the silent

Heaven over Heaven rose the night. And weeping then she made her

moan,

"The night comes on that knows not morn,

When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn.'

ELEANORE.

I.

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. Thy bounteous forehead was not fann'd With breezes from our oaken glades, But thou wert nursed in some delicious land

Of lavish lights, and floating shades: And flattering thy childish thought The oriental fairy brought,

At the moment of thy birth, From old well-heads of haunted rills, And the hearts of purple hills,

And shadow'd coves on a sunny shore,

The choicest wealth of all the
earth,

Jewel or shell, or starry ore,
To deck thy cradle, Eleäncre.

V.

I stand before thee, Eleänore;

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

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

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

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

VI.

Sometimes, with most intensity
Gazing, I seem to see

Thought folded over thought, smiling asleep

Slowly awaken'd, grow so full and deep In thy large eyes, that, overpower'à quite,

I cannot veil, or droop my sight,
But am as nothing in its light:
As tho' a star, in inmost heaven set,
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 be
fore;

So full, so deep, so slow,
Thought seems to come and go

In thy large eyes, imperial Eleä

nore.

VII.

As thunder-clouds that, hung on high, Roof'd the world with doubt and fear,

Floating thro' an evening atmosphere, Grow golden all about the sky;

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 brightSuch 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 altered and began
To move about the house with joy,

And with the certain step of man.

I loved the brimming wave that swam "Turo' 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

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,

And you and I were all alone. 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;
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, arin 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 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 riso 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 my 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,

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

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

Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine,

And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand

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 none wandering forlorn