For vainly in the meshes of that snare
They strove, with shuddering limbs and starting cries,
Entangled more with many a mesh of hair
Caught in the manifold intricacies!
So She was found indeed most beautiful,
Yet full of shame and false in all she was;
So before gods who make and gods who rule,
And him her husband, she was found, alas!
Yet, after all, Hephæstus—he, her lord—
For all that sin, her death he would not have;
But, for his love’s sake and great Phœbus’ word,
Loosed her, and made her free, and all forgave.
III.
CLEOPATRA.
1.
Cleopatra Egyptia femina fuit, totius orbis fabula.
SHE made a feast for great Marc Antony:
Her galley was arrayed in gold and light;
That evening, in the purple sea and sky,
It shone green-golden like a chrysolite.
She was reclined upon a Tyrian couch
Of crimson wools: out of her loosened vest
Set on one shoulder with a serpent brooch
Fell one arm white and half her foamy breast.
And, with the breath of many a fanning plume,
That wonder of her hair that was like wine—
Of mingled fires and purples that consume,
Moved all its mystery of threads most fine—
Moved like some threaded instrument that thrills,
Played on with unseen kisses in the air
Weaving a music from it, working spells
We feel and know not of—so moved her hair: