And the steady sunset glow,
That stays upon thee? For in thee
Is nothing sudden, nothing
single;

Like two streams of incense free
From one censer, in one
shrine,

Thought and motion mingle, Mingle ever. Motions flow To one another, even as tho' They were modulated so

To an unheard melody, Which lives about thee, and a sweep Of richest pauses, evermore Drawn from each other mellow-deep; Who may express thee, Eleanore?

V.

I stand before thee, Eleänore;

Daily and hourly, more and more.
I see thy beauty gradually unfold,
I muse, as in a trance, the while

Comes out thy deep ambrosial smile.
Slowly, as from a cloud of gold,
I muse, as in a trance, whene'er

The languors of thy love-deep eyes Float on to me. I would I were

So tranced, so rapt in ecstasies,
To stand apart, and to adore,
Gazing on thee for evermore,
Serene, imperial Eleänore !

In thee all passion becomes passionless, Touch'd by thy spirit's mellowness, Losing his fire and active might

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 Eleänore.

VIII.

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 cushions half reclined;

I watch thy grace; and in its place
My heart a charmed slumber keeps,
While I muse upon thy face;
And a languid fire creeps
Thro' my veins to all my frame,
Dissolvingly and slowly soon

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, And who that knew him could forget The busy wrinkles round his eyes?

The slow wise smile that, round about His dusty forehead drily curl'd, Seem'd half-within and half-without, And full of dealings with the world?

In yonder chair I see him sit,

Three fingers round the old silver cup— I 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 There's somewhat flows to us in life, Shall be unriddled by and by.

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 mine
It seems in after-dinner talk

Across the walnuts and the wine

To be the long and listless boy

Late-left an orphan of the squire, Where this old mansion mounted high Looks down upon the village spire: For even here, where I and you

Have lived and loved alone so long, Each morn my sleep was broken thro' By some wild skylark's matin song. 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
The milldam rushing down with noise,
And see the minnows everywhere

In crystal eddies glance and poise, The tall flag-flowers when they sprung

Below the range of stepping-stones, Or those three chestnuts near, that hung In masses thick with milky cones.

But, Alice, what an hour was that,
When after roving in the woods
('T was April then), I came and sat
Below the chestnuts, when their buds
Were glistening to the breezy blue;
And on the slope, an absent fool,
I cast me down, nor thought of you,
But angled in the higher pool.

A love-song I had somewhere read,
An echo from a measured strain,
Beat time to nothing in my head

From some odd corner of the brain.
It haunted me, the morning long,

With weary sameness in the rhymes, The phantom of a silent song,

That went and came a thousand times.

Then leapt a trout. In lazy mood
I watch'd the little circles die ;
They past into the level flood,

And there a vision caught my eye;
The reflex of a beauteous form,

A glowing arm, a gleaming neck, As when a sunbeam wavers warm Within the dark and dimpled beck.

For you remember, you had set,

That morning, on the casement-edge A long green box of mignonette, And you were leaning from the ledge: And when I raised my eyes, above

They met with two so full and bright Such eyes! I swear to you, my love, That these have never lost their light. I loved, and love dispell'd the fear

That I should die an early death: For love possess'd the atmosphere, And fill'd the breast with purer breath. My mother thought, What ails the boy? For I was alter'd, and began To move about the house with joy,

And with the certain step of man.

I loved the brimming wave that swam Thro' quiet meadows round the mill, The sleepy pool above the dam,

The pool beneath it never still, The meal-sacks on the whiten'd floor, The dark round of the dripping wheel, The very air about the door

Made misty with the floating meal. And oft in ramblings on the wold, When April nights began to blow, And April's crescent glimmer'd cold, I saw the village lights below;

I knew your taper far away,

And full at heart of trembling hope, From off the wold I came, and lay Upon the freshly-flower'd slope.

The deep brook groan'd beneath the mill; And by that lamp," I thought, "she sits!"

