Page:Orion, an epic poem - Horne (1843, 3rd edition).djvu/135

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Canto III.]
Orion.
129
"Call it not love!—oh never yet for thee
Did Love's ambrosial pinions fan the hours,
To lose themselves in bliss, which memory
Alone can find, so to renew their life.
Thou couldst not ever thus enjoy, thus give
Thy nature fully up; thine attributes,
Whate'er of loveliness or high estate
They owned, surrendering all before Love's feet,
And in his breath to melt. How shall we name
Thy passion,—ice-pure, self-entire, exacting
All worship, for a limited return?
But how, ah me! shall Time record the hour,
When with thy bow—its points curved stiffly back,
Like a snake's neck preparing for a spring,
Thou stood'st in lurid ire behind a cloud,
And loosed the fatal shaft! Where then was Love?
O Artemis! O miserable Queen!
Call it pride, jealousy, revenge—self-love;
No other. Thou repliest not. Wherefore pride?
Thou gav'st thyself that wound, rejecting one
Who to thee tendered all his nature; noble,
Though earth-born, as thou knew'st when first ye met,
And thou not Zeus with a creator's power
His being to re-make? Thou answerest not.
Why jealous, but because thou saw'st him happy