The white chalk-quarry from the hill O will she answer if I call? Sometimes your shadow cross'd the blind. And all the casement darken'd there. But when at last I dared to speak, The lanes, you know, were white with May, Your ripe lips moved not, but your cheek Flush'd like the coming of the day; And so it was half-sly, half-shy, You would, and would not, little one! Although I pleaded tenderly, my And you and I were all alone. And slowly was my mother brought To yield consent to desire: She wish'd me happy, but she thought I might have look'd a little higher; And I was young too young to wed: Yet must I love her for your sake; Go fetch your Alice here," she said: Her eyelid quiver'd as she spake. And down I went to fetch my bride: But, Alice, you were ill at ease; This dress and that by turns you tried, Too fearful that you should not please. I loved you better for your fears, I knew you could not look but well; And dews, that would have fall'n in tears, I kiss'd away before they fell. I watch'd the little flutterings, The doubt my mother would not see; She spoke at large of many things, And at the last she spoke of me; And turning look'd upon your face, As near this door you sat apart, And rose, and, with a silent grace Approaching, press'd you heart to heart. Ah, well- but sing the foolish song I gave you, Alice, on the day When, arm in arm, we went along, A pensive pair, and you were gay With bridal flowers that I may seem, As in the nights of old, to lie Beside the mill-wheel in the stream, While those full chestnuts whisper by. It is the miller's daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear, That trembles at her ear, About her dainty dainty waist, And I should know if it beat right, And all day long to fall and rise With her laughter or her sighs, A trifle, sweet! which true love spells For all the spirit is his own. You must blame Love. His early rage Half-anger'd with my happy lot, Love that hath us in the net Love is hurt with jar and fret. Look thro' mine eyes with thine. True wife, Round my true heart thine arms entwine; My other dearer life in life, Look thro' my very soul with thine! Untouch'd with any shade of years, May those kind eyes for ever dwell! They have not shed a many tears, Dear eyes, since first I knew them well. Yet tears they shed: they had their part Of sorrow: for when time was ripe, The still affection of the heart Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again, And left a want unknown before; Although the loss that brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more. With farther lookings on. The kiss, The woven arms, seem but to be Weak symbols of the settled bliss, The comfort, I have found in thee: But that God bless thee, dear - who wrought Two spirits to one equal mind With blessings beyond hope or thought, With blessings which no words can find. Arise, and let us wander forth, - To yon old mill across the wolds; For look, the sunset, south and north, Winds all the vale in rosy folds, And fires your narrow casement glass, Touching the sullen pool below: On the chalk-hill the bearded grass Is dry and dewless. Let us go. FATIM A. O LOVE, Love, Love! O withering might! I crush'd them on my breast, my mouth: Last night, when some one spoke his name, With one long kiss my whole soul thro' My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew. Before he mounts the hill, I know He cometh quickly: from below Sweet gales, as from deep gardens, blow Before him, striking on my brow. In my dry brain my spirit soon, I will grow round him in his place, CENONE. THERE lies a vale in Ida, lovelier Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to (pine, And loiters, slowly drawn. On either band The lawns and meadow-ledges midway (down Hang rich in flowers, and far below them (roars The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal Hither came at moon Floated her hair or seem'd to float in rest. She,leaning on a fragment twined with vine, Sang to the stillness,till the mountain-shade Sloped downward to her seat from the up(per cliff. "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, For now the noonday quiet holds the hill: My eyes are full of tears, my heart of Iove, Ida, „O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Hear me, O Earth, hear me, O Hills, O Caves That house the cold crown'd snake! O (mountain brooks, I am the daughter of a River-God, Came up from reedy Simois all alone. "O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Far-off the torrent call'd me from the cleft: I sat alone: white-breasted like a star Cluster'd about his temples like a God's ; And his cheek brighten'd as the foam-bow (brightens When the wind blows the foam, and all my (heart Went forth to embrace him coming ere he (came. "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. He smiled, and opening out his milk-white (palm Disclosed a fruit of pure Hesperian gold. That smelt ambrosially, and while I look'd And listen'd, the full-flowing river of speech Came down upon my heart. 