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But that upon their towering heads they 55 Crying, oft made them raise their flaccid

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He falls; on me devolve that charge; he falls.

30 Rather than fly him, stoop thou to allure; Nay, journey to his tents. A city stood Upon that coast, they say, by Sidad built, Whose father Gad built Gadir; on this ground

Perhaps he sees an ample room for war. 35 Persuade him to restore the walls himself In honor of his ancestors, persuadeBut wherefore this advice? young, unespoused,

Charoba want persuasions! and a queen!" "O Dalica!" the shuddering maid exclaim'd,

40 Could I encounter that fierce frightful man?

Could I speak? no, nor sigh.”—“And

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ears

And push their heads within their master's hand.

There was a brightening paleness in his face,

Such as Diana rising o'er the rocks Shower'd on the lonely Latmian; on his brow

Sorrow there was, yet nought was there

severe.

But when the royal damsel first he saw, Faint, hanging on her handmaid, and her knees

Tottering, as from the motion of the car, His eyes look'd earnest on her, and those

eyes

Show'd, if they had not, that they might

have, lov'd,

For there was pity in them at that hour.
With gentle speech, and more with gentle
looks,

He sooth'd her; but lest Pity go beyond
And cross'd Ambition lose her lofty aim,
Bending, he kiss'd her garment, and re-
tired.

He went, nor slumber'd in the sultry noon,
When viands, couches, generous wines,
persuade,

And slumber most refreshes; nor at night, When heavy dews are laden with disease; 75 And blindness waits not there for lingering age.

Ere morning dawn'd behind him, he arrived

At those rich meadows where young

Tamar fed

The royal flocks entrusted to his care. "Now," said he to himself, "will I re

pose

80 At least this burthen on

breast."

a brother's

His brother stood before him: he, amazed, Rear'd suddenly his head, and thus began. "Is it thou, brother! Tamar, is it thou! Why, standing on the valley's utmost

verge,

85 Lookest thou on that dull and dreary shore Where beyond sight Nile blackens all the

90

sand?

And why that sadness? When I pass'd our sheep

The dew-drops were not shaken off the

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Scatter this wan suffusion o'er thy brow, This faint blue lustre under both thine eyes?"

"O brother, is this pity or reproach?" 100 Cried Tamar, "cruel if it be reproach, If pity, O how vain!"-"Whate'er it be That grieves thee, I will pity, thou but speak,

And I can tell thee, Tamar, pang for pang."

"Gebir! then more than brothers are we now!

105 Everything (take my hand) will I confess. I neither feed the flock nor watch the fold; How can I, lost in love? But, Gebir, why That anger which has risen to your cheek? Can other men? could you? what, no reply!

140

Before I was aware; for with surprise Moments fly rapid as with love itself. Stooping to tune afresh the hoarsen'd reed,

I heard a rustling, and where that arose My glance first lighted on her nimble feet. Her feet resembled those long shells1 explored

By him who to befriend his steed's dim sight

Would blow the pungent powder in the

eye.

Her eyes too! O immortal Gods! her eyes
Resembled what could they resemble?
what

Ever resemble those? Even her attire
Was not of wonted woof nor vulgar art:
Her mantle show'd the yellow samphire-
pod,

145 Her girdle the dove-color'd wave serene.
'Shepherd,' said she, 'and will you wrestle
now,

110 And still more anger, and still worse con- 150 ceal'd!

Are these your promises? your pity this?"
"Tamar, I well may pity what I feel-
Mark me aright-I feel for thee-pro-
ceed-

Relate me all."-"Then will I all relate, 115 Said the young shepherd, gladden'd from

his heart.

""Twas evening, though not sunset, and the tide

Level with these green meadows, seem'd yet higher:

'Twas pleasant; and I loosen'd from my neck

And with the sailor's hardier race en

gage?'

I was rejoiced to hear it, and contrived
How to keep up contention: could I fail
By pressing not too strongly, yet to press?
'Whether a shepherd, as indeed you seem,
Or whether of the hardier race you boast,
I am not daunted; no; I will engage.'
'But first,' said she, 'what wager will you
lay?'

155 A sheep,' I answered: 'add whate'er you will.'

'I cannot,' she replied, 'make that return: Our hided vessels in their pitchy round Seldom, unless from rapine, hold a sheep. But I have sinuous shells of pearly hue 160 Within, and they that lustre have imbibed In the sun's palace-porch, where when unyoked

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His chariot-wheel stands midway in the

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RENUNCIATION

1846

Lie, my fond heart at rest, She never can be ours. Why strike upon my breast The slowly passing hours? 5 Ah! breathe not out the name, That fatal folly stay! Conceal the eternal flame,

And tortured ne'er betray.

YOU SMILED, YOU SPOKE, AND I BELIEVED 1846

You smiled, you spoke, and I believed,
By every word and smile deceived.
Another man would hope no more;
Nor hope I what I hoped before:
5 But let not this last wish be vain;
Deceive, deceive me once again.

SO LATE REMOVED, FROM HIM SHE SWORE 1831

So late removed from him she swore,

With clasping arms and vows and tears, In life and death she would adore,

While memory, fondness, bliss, endears.

5 Can she forswear? can she forget?

Strike, mighty Love! strike, Vengeance!
Soft!

Conscience must come and bring regret-
These let her feel!-nor these too oft!

I HELD HER HAND, THE PLEDGE OF BLISS 1831

I held her hand, the pledge of bliss,

Her hand that trembled and withdrew; She bent her head before my kissMy heart was sure that hers was true. 5 Now I have told her I must part,

She shakes my hand, she bids adieu, Nor shuns the kiss-Alas, my heart! Hers never was the heart for you.

ABSENCE 1831

Ianthe! you are call'd to cross the sea:1 A path forbidden me!

Remember, while the Sun his blessing sheds Upon the mountain-heads,

5 How often we have watch'd him laying down

His brow, and dropp'd our own Against each other's, and how faint and short

1 In 1815, a short time after her marriage with M. de Molandé, Sophia Jane Swift. the Ianthe of these poems, went to live in Paris.

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Ianthe! nor will rest

But on the very thought that swells with pain.

O bid me hope again!

O give me back what Earth, what (without you)

Not Heaven itself can do,

15 One of the golden days that we have past; And let it be my last!

Or else the gift would be, however sweet,
Fragile and incomplete.

FLOW, PRECIOUS TEARS! THUS SHALL MY
RIVAL KNOW
1806

Flow, precious tears! thus shall my rival
know

For me, not him, ye flow.

Stay, precious tears! ah, stay! this jealous heart

Would bid you flow apart,

5 Lest he should see you rising o'er the brim, And hope you rise for him.

Your secret cells, while he is absent, keep,
Nor, tho' I'm absent, weep.

MILD IS THE PARTING YEAR, AND SWEET

1831

Mild is the parting year, and sweet
The odor of the falling spray;
Life passes on more rudely fleet,

And balmless is its closing day.

5 I wait its close, I court its gloom,
But mourn that never must there fall
Or on my breast or on my tomb
The tear that would have sooth'd it all.

PAST RUIN'D ILION HELEN LIVES
1831

Past ruin'd Ilion Helen lives,

Alcestis rises from the shades;
Verse calls them forth; 'tis verse that gives
Immortal youth to mortal maids.

5 Soon shall Oblivion's deepening veil
Hide all the peopled hills you see,
The gay, the proud, while lovers hail
These many summers you and me.

HERE EVER SINCE YOU WENT ABROAD
1846

Here, ever since you went abroad,
If there be change, no change I see,
I only walk our wonted road,
The road is only walk'd by me.

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