The Witch Of Atlas

Before those cruel twins whom at one birth
     Incestuous Change bore to her father Time,
Error and Truth, had hunted from the earth
     All those bright natures which adorned its prime,
And left us nothing to believe in, worth
     The pains of putting into learn?d rhyme,
A Lady Witch there lived on Atlas mountain
Within a cavern by a secret fountain.

Her mother was one of the Atlantides.
     The all-beholding Sun had ne'er beholden
In his wide voyage o'er continents and seas
     So fair a creature, as she lay enfolden
In the warm shadow of her loveliness;
     He kissed her with his beams, and made all golden
The chamber of gray rock in which she lay.
She, in that dream of joy, dissolved away.

'Tis said she first was changed into a vapor;
     And then into a cloud,--such clouds as flit
(Like splendor-winged moths about a taper)
     Round the red west when the Sun dies in it;
And then into a meteor, such as caper
     On hill-tops when the Moon is in a fit;
Then into one of those mysterious stars
Which hide themselves between the Earth and Mars.

Ten times the Mother of the Months had ben
     Her bow beside the folding-star, and bidden
With that bright sign the billows to indent
     The sea-deserted sand--(like children chidden,
At her command they ever came and went)--
     Since in that cave a dewy splendor hidden
Took shape and motion.  With the living form
Of this embodied Power the cave grew warm.

A lovely Lady garmented in light
     From her own beauty: deep her eyes as are
Two openings of unfathomable night
     Seen through a temple's cloven roof; her hair
Dark; the dim brain whirls dizzy with delight,
     Picturing her form. Her soft smiles shone afar;
And her low voice was heard like love, and drew
All living things towards this wonder new.

And first the spotted cameleopard came;
     And then the wise and fearless elephant;
Then the sly serpent, in the golden flame
     Of his own volumes intervolved. All gaunt
And sanguine beasts her gentle looks made tame,--
     They drank before her at her sacred fount;
And every beast of beating heart grew bold,
Such gentleness and power even to behold.

The brinded lioness led forth her young,
     That she might teach them how they should forego
Their inborn thirst of death; the pard unstrung
     His sinews at her feet, and sought to know,
With looks whose motions spoke without a tongue,
     How he might be as gentle as the doe.
The magic circle of her voice and eyes
All savage natures did imparadise.

And old Silenus, shaking a green stick
     Of lilies, and the Wood-gods in a crew,
Came blithe as in the olive-copses thick
     Cicade are, drunk with the noonday dew;
And Dryope and Faunus followed quick,
     Teazing the God to sing them something new;
Till in this cave they found the Lady lone,
Sitting upon a seat of emerald stone.

And universal Pan, 'tis said, was there.
     And, though none saw him,--through the adamant
Of the deep mountains, through the trackless air,
     And through those living spirits like a want,--
He passed out of his everlasting lair
     Where the quick heart of the great world doth pant,
And felt that wondrous Lady all alone,--
And she felt him upon her emerald throne.

And every Nymph of stream and spreading tree,
     And every Shepherdess of Ocean's flocks
Who drives her white waves over the green sea,
     And Ocean with the brine on his grey locks,
And quaint Priapus with his company,--
     All came, much wondering how the enwombed rocks
Could have brought forth so beautiful a birth:
Her love subdued their wonder and their mirth.

The herdsmen and the mountain-maidens came,
     And the rude kings of pastoral Garamant--
Their spirits shook within them, as a flame
     Stirred by the air under a cavern gaunt:
Pygmies and Polyphemes, by many a name,
     Centaurs and Satyrs, and such shapes as haunt
Wet clefts,--and lumps neither alive nor dead,
Dog-headed, bosom-eyed, and bird-footed.

For she was beautiful. Her beauty made
     The bright world dim, and everything beside
Seemed like the fleeting image of a shade.
     No thought of living spirit could abide
(Which to her looks had ever been betrayed)
     On any object in the world so wide,
On any hope within the circling skies,--
But on her form, and in her inmost eyes.

Which when the Lady knew; she took her spindle,
     And twined three threads of fleecy mist, and three
Long lines of light, such as the dawn