Closer and closer, where the shadow lay Across the distance, like a misty cloud, The galley came: the mute, expecting king tottered and sobbed aloud. Stretching his thin hands toward the shadowy bark, So distant still it seemed to float in air, The aged monarch, with his marble eyes, personified despair. It passed the gloom, and glided into light, When, like a raven drifting down the skies, The black, unaltered galley, ebon-sailed, met my astonished eyes! A piercing shriek appalled my ears: I turned And saw the aged king spring toward the steep— And leap—and fall: no human sound arose from the tumultuous deep. Anon came other dreams—Arcadian vales, With Pan, oblivious Satyrs, and a throng Of Fauns and Nymphs who made the burthened air reel with its weight of song. Bacchus rode next: how like a god he looked, The vine-leaves adding whiteness to a brow Already snow; his large eyes small with mirth; his dimpled cheeks aglow. Silenus, with two Nymphs on either hand Supporting him, uncertainly pursued— To amorous passion for the purple grape yielding, though not subdued. And after came a laughing, dancing rout, Making the air insane with bacchanal cries; Some bearing grapes which others stole and ate, with ruddy, twinkling eyes. The eye of Bacchus drew me toward his car, And stooping, he embraced, then lifted me Beside him, with a kiss: the route rolled on capricious as the sea. I was his bride: his love, always a god’s, Saw not my state, nor asked from whence I came; With him the passion was a living thing and not a naked name. I was again a wife: my days were spent In waking dreams of uncontrolled delight; The light expired in feast and song and dance, unheeded in its flight. And Night, with Venus sparkling on her brow, Sat on the mountain top; the nightingale Breathed an undying hymn to deathless love from every silent vale. Anon the feast was spread: from leafy nooks The blushing Dryad came; the amorous Faun Stole from the laureled hill, returning not until the crimson dawn. O, I was happy, very happy, Jove, When, like thy lightning, day broke on mine eyes! Beneath me was the sand; before, the sea; above, the threatening skies! There, like a vulture frightened from his prey, Flew Thésëus, while, Cassandra-like, I stood With streaming hair and flashing eyes, and hurled prophetic curses on the flood. Are dreams the messengers of gods to men Foretelling facts? If so, then I await, Not trembling, but proudly, the decrees of an unerring fate. Let him depart: I scorn the traitor, Jove— The parracide: still blacker grow his sails; Favor his bark, Poseidon; Eölus, bestow him flavoring gales: