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
delight,

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 vapour 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 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 winds are

dead.

The purple flower droops: 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.

'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.

'O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die.

I waited underneath the dawning hills, Aloft the mountain lawn was dewy-dark, And dewy-dark aloft the mountain pine: Beautiful Paris, evil-hearted Paris, Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, white-hooved,

Came up from reedy Simois all alone.

'O mother Ida, harken 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 Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard skin

Droop'd from his shoulder, but his sunny

hair

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 milkwhite 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 ingrav'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, harken ere I die. He prest the blossom of his lips to mine, And added "This was cast upon the

board,

When all the full-faced presence of the Gods

Ranged in the halls of Peleus; where

upon

Rose feud, with question unto whom 'twere due:

But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve,
Delivering that to me, by common voice
Elected umpire, Herè comes to-day,
Pallas and Aphroditè, claiming each
This meed of fairest. Thou, within the

cave

Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard

Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods."

'Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloud

Had lost his way between the piney sides Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came,

Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower,

And at their feet the crocus brake like fire,

Violet, amaracus, and asphodel,
Lotos and lilies: and a wind arose,
And overhead the wandering ivy and
vine,

This way and that, in many a wild festoon
Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs
With bunch and berry and flower thro'
and thro'.

'O mother Ida, harken ere I die. On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit, And o'er him flow'd a golden cloud, and 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,

in power

Only, are likest gods, who have attain'd Rest in a happy place and quiet seats Above the thunder, with undying bliss In knowledge of their own supremacy."

'Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She ceased, and Paris held the costly fruit

Out at arm's length, so much the thought of power

Flatter'd his spirit; but Pallas where she stood

Somewhat apart, her clear and bared limbs

O'erthwarted with the brazen-headed spear

Upon her pearly shoulder leaning cold, The while, above, her full and earnest eye

Over her snow-cold breast and angry cheek

Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply.

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.

Sequel of guerdon could not alter me
To fairer. Judge thou me by what I

am,

So shalt thou find me fairest.

Yet, indeed

If gazing on divinity disrobed
Thy mortal eyes are frail to judge of fair,
Unbias'd by self-profit, oh! rest the sure,
That I shall love thee well and cleave to
thee,

So that my vigour, wedded to thy blood,
Shall strike within thy pulses like a
God's,

To push thee forward thro' a life of shocks,

Dangers, and deeds, until endurance grow Sinew'd with action, and the full-grown will,

Circled thro' all experiences, pure law, Commeasure perfect freedom."

'Here she ceas'd, And Paris ponder'd, and I cried, "O Paris,

Give it to Pallas!" but he heard me not, Or hearing would not hear me, woe is me!

'O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Idalian Aphroditè beautiful, Fresh as the foam, new-bathed in Paphian wells,

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.

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

The Abominable, that uninvited came
Into the fair Peleïan banquet-hall,
And cast the golden fruit upon the board,
And bred this change; that I might speak
my mind,

And tell her to her face how much I hate
Her presence, hated both of Gods and

men.

'O mother, hear me yet before I die. Hath he not sworn his love a 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! O happy Heaven, how canst thou see my face?

O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight?

O death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud,

There are enough unhappy on this earth; Pass by the happy souls, that love to live: I pray thee, pass before my light of life, And shadow all my soul, that I may die. Thou weighest heavy on the heart within, Weigh heavy on my eyelids: let me die.

I rose up in the silent night:
I made my dagger sharp and bright.
The wind is raving in turret and tree.
As half-asleep his breath he drew,
Three times I stabb'd him thro' and thro'.
O the Earl was fair to see!

I curl'd and comb'd his comely head,
He look'd so grand when he was dead.
The wind is blowing in turret and
tree.

I wrapt his body in the sheet,
And laid him at his mother's feet.
O the Earl was fair to see!

ΤΟ

WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM.

I SEND you here a sort of allegory,
(For you will understand it) of a soul,
A sinful soul possess'd of many gifts,
A spacious garden full of flowering weeds,
A glorious Devil, large in heart and brain,
That did love Beauty only (Beauty seen
In all varieties of mould and mind),
And Knowledge for its beauty; or if
Good,

Good only for its beauty, seeing not
That Beauty, Good, and Knowledge are
three sisters

That dote upon each other, friends to

man,

Living together under the same roof, And never can be sunder'd without tears. And he that shuts Love out, in turn shall

be

Shut out from Love, and on her threshold lie,

Howling in outer darkness. Not for this Was common clay ta'en from the common earth

Moulded by God, and temper'd with the

tears

Of angels to the perfect shape of man.

THE PALACE OF ART.

I BUILT my soul a lordly pleasure-house,
Wherein at ease for aye to dwell.
I said, 'O Soul, make merry and carouse,
Dear soul, for all is well.'