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I thirsted for the brooks, the showers :
I rollid 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 shasts 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.

Hang rich in flowers, and far below them

roars The long brook falling thro' the clov'n

ravina 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 mountain

shade Sloped downward to her seat from the

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.

upper cliff.

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 vaiting silently,
All naked in a sultr; sky,
Droops blinded with his shining eye:
I will possess him or will die.

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

“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, () Earth, hear me, ( Hills, O

Caves That house the cold crown'd snake! 0

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

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

woe.

.() 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.

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, Here 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, un

heard Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of

Gods."

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* 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'.

• Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. He smiled, and opening out his niilk

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

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."

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 íor 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,

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

Or labour'd mine 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

citadel In glassy bays among her tallest towers.”

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 conse

quence.”

.O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Sull 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 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. ""Self-reverence, self-knowledge, self

control, These three alone lead life to sovereign

power. Yet not for power (power of herself

• Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Again she said: “I woo thee not with

gists. 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 thee 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, “()

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 trem

bling stars.

• Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes, The herald of her triumph, drawing

nigh Half-whisper'd in his ear, “I promise

thee The fairest and most loving wife in

Greece." She spoke and laugh'd: I shut my sight

for fear: But when I look’d, Paris had raised his

arm, And I beheld great Here's angry eyes, As she withdrew into the golden cloud, And I was left alone within the bower; And from that time to this I am alone, And I shall be alone until I die.

.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.

• 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 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.

arms

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.

O mother, hear me yet before I die. They came, they cut away my tallest

pines, My tall dark 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 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 over

O mother, hear me yet before I die. I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts Do shape themselves within me, more and Across me: never child be born of me, Unblest, to vex me with his father's eyes!

laid

more,
Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear
Dead sounds at night come from the in-

most 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

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!

me

O mother, hear me yet before I die. Hear me, 0 earth. I will not die alone, Lest their shrill happy laughter come to Walking the cold and starless road of

Death Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love With the Greek woman. I will rise and

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!

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.'

TO

WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM.

THE SISTERS.
We were two daughters of one race :
She was the fairest in the face:

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!

Sbe died: she went to burning fame: 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 SEND you here a sort of allegory,
(For you will understand it) of a soul,
À 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.

I made a seast; I bade him come;
I won his love, I brought him home.

The wind is roaring in turret and tree.
And after supper, on a bed,
Upon my lap he laid his head: :

O the Earl was fair to see!

THE PALACE OF ART.

I kissed his eyelids into rest :
His ruddy cheek upon my breast.

The wind is raging in turret and tree.
I hated him with the hate of hell,
But I loved his beauty passing well.

O the Earl was fair to see!

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.'

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