But toward the south wide open to the
shore
It seemed a lap, wherein the sun and sea
Together lay warm in each other’s
smiles.
Down the steep sides a little babbling
brook
Leapt with low laughter, fleeing from
itself,
Then, wid’ning out into a lucid
pool,
Crept slowly seaward through low banks
of fern.
Here, stretching his bare limbs upon the
sward,
He watched the water falling down the
rocks.
His jetty hair, curled loosely on his
head,
Fell down upon his shoulders glistening
white,
The rounded symmetry of breast and limb,
And the rich color of his sensuous lips
Almost belied the down upon his cheek.
No uncouth garments hid his perfect form,
Nor marred its grace, but, naked like
the gods,
The ruddy sunlight bathed him in its glow.
So, as the day sank down the golden west,
And the long index shadows toward the
east
Seemed telling of the morn that was to
rise,
A band of nymphs came past him where he
lay
Half-hidden in the grass, and to the pool
Rushed with sweet rivalry and little screams
To feel the water cold around their limbs.
They saw him not, nor dreamed that mortal
eyes
In that lone glen were looking on their
play.
Soon they passed on, save one who near
the bank
Had lain to rest till sleep stole eyes
and ears.
Then Attis rose and would have sought
the shrine
But when he saw the sleeper he stood still.
He was too young to know the power of
love
When mighty Cybele from his far home—
His home, which lay beyond the heaving
sea,
And which to think of even yet would bring
The bitter tears into his dark-lashed
eyes,—
Had brought him as a priest into her fane,
And bound him by an oath of dreaded wrath
To be hers only, hers forevermore.
But years had passed since then, he was
a man,
And man’s strong passion drove into
his cheek
The ruby symbol of its first felt power,
As leaning o’er he gazed upon the
nymph.
She moved a little under the hot glance
That burned from Attis’ eyes upon
her face,
And seemed about to wake. Quick he
drew back,
Walking away a few steps towards the beach,
Then turned to take one last look ere
he went;
She had not woke, her head lay on her
arms,
And her face looking toward him seemed
to smile.
He could not go, he dared not longer stay,
But stood and wished, and feared, and
let his wish
Conquer his fear; returning step by step
Again he bent above her. Then, at
last,
The wrath of scorner Cybele forgot,
He thought of nothing but his newfelt
love.
Sudden she raised the lids, and her full
eyes
Looked straight upon him. Attis laid
his hand
Upon her arm to stay the flight he feared,
Saying, “Fear not, ’tis only
Attis, I,
And ’tis my love that holds me here
by thee.”