And, rising, from her bosom drew Old letters, breathing of her worth, For "Love," they said, "must needs be true, To what is loveliest upon earth." An image seem'd to pass the door, To look at her with slight, and say, "But now thy beauty flows away, So be alone forevermore." "O cruel heart," she changed her tone, "And cruel love, whose end is scorn, Is this the end to be left alone, To live forgotten, and die forlorn!" But sometimes in the falling day An image seem'd to pass the door, To look into her eyes and say, "But thou shalt be alone no more.' And flaming downward over all From heat to heat the day decreased, "The day to night," she made her moan, And day and night I am left alone To live forgotten, and love forlorn." At eve a dry cicala sung, There came a sound as of the sea: Large Hesper glitter'd on her tears, And deepening through the silent spheres, And weeping then she made her moan, To live forgotten, and love forlorn." ELEANORE 1. THY dark eyes open'd not, Nor first reveal'd themselves to English air, For there is nothing here, Which, from the outward to the inward brought, Moulded thy baby thought. Far off from human neighborhood, Thou wert born, on a summer morn, A mile beneath the cedar-wood. With breezes from our oaken glades, But thou wert nursed in some delicious land The oriental fairy brought, And shadow'd coves on a sunny shore, To deck thy cradle, Eleanore. 2. Or the yellow-banded bees, Coming in the scented breeze, Fed thee, a child, lying alone, With whitest honey in fairy gardens cull'dA glorious child, dreaming alone, In silk-soft folds, upon yielding down, With the hum of swarming bees Into dreamful slumber lull'd. Every turn and glance of thine, And the steady sunset glow, From one censer, in one shrine, To an unheard melody, I stand before thee, Eleanore; I see thy beauty gradually unfold, The languors of thy love-deep eyes So tranced, so rapt in ecstasies, 6. Sometimes, with most intensity Thought folded over thought, smiling asleep, In thy large eyes, that, overpower'd quite, I cannot veil, or droop my sight, But am as nothing in its light: Ev'n while we gaze on it, Should slowly round his orb, and slowly grow To a full face, there like a sun remain Fix'd-then as slowly fade again, And draw itself to what it was before, So full, so deep, so slow, 7. As thunder-clouds, that, hung on high, Roof'd the world with doubt and fear. Floating thro' an evening atmosphere, In thee all passion becomes passionless, In a silent meditation, Falling into a still delight, And luxury of contemplation: As waves that up a quiet cove Rolling slide, and lying still Shadow forth the banks at will: Or sometimes they swell and move, Pressing up against the land, With motions of the outer sea: And the self-same influence Controlleth all the soul and sense Of Passion gazing upon thee. His bow-string slacken'd, languid Love, Leaning his cheek upon his hand, Droops both his wings, regarding thee, And so would languish evermore, Serene, imperial Eleanore. 8. But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined, While the amorous, odorous wind Breathes low between the sunset and the moon; Or, in a shadowy saloon, On silken curtains half reclined; I watch thy grace; and in its place Thro' my veins to all my frame, From thy rose-red lips My name Floweth; and then, as in a swoon, With dinning sound my ears are rife, My tremulous tongue faltereth, I lose my color, I lose my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death, Brimm'd with delirious draughts of warmest life. I die with my delight, before I hear what I would hear from thee: Yet tell my name again to me, I would be dying evermore, So dying ever, Eleanore. THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER. I SEE the wealthy miller yet, His double chin, his portly size, In yonder chair I see him sit, Three fingers round the old silver cupI see his gray eyes twinkle yet At his own jest-gray eyes lit up With summer lightnings of a soul So full of summer warmth, so glad, So healthy, sound, and clear and whole, His memory scarce can make me sad. Yet fill my glass: give me one kiss: My own sweet Alice, we must die. There's somewhat in this world amiss Shall be unriddled by-and-by. There's somewhat flows to us in life, But more is taken quite away. Pray, Alice, pray, my darling wife, That we may die the self-same day. Have I not found a happy earth? I least should breathe a thought of pain. Would God renew me from my birth I'd almost live my life again. So sweet it seems with thee to walk, And once again to woo thee mineIt seems in after-dinner talk Across the walnuts and the wine To be the long and listless boy And oft I heard the tender dove In firry woodlands making moan; But ere I saw your eyes, my love, I had no motion of my own. For scarce my life with fancy play'd Before I dream'd that pleasant dreamStill hither thither idly sway'd Like those long mosses in the stream. Or from the bridge I lean'd to hear In crystal eddies glance and poise, But, Alice, what an hour was that, A love-song I had somewhere read, That went and came a thousand times. Then leapt a trout. In lazy mood For you remember, yon had set, That these have never lost their light. I loved, and love dispell'd the fear With farther lookings on. The kiss, The comfort, I have found in thee: 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. FATIMA. O Love, Love, Love! O withering might! Last night I wasted hateful hours I thirsted for the brooks, the showers: I roll'd among the tender flowers. I crush'd them on my breast, my mouth: I look'd athwart the burning drouth Last night, when some one spoke his name, O Love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul thro' My lips, as sunlight drinketh dew. Before he mounts the hill, I know In my dry brain my spirit soon, The wind sounds like a silver wire, My heart, pierced thro' with fierce delight, My whole soul waiting silently, I will grow round him in his place, CENONE. THERE lies a vale in Ida, lovelier Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars Stands up and takes the morning: but in front Hither came at noon "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, hearken 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, Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, white-hooved, "O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Far-off the torrent call'd me from the cleft: Far up the solitary morning smote The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyes I sat alone: white-breasted like a star And his cheek brighten'd as the foam-bow brightens "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. He smiled, and opening out his milk-white palm 666 'My own Enone, Beautiful-brow'd Enone, my own soul, Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind engrav'n "For the most fair," would seem to award it thine, As lovelier than whatever Oread haunt The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace Of movement, and the charm of married brows,' "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. He prest the blossom of his lips to mine, And added, 'This was cast upon the board, This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came, "O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Wherewith to embellish state, from many a vale "O mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Still she spake on and still she spake of power, Fail from the sceptre-staff. Such boon from me, "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. She reased, and Paris held the costly fruit Out at arm's-length, so much the thought of power "Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self-control, 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.' And Paris ponder'd, and I cried, 'O Paris, "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Idalian Aphrodite beautiful, Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells, "Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. "Yet, mother Ida, hearken 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 passed by, a wild and wauton pard, Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she! Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail 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 Foster'd the callow eaglet-from beneath Whose thick mysterious bows 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 rnin'd folds, |