiry; from whose touch she shrank,
  Feigning a sleep; and he to the dull shade
  Of deep sleep in a moment was betray'd.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 503-542

  It was the custom then to bring away
  The bride from home at blushing shut of day,
  Veil'd, in a chariot, heralded along
  By strewn flowers, torches, and a marriage song,
  With other pageants: but this fair unknown
  Had not a friend. So being left alone,
  (Lycius was gone to summon all his kin)
  And knowing surely she could never win
  His foolish heart from its mad pompousness,
  She set herself, high-thoughted, how to dress
  The misery in fit magnificence.
  She did so, but 'tis doubtful how and whence
  Came, and who were her subtle servitors.
  About the halls, and to and from the doors,
  There was a noise of wings, till in short space
  The glowing banquet-room shone with wide-arched grace.
  A haunting music, sole perhaps and lone
  Supportress of the faery-roof, made moan
  Throughout, as fearful the whole charm might fade.
  Fresh carved cedar, mimicking a glade
  Of palm and plantain, met from either side,
  High in the midst, in honour of the bride:
  Two palms and then two plantains, and so on,
  From either side their stems branch'd one to one
  All down the aisled place; and beneath all
  There ran a stream of lamps straight on from wall to wall.
  So canopied, lay an untasted feast
  Teeming with odours. Lamia, regal drest,
  Silently paced about, and as she went,
  In pale contented sort of discontent,
  Mission'd her viewless servants to enrich
  The fretted splendour of each nook and niche.
  Between the tree-stems, marbled plain at first,
  Came jasper pannels; then, anon, there burst
  Forth creeping imagery of slighter trees,
  And with the larger wove in small intricacies.
  Approving all, she faded at self-will,
  And shut the chamber up, close, hush'd and still,
  Complete and ready for the revels rude,
  When dreadful guests would come to spoil her solitude.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 543-569

  The day appear'd, and all the gossip rout.
  O senseless Lycius! Madman! wherefore flout
  The silent-blessing fate, warm cloister'd hours,
  And show to common eyes these secret bowers?
  The herd approach'd; each guest, with busy brain,
  Arriving at the portal, gaz'd amain,
  And enter'd marveling: for they knew the street,
  Remember'd it from childhood all complete
  Without a gap, yet ne'er before had seen
  That royal porch, that high-built fair demesne;
  So in they hurried all, maz'd, curious and keen:
  Save one, who look'd thereon with eye severe,
  And with calm-planted steps walk'd in austere;
  'Twas Apollonius: something too he laugh'd,
  As though some knotty problem, that had daft
  His patient thought, had now begun to thaw,
  And solve and melt—'twas just as he foresaw.
  He met within the murmurous vestibule
  His young disciple. "'Tis no common rule,
  Lycius," said he, "for uninvited guest
  To force himself upon you, and infest
  With an unbidden presence the bright throng
  Of younger friends; yet must I do this wrong,
  And you forgive me." Lycius blush'd, and led
  The old man through the inner doors broad-spread;
  With reconciling words and courteous mien
  Turning into sweet milk the sophist's spleen.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 570-595

  Of wealthy lustre was the banquet-room,
  Fill'd with pervading brilliance and perfume:
  Before each lucid pannel fuming stood
  A censer fed with myrrh and spiced wood,
  Each by a sacred tripod held aloft,
  Whose slender feet wide-swerv'd upon the soft
  Wool-woofed carpets: fifty wreaths of smoke
  From fifty censers their light voyage took
  To the high roof, still mimick'd as they rose
  Along the mirror'd walls by twin-clouds odorous.
  Twelve sphered tables, by silk seats insphered,
  High as the level of a man's breast rear'd
  On libbard's paws, upheld the heavy gold
  Of cups and goblets, and the store thrice told
  Of Ceres' horn, and, in huge vessels, wine
  Come from the gloomy tun with merry shine.
  Thus loaded with a feast the tables stood,
  Each shrining in the midst the image of a God.
  When in an antichamber every guest
  Had felt the cold full sponge to pleasure press'd,
  By minist'ring slaves, upon his hands and feet,
  And fragrant oils with ceremony meet
  Pour'd on his hair, they all mov'd to the feast
  In white robes, and themselves in order placed
  Around the silken couches, wondering
  Whence all this mighty cost and blaze of wealth could spring.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 596-626

