Classic Poem

Narcissus was a youth whom Love once caught
Within his snare and caused such dole and woe
That in his grief he rendered up his ghost.
Now Echo, a fine lady, loved him more
Than any creature born, and was for him
So lovesick that she said she needs must die
If she had not his love. But of his own
Beauty he was so proud that hers he scorned,
And neither for her weeping nor her prayers
Would satisfy her passion. When she knew
Herself refused, she suffered so much pain
And anger, and she took it in such despite,
That hopelessly she pined away and died.
But just before the end she prayed to God,
And this was her request: that whom she'd found
Disloyal to her love, Narcissus' self
In his hard heart should someday tortured be
And burn with such a love that he would find
No joy in any thing; thus he might know
And comprehend what woe a loyal maid
Had felt when she so vilely was refused.
The prayer was reasonable, and therefore God
Ordained that she this recompense should have;
And so Narcissus, as one day by chance,
Returning from the hunt, tired with the chase
That up and down the hills had led him far,
He came upon that fountain clear and pure,
Beneath the shadow of the pine, and stopped
To quench the thirst that, with excessive heat
And great fatigue, had robbed him of his breath.
He gazed upon the fountain which the tree
Encircled with its reins and, kneeling down,
Prepared himself to drink a pleasant draft.
But in the limpid waters he perceived
Reflected nose and mouth and cheeks and eyes.
The sight dismayed him, and he found himself
By his own loveliness betrayed; for there
He saw the image of a comely youth.
Love knew how best to avenge the stubbornness
And pride Narcissus had displayed to him.
Well was he then requited, for the youth,
Enraptured, gazed upon the crystal spring
Until he fell in love with his own face;
And at the last he died for very woe.
That was the end of that; for when he knew
Such passion must go e'er unsatisfied,
Although he was entangled in Love's snare,
And that he never could sure comfort find
In any fashion or by any means,
He lost his reason in but little space,
For very ire, and died. And so he got
The just reward that he had merited
For his refusal of a maiden's love.
You ladies, who refuse to satisfy
Your lovers, this one's case should take to heart;
For, if you let your loyal sweethearts die,
God will know how to give you recompense.
When this inscription had assured me well
That it was certainly the very spring
Of fair Narcissus, I withdrew a bit
Lest I like him might in its waters gaze;
For cowardly I felt when I recalled
The misadventure that occurred to him.
But then I thought that I assuredly
Might, without fear, into the waters look
Of that ill-omened spring; for my dismay
Had been but foolishness. I then approached
And kneeled before the fountain to observe
How coursed the water o'er the pebbled floor
That bright as silver fine appeared to me.
'Twas the last word in fountains! None more fair
In all the world is found; for fresh and new
The water ever bubbled up in waves
In height and depth at least two fingers' breadth.
About it all the tender grass grew fine
And thick and lush, nourished by the spring;
And, since the source did not in winter fail,
The grass lived all the year and could not die.
Two crystal stones within the fountain's depths
Attentively I noted. You will say
'Twas marvelous when I shall tell you why:
Whene'er the searching sun lets fall its rays
Into the fountain, and its depths they reach,
Then in the crystal stones do there appear
More than a hundred hues; for they become
Yellow and red and blue. So wonderful
Are they that by their power is all the place —
Flowers and trees, whate'er the garden holds —
Transfigured, as it seems. It is like this:
Just as a mirror will reflect each thing
That near is placed, and one therein can see
Both form and color without variance,
So do these crystals undistorted show
The garden's each detail to anyone
Who looks into the waters of the spring.
For, from whichever side one chance to look,
He sees one half the garden; if he turn
And from the other gaze, he sees the rest.
So there is nothing in the place so small
Or so enclosed and hid but that it shows
As if portrayed upon the crystal stones.
The Mirror Perilous it is, where proud
Narcissus saw his face and his gray eyes,
Because of which he soon lay on his bier.
There is no charm nor remedy for this;
Whatever thing appears before one's eyes,
While at these stones he looks, he straightway loves.
Many a valiant man has perished thence;
The wisest, worthiest, most experienced
Have there been trapped and taken unawares.
There a new furor falls to some men's lot;
There others see their resolution change;
There neither sense nor moderation holds
The mastery; there will to love is all;
There no man can take counsel for himself.
'Tis Cupid, Venus' son, there sows the seed
Which taints the fountain, and 'tis there he sets
His nets and snares to capture man and maid;
For Cupid hunts no other sort of bird.
By reason of the seed sown thereabout
This fountain has been called the Well of Love,
Of which full many an author tells in books
Of old romance; but never will you hear
Better explained the truth about the place
Than when I have exposed its mystery.
Long time it pleased me to remain to view
The fountain and the crystals that displayed
A hundred thousand things which there appeared.
But I remember it as sorry hour.
Alas, how often therefore have I sighed!
The mirrors me deceived. Had I but known
Their power and their force, I had not then
So close approached. I fell within the snare
That sorely has betrayed and caught full many a man.