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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! Owithering 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
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! о 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 leopar

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

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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,

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."

'O mother Ida, harken ere I die. Still 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 neighbour 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,

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'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

'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 Kept watch, waiting decision, made And shoulder: from the violets her light

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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. I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts Do shape themselves within me, more and

more,

Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear Dead sounds at night come from the inmost 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 Across me never child be born of me, Unblest, to vex me with his father's eyes!

'O mother, hear me yet before I die. Hear me, O earth. I will not die alone, Lest their shrill happy laughter come to

me

Walking the cold and starless road of Death

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

go

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.'

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