"Why was I not contented? Wherefore reach At things which, but for thee, O Latmian! Had been my dreary death? Fool! I began To feel distemper'd longings: to desire The utmost privilege that ocean's sire Could grant in benediction: to be free Of all his kingdom. Long in misery 380 I wasted, ere in one extremest fit I plung'd for life or death. To interknit One's senses with so dense a breathing stuff Might seem a work of pain; so not enough Can I admire how crystal-smooth it felt, And buoyant round my limbs. At first I dwelt Whole days and days in sheer astonishment; Forgetful utterly of self-intent; Moving but with the mighty ebb and flow. Then, like a new fledg'd bird that first doth shew 390 His spreaded feathers to the morrow chill, I tried in fear the pinions of my will. 'Twas freedom! and at once I visited The ceaseless wonders of this ocean-bed. No need to tell thee of them, for I see That thou hast been a witness--it must be-- For these I know thou canst not feel a drouth, By the melancholy corners of that mouth. So I will in my story straightway pass To more immediate matter. Woe, alas! 400 That love should be my bane! Ah, Scylla fair! Why did poor Glaucus ever--ever dare To sue thee to his heart? Kind stranger-youth! I lov'd her to the very white of truth, And she would not conceive it. Timid thing! She fled me swift as sea-bird on the wing, Round every isle, and point, and promontory, From where large Hercules wound up his story Far as Egyptian Nile. My passion grew The more, the more I saw her dainty hue 410 Gleam delicately through the azure clear: Until 'twas too fierce agony to bear; And in that agony, across my grief It flash'd, that Circe might find some relief-- Cruel enchantress! So above the water I rear'd my head, and look'd for Phœbus' daughter. Ææa's isle was wondering at the moon:-- It seem'd to whirl around me, and a swoon Left me dead-drifting to that fatal power.