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The Lamia.
Belus, rich Egypt’s ruler.—Beautiful
As is that star o’ the waters, Lotus, born
Of her own native Nile, was Lamia’s youth;—
Fair as the immortals, she believ’d herself
Of an immortal nature, therefore scorn’d
All love of mortal man—the eternal Gods
Bright in eternal beauty, changeless youth,
She e’en disdained—coldly her eye pass’d o’er,
Chilling and dimming the resplendent light
Of their celestial brows. But then with love
The crowned one beheld her; his soft voice,
His mild yet terrible eye, his glowing locks,
His grand majestic brow, on which were thron’d
Wisdom, and power, and empire; these she saw,
And seeing worshipp’d. His dread thunderbolts
Fell at her feet,—himself into her arms!
But Hera, the Olympian queen, beheld
How Lamia dar’d to bless the lightning’s lord,
And fear’d another Hero might arise
From this new mortal beauty, to achieve
A throne in her Olympus. As she was
The ruler of the birth-hour, she came down
And blew a dead curse o’er the anguish’d form
Of hapless Lamia. The young blossom felt,
Even in the bosom of its parent stem,
The withering of that curse; and shrunk, and died,
Shunning to see the light. Keen agonies
Seiz’d on the tortur’d mother, and amidst
Her throes of mortal anguish, a cold corse
Was all that fill’d her arms;—then frenzy came—
Loud wept the desolate one, and wildly beat
Her tender breasts to wounds, and madly tore
Her fruitful body, now the living grave
Of her engender’d hopes. Grief’s blighting hand
Pass’d o’er the blossoms of her loveliness,
And straight they perish’d! Fury revelled on
Her rosied lips, and mounted to her brain,
And filled her heart and spirit. Wild Despair
Made her his own, and in his madness she
Rush’d forth a frenzied monster. The young babes
She tore from weeping mothers—clasping them
In a fierce death embrace, and on their lips
As is that star o’ the waters, Lotus, born
Of her own native Nile, was Lamia’s youth;—
Fair as the immortals, she believ’d herself
Of an immortal nature, therefore scorn’d
All love of mortal man—the eternal Gods
Bright in eternal beauty, changeless youth,
She e’en disdained—coldly her eye pass’d o’er,
Chilling and dimming the resplendent light
Of their celestial brows. But then with love
The crowned one beheld her; his soft voice,
His mild yet terrible eye, his glowing locks,
His grand majestic brow, on which were thron’d
Wisdom, and power, and empire; these she saw,
And seeing worshipp’d. His dread thunderbolts
Fell at her feet,—himself into her arms!
But Hera, the Olympian queen, beheld
How Lamia dar’d to bless the lightning’s lord,
And fear’d another Hero might arise
From this new mortal beauty, to achieve
A throne in her Olympus. As she was
The ruler of the birth-hour, she came down
And blew a dead curse o’er the anguish’d form
Of hapless Lamia. The young blossom felt,
Even in the bosom of its parent stem,
The withering of that curse; and shrunk, and died,
Shunning to see the light. Keen agonies
Seiz’d on the tortur’d mother, and amidst
Her throes of mortal anguish, a cold corse
Was all that fill’d her arms;—then frenzy came—
Loud wept the desolate one, and wildly beat
Her tender breasts to wounds, and madly tore
Her fruitful body, now the living grave
Of her engender’d hopes. Grief’s blighting hand
Pass’d o’er the blossoms of her loveliness,
And straight they perish’d! Fury revelled on
Her rosied lips, and mounted to her brain,
And filled her heart and spirit. Wild Despair
Made her his own, and in his madness she
Rush’d forth a frenzied monster. The young babes
She tore from weeping mothers—clasping them
In a fierce death embrace, and on their lips
