I. The Drug-Shop, or, Endymion in Edmonstoun

Night falls; the great jars glow against the dark,

Dark green, dusk red, and, like a coiling snake,

Writhing eternally in smoky gyres,

Great ropes of gorgeous vapor twist and turn

Within them. So the Eastern fisherman

Saw the swart genie rise when the lead seal,

Scribbled with charms, was lifted from the jar;

And — well, how went the tale? Like this, like this?...

No herbage broke the barren flats of land,

No winds dared loiter within smiling trees,

Nor were there any brooks on either hand,

Only the dry, bright sand,

Naked and golden, lay before the seas.

One boat toiled noiselessly along the deep,

The thirsty ripples dying silently

Upon its track. Far out the brown nets sweep,

And night begins to creep

Across the intolerable mirror of the sea.

Twice the nets rise, a-trail with sea-plants brown,

Distorted shells, and rocks green-mossed with slime,

Nought else. The fisher, sick at heart, kneels down;

“Prayer may appease God's frown,”

He thinks, then, kneeling, casts for the third time.

And lo! an earthen jar, bound round with brass,

Lies tangled in the cordage of his net.

About the bright waves gleam like shattered glass,

And where the sea's rim was

The sun dips, flat and red, about to set.

The prow grates on the beach. The fisherman

Stoops, tearing at the cords that bind the seal.

Shall pearls roll out, lustrous and white and wan?

Lapis? carnelian?

Unheard-of stones that make the sick mind reel

He tugged; the seal gave way. A little smoke

Curled like a feather in the darkening sky.

A blinding gush of fire burst, flamed, and broke.

A voice like a wind spoke.

Armored with light, and turbaned terribly,

A genie tramped the round earth underfoot;

His head sought out the stars, his cupped right hand

Made half the sky one darkness. He was mute.

The sun, a ripened fruit,

Drooped lower. Scarlet eddied o'er the sand.

The genie spoke: “O miserable one!

Thy prize awaits thee; come, and hug it close!

A noble crown thy draggled nets have won

For this that thou hast done.

Blessed are fools! A gift remains for those!”

His hand sought out his sword, and lightnings flared

Across the sky in one great bloom of fire.

Poised like a toppling mountain, it hung bared;

Suns that were jewels glared

Along its hilt. The air burnt like a pyre.

Once more the genie spoke: “Something I owe

To thee, thou fool, thou fool. Come, canst thou sing?

Yea? Sing then; if thy song be brave, then go

Free and released — or no!

Find first some task, some overmastering thing

I cannot do, and find it speedily,

For if thou dost not thou shalt surely die!”

The sword whirled back. The fisherman uprose,

And if at first his voice was weak with fear

And his limbs trembled, it was but a doze,

And at the high song's close

He stood up straight. His voice rang loud and clear.