  Soft went the music the soft air along,
  While fluent Greek a vowel'd undersong
  Kept up among the guests discoursing low
  At first, for scarcely was the wine at flow;
  But when the happy vintage touch'd their brains,
  Louder they talk, and louder come the strains
  Of powerful instruments—the gorgeous dyes,
  The space, the splendour of the draperies,
  The roof of awful richness, nectarous cheer,
  Beautiful slaves, and Lamia's self, appear,
  Now, when the wine has done its rosy deed,
  And every soul from human trammels freed,
  No more so strange; for merry wine, sweet wine,
  Will make Elysian shades not too fair, too divine.
  Soon was God Bacchus at meridian height;
  Flush'd were their cheeks, and bright eyes double bright:
  Garlands of every green, and every scent
  From vales deflower'd, or forest-trees branch rent,
  In baskets of bright osier'd gold were brought
  High as the handles heap'd, to suit the thought
  Of every guest; that each, as he did please,
  Might fancy-fit his brows, silk-pillow'd at his ease.
  What wreath for Lamia? What for Lycius?
  What for the sage, old Apollonius?
  Upon her aching forehead be there hung
  The leaves of willow and of adder's tongue;
  And for the youth, quick, let us strip for him
  The thyrsus, that his watching eyes may swim
  Into forgetfulness; and, for the sage,
  Let spear-grass and the spiteful thistle wage
  War on his temples.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 626-635

  Do not all charms fly
  At the mere touch of cold philosophy?
  There was an awful rainbow once in heaven:
  We know her woof, her texture; she is given
  In the dull catalogue of common things.
  Philosophy will clip an Angel's wings,
  Conquer all mysteries by rule and line,
  Empty the haunted air, and gnomed mine—
  Unweave a rainbow, as it erewhile made
  The tender-person'd Lamia melt into a shade.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 636-673

  By her glad Lycius sitting, in chief place,
  Scarce saw in all the room another face,
  Till, checking his love trance, a cup he took
  Full brimm'd, and opposite sent forth a look
  'Cross the broad table, to beseech a glance
  From his old teacher's wrinkled countenance,
  And pledge him. The bald-head philosopher
  Had fix'd his eye, without a twinkle or stir
  Full on the alarmed beauty of the bride,
  Brow-beating her fair form, and troubling her sweet pride.
  Lycius then press'd her hand, with devout touch,
  As pale it lay upon the rosy couch:
  'Twas icy, and the cold ran through his veins;
  Then sudden it grew hot, and all the pains
  Of an unnatural heat shot to his heart.
  "Lamia, what means this? Wherefore dost thou start?
  Know'st thou that man?" Poor Lamia answer'd not.
  He gaz'd into her eyes, and not a jot
  Own'd they the lovelorn piteous appeal:
  More, more he gaz'd: his human senses reel:
  Some hungry spell that loveliness absorbs;
  There was no recognition in those orbs.
  "Lamia!" he cried—and no soft-toned reply.
  The many heard, and the loud revelry
  Grew hush; the stately music no more breathes;
  The myrtle sicken'd in a thousand wreaths.
  By faint degrees, voice, lute, and pleasure ceased;
  A deadly silence step by step increased,
  Until it seem'd a horrid presence there,
  And not a man but felt the terror in his hair.
  "Lamia!" he shriek'd; and nothing but the shriek
  With its sad echo did the silence break.
  "Begone, foul dream!" he cried, gazing again
  In the bride's face, where now no azure vein
  Wander'd on fair-spaced temples; no soft bloom
  Misted the cheek; no passion to illume
  The deep-recessed vision—all was blight;
  Lamia, no longer fair, there sat a deadly white.

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 674-695

  "Shut, shut those juggling eyes, thou ruthless man!
  Turn them aside, wretch! or the righteous ban
  Of all the Gods, whose dreadful images
  Here represent their shadowy presences,
  May pierce them on the sudden with the thorn
  Of painful blindness; leaving thee forlorn,
  In trembling dotage to the feeblest fright
  Of conscience, for their long offended might,
  For all thine impious proud-heart sophistries,
  Unlawful magic, and enticing lies.
  Corinthians! look upon that gray-beard wretch!
  Mark how, possess'd, his lashless eyelids stretch
  Around his demon eyes! Corinthians, see!
  My sweet bride withers at their potency."
  "Fool!" said the sophist, in an under-tone
  Gruff with contempt; which a death-nighing moan
  From Lycius answer'd, as heart-struck and lost,
  He sank supine beside the aching ghost.
  "Fool! Fool!" repeated he, while his eyes still
  Relented not, nor mov'd; "from every ill
  Of life have I preserv'd thee to this day,
  And shall I see thee made a serpent's prey?"

  

  

  

  

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• Lines 696-708

  Then Lamia breath'd death breath; the sophist's eye,
  Like a sharp spear, went through her utterly,
  Keen, cruel, perceant, stinging: she, as well
  As her weak hand could any meaning tell,
  Motion'd him to be silent; vainly so,
  He look'd and look'd again a level—No!
  "A Serpent!" echoed he; no sooner said,
  Than with a frightful scream she vanished:
  And Lycius' arms were empty of delight,
  As were his limbs of life, from that same night.
  On the high couch he lay!—his friends came round
  Supported him—no pulse, or breath they found,
  And, in its marriage robe, the heavy body wound.

  

  

  

  

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“Lamia” Symbols

• 

  Lamia

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• 

  Apollonius

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• 

  The Rainbow

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“Lamia” Poetic Devices & Figurative Language

• Imagery

  

  

  

  

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• Allusion

  

  

  

  

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• Simile

  

  

  

  

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• Metaphor

  

  

  

  

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• Juxtaposition

  

  

  

  

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• Assonance

  

  

  

  

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“Lamia” Vocabulary

Select any word below to get its definition in the context of the poem. The words are listed in the order in which they appear in the poem.

• Nymphs, satyrs, dryads, fauns, tritons
• King Oberon
• Palpitating
• Cirque-couchant
• Gordian
• Bright Phoebean dart
• Weïrd syrops
• Psalterian
• Circean
• Damask
• The lythe Caducean charm
• Blandishment
• Therewith besprent
• Unperplex
• Unshent
• Elysium/Elysian shades
• Freakful
• Platonic shades
• A descended Pleiad
• Thou art a scholar
• Lays
• Pyrrha's pebbles or old Adam's seed
• Saving a tythe which love still open kept
• Sanguineous
• Even as you list
• Demesne
• Mien
• Sophist
• Spleen
• Woof
• Soon was God Bacchus at meridian height
• Osier'd
• The leaves of willow and of adder's tongue
• Thyrsus
• Philosophy
• Supine
• Perceant

• • See where this vocabulary word appears in the poem.

Form, Meter, & Rhyme Scheme of “Lamia”

• Form

• Meter

• Rhyme Scheme

“Lamia” Speaker

“Lamia” Setting

Literary and Historical Context of “Lamia”

More “Lamia” Resources

• External Resources

  • An Artistic Interpretation — Take a look at one of the many works of art that would respond to "Lamia" and its wild imagery: an eerie bust by the sculptor Sir George Frampton. (Notice how a few tasteful opals evoke Lamia's dazzling colors in an otherwise black-and-white artwork!)

  • The Keats-Shelley Museum — Visit the website of the Keats-Shelley Memorial Association to learn more about Keats's life and work.

  • A Brief Biography — Learn more about Keats via the British Library.

  • A First Edition — See images of the important collection in which this poem was first published (Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes, and Other Poems)—and learn about the book's important place in Romantic lore.

  • Portraits of Keats — See some images of Keats via London's National Portrait Gallery.

• LitCharts on Other Poems by John Keats

  • A thing of beauty is a joy for ever (from Endymion)

  • Bright star, would I were stedfast as thou art

  • In drear nighted December

  • La Belle Dame sans Merci

  • Ode on a Grecian Urn

  • Ode on Indolence

  • Ode on Melancholy

  • Ode to a Nightingale

  • Ode to Psyche

  • On First Looking into Chapman's Homer

  • On Seeing the Elgin Marbles

  • On Sitting Down to Read King Lear Once Again

  • On the Grasshopper and Cricket

  • On the Sea

  • The Eve of St. Agnes

  • This living hand, now warm and capable

  • To Autumn

  • To Sleep

  • When I have Fears That I May Cease to Be