'My own Enone, Beautiful-brow'd Enone, my own soul, Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind in(grav'n "For the most fair," would seem to award it (thine, As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Naked they came to that smooth-swarded (bower, And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, "O mother Ida, harken ere I die. And o'er him flow'd a golden cloud, and On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit, (lean'd Upon him, slowly dropping fragrant dew, Then first I heard the voice of her, to whom Coming thro' Heaven, like a light that grows Larger and clearer, with one mind the Gods Rise up for reverence. She to Paris made Proffer of royal power, ample rule Unquestion'd, overflowing revenue Wherewith to embellish state, 'from many (a vale And river-sunder'd champaign clothed with (corn, Or labour'd mines undrainable of ore. Honour,' she said, 'and homage, tax and toll, From many an inland town and haven large, Mast-throng'd beneath her shadowing ci(tadel In glassy bays among her tallest towers.' "O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Still she spake on and still she spake of (power, 'Which in all action is the end of all; Power fitted to the season; wisdom bred And throned of wisdom from all neigh(bour crowns Alliance and allegiance, till thy hand Fail from the sceptre-staff. Such boon from (me, From me, Heaven's Queen, Paris, to thee (king-born, A shepherd all thy life but yet king-born, Should come most welcome, seeing men, in (power, Only, are likest gods, who have attain'd Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Flatter'd his spirit;but Pallas where she stood These three alone lead life to sovereign (power. Yet not for power, (power of herself Would come uncall'd for) but to live by law, Acting the law we live by without fear; And, because right is right, to follow right Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.' ,,Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Again she said: 'I woo thee not with gifts. If gazing on divinity disrobed With rosy slender fingers backward drew From her warm brows and bosom her deep hair Ambrosial, golden round her lucid throat And shoulder: from the violets her light foot Shone rosy-white, and o'er her rounded form Between the shadows of the vine-bunches Floated the glowing sunlights, as she moved. Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. But when 1 look'd, Paris had raised his arm "Yet, mother Ida, harken ere I die. Fairest why fairest wife? am I not fair? My love hath told me so a thousand times. Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday, When I past by, a wild and wanton pard, Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving (is she? Ah me, my mountain shepherd,that my arms Were wound about thee, and my hot lips (prest Close, close to thine in that quick-falling (dew Of fruitful kisses, thick as Autumn rains Flash in the pools of whirling Simois. O mother, hear me yet before I die. They came, they cut away my tallest pines, My dark tall pines, that plumed the craggy (ledge High over the blue gorge, and all between The snowy peak and snow-white cataract Forster'd the callow eaglet - from beneath Whose thick mysterious boughs in the dark (morn The panther's roar came muffled, while I sat Low in the valley. Never, never more Shall lone Enone see the morning mist Sweep thro' them; never see them overlaid With narrow moon-lit slips of silver cloud, Between the loud stream and the trembling (stars. "O mother, hear me yet before I die. I wish that somewhere in the ruin'd folds Among the fragments tumbled from the (glens, Or the dry thickets, I could meet with her, And tell her to her face how much I hate O mother, hear me yet before I die. Hath he not sworn his lovea thousand times, In this green valley, under this green hill, Ev'n on this hand, and sitting on this stone? Seal'd it with kisses? water'd it with tears? O happy tears, and how unlike to these! Ohappy Heaven,how canst thou see my face? O happy earth, how canst thou bear my (weight? O death, death, death, thou ever floating (cloud, I There are enough unhappy on this earth, Pass by the happy souls, that love to live: pray thee, pass before my light of live, And shadow all my soul, that I may die. Thou weighest heavy on the heart within, Weigh heavy on my eyelids: let me die. O mother, hear me yet before I die. I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts Do shape themselves within me, more and (more, Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear Dead sounds at night come from the inmost (hills, Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother Conjectures of the features of her child Ere it is born: her child! - a shudder comes Across me: never child be born of me, Unblest, to vex me with his father's eyes! "O mother, hear me yet before I die. Hear me, O earth. I will not die alone, Lest their shrill happy laughter come to me Walking the cold and starless road of Death Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love With the Greek woman. I will rise and go Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth Talk with the wild Cassandra, for she says A fire dances before her, and a sound Rings ever in her ears of armed men. What this may be I know not, but I know That, wheresoe'er I am by night and day, All earth and air seem only burning fire." THE SISTERS. The wind is blowing in turret and tree. They were together, and she fell : Therefore revenge became me well. O the Earl was fair to see! She died she went to burning flame: She mix'd her ancient blood with shame. The wind is howling in turret and tree. Whole weeks and months,and early and late, To win his love I lay in wait: O the Earl was fair to see! I made a feast; I bade him come; O the Earl was fair to see! I kiss'd his eyelids into rest: The wind is raging in turret and tree. |