The white chalk-quarry from the hill
Gleam'd to the flying moon by fits.
"O that I were beside her now!

O, will she answer if I call?
O, would she give me vow for vow,"
Sweet Alice, if I told her all?"

Sometimes I saw you sit and spin;
And, in the pauses of the wind,
Sometimes I heard you sing within;
Sometimes your shadow cross'd the
blind.

At last you rose and moved the light,
And the long shadow of the chair
Flitted across into the night,

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
And so it was-half-sly, half-shy,
Flush'd like the coming of the day;

Although I pleaded tenderly,
And you and I were all alone.

You would, and would not, little one!

And slowly was my mother brought
To yield consent to my 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;

It is the miller's daughter,

And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel

That trembles at her ear: For hid in ringlets day and night, I'd touch her neck so warm and white.

And I would be the girdle

About her dainty dainty waist, And her heart would beat against me, In sorrow and in rest:

And I should know if it beat right, I'd clasp it round so close and tight.

And I would be the necklace,

And all day long to fall and rise Upon her balmy bosom,

With her laughter or her sighs, And I would lie so light, so light, I scarce should be unclasp'd at night.

A trifle, sweet! which true love spells
True love interprets - right alone.
His light upon the letter dwells,

For all the spirit is his own.
So, if I waste words now, in truth

You must blame Love. His early rage Had force to make me rhyme in youth, And makes me talk too much in age.

And now those vivid hours are gone,

Like mine own life to me thou art, Where Past and Present, wound in one, Do make a garland for the heart : So sing that other song I made,

Half-anger'd with my happy lot, The day, when in the chestnut shade I found the blue Forget-me-not.

Love that hath us in the net, Can he pass, and we forget?

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 forever dwell! They have not shed a many tears,

Dear eyes, since first I knew them well.

Yet tears they shed: they had their part
The still affection of the heart
Of sorrow for when time was ripe,

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.

FATIMA.

O LOVE, Love, Love! O withering might! O sun, that from thy noonday height Shudderest when I strain my sight, Throbbing thro' all thy heat and light,

Lo, falling from my constant mind, Lo, parch'd and wither'd, deaf and blind,

I whirl like leaves in roaring wind.

Last night I wasted hateful hours
Below the city's eastern towers :
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
Of that long desert to the south.

Last night, when some one spoke his name,
From my swift blood that went and came
A thousand little shafts of flame
Were shiver'd in my narrow frame.

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
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,
Down-deepening from swoon to swoon,
Faints like a dazzled morning moon.

The wind sounds like a silver wire,
And from beyond the noon a fire
Is pour'd upon the hills, and nigher
The skies stoop down in their desire;
And, isled in sudden seas of light,
My heart, pierced thro' with fierce de-
light,

Bursts into blossom in his sight.

My whole soul waiting silently,
All naked in a sultry sky,
Droops blinded with his shining eye :
I will possess him or will die.

I will grow round him in his place,
Grow, live, die looking on his face,
Die, dying clasp'd in his embrace.

CENONE.

THERE lies a vale in Ida, lovelier Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. The swimming vapor slopes athwart the glen,

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

In cataract after cataract to the sea.
Behind the valley topmost Gargarus
Stands up and takes the morning: but
in front

The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal
Troas and Ilion's column'd citadel,
The crown of Troas.

Hither came at noon
Mournful Enone, wandering forlorn
Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills.
Her cheek had lost the rose, and round
her neck

Floated her hair or seem'd to float in rest. She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine,

Sang to the stillness, till the mountainshade

Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff.

"O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida. Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. For now the noonday quiet holds the hill: The grasshopper is silent in the grass : The lizard, with his shadow on the stone, Rests like a shadow, and the cicala sleeps. The purple flowers droop: the golden bee Is lily-cradled: I alone awake.

My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim, And I am all aweary of my life.

66

"O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, 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,
Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all
My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls
Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed,
A cloud that gather'd shape: for it may be
That, while I speak of it, a little while
My heart may wander from its deeper woe.