I wonder'd at the bounteous hours, I wonder'd, while I paced along: And all so variously wrought, I marvell'd how the mind was brought And wherefore rather I made choice 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 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 Would God renew me from my birth 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 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 In crystal eddies glance and poise, In masses thick with milky cones. But, Alice, what an hour was that, When, after roving in the woods ('Twas April then), I came and sat Below the chestnuts, when their buds A love-song I had somewhere read, From some odd corner of the brain. 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, A glowing arm, a gleaming neck, As when a sunbeam wavers warm Within the dark and dimpled beck For you remember, you had set, And you were leaning from the ledge I loved, and love dispell'd the fear And fill'd the breast with purer breath. 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, And full at heart of trembling hope The deep brook groan'd beneath the mill; And By that lamp,' I thought, 'she The white chalk-quarry from the hill With bridal flowers that I may seem, It is the miller's daughter, And she is grown so dear, so dear, That I would be the jewel That trembles in 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 - For all the spirit is his own. 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, While 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, Love is hurt with jar and fret. Look thro' mine eyes with thine. True wife, 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 for ever dwell! They have not shed a many tears, Dear eyes, since first I knew them well. Yet tears they shed: they had their part Of sorrow: for when time was ripe, The still affection of the heart Became an outward breathing type, That into stillness past again, And left a want unknown before; Although the loss had brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more, With farther lookings on. The kiss, The comfort, I have found in thee: But that God bless thee, dear- - who wrought Two spirits to one equal mindWith 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. G LOVE, Love, Love! O withering might! I whirl like leaves in roaring wind. Last night I wasted hateful hours Below the city's eastern towers: |