And "Ah," she sang, "to be all alone,

To live forgotten, and love for-
lorn."

Till all the crimson changed, and past
Into deep orange o'er the sea,
Low on her knees herself she cast,
Before Our Lady murmur'd she;
Complaining, Mother, give me grace
To help me of my weary load."
And on the liquid mirror glow'd
The clear perfection of her face.

"Is this the form," she made her
moan,
"That won his praises night and
morn?"

And "Ah," she said, "but I

wake alone,

I sleep forgotten, I wake forlorn." Nor bird would sing, nor lamb would bleat,

Nor any cloud would cross the vault, But day increased from heat to heat, On stony drought and steaming salt; Till now at noon she slept again, And seem'd knee-deep in mountain grass,

And heard her native breezes pass, And runlets babbling down the glen. She breathed in sleep a lower moan,

And murmuring, as at night and morn,

She thought, "My spirit is here alone,

Walks forgotten, and is forlorn." Dreaming, she knew it was a dream: She felt he was and was not there. She woke the babble of the stream Fell, and, without, the steady glare Shrank one sick willow sere and small. The river-bed was dusty-white; And all the furnace of the light Struck up against the blinding wall. She whisper'd, with a stifled moan More inward than at night or

morn,

"Sweet Mother, let me not here alone

Live forgotten and die forlorn." And, rising, from her bosom drew Old letters, breathing of her worth, For Love," they said, "must needs be true,

To what is loveliest upon earth." An image seem'd to pass the door, To look at her with slight, and say, "But now thy beauty flows away, So be alone for evermore."

"O eruel heart," she changed her tone,

"And cruel love, whose end is
scorn,

Is this the end to be left alone,
To live forgotten, and die for-
lorn!"

But sometimes in the falling day
An image seem'd to pass the door,
To look into her eyes and say,

..

But thou shalt be alone no more." And flaming downward over all

From heat to heat the day decreased, And slowly rounded to the east The one black shadow from the wall. "The day to-night," she made her

moan,

"The day to-night, the night to

morn,

And day and night I am left alone To live forgotten, and love forlorn."

At ove a dry cicala sung,

There came a sound as of the sea; Backward the lattice-blind she flung, And lean'd upon the balcony. There all in spaces rosy-bright Large Hesper glitter'd on her tears, And deepening thro' the silent spheres,

Heaven over Heaven rose the night. And weeping then she made her moan,

"The night comes on that knows not morn,

When I shall cease to be all alone, To live forgotten, and love forlorn."

ELEANORE.

I.

THY dark eyes open'd not,

Nor first reveal'd themselves to English air,

For there is nothing here, Which, from the outward to the inward brought,

Moulded thy baby thought.

Far off from human neighborhood,

Thou wert born, on a summer morn, A mile beneath the cedar-wood. Thy bounteous forehead was not fann'd With breezes from our oaken glades, But thou wert nursed in some delicious land

Of lavish lights, and floating shades: And flattering thy childish thought The oriental fairy brought.

At the moment of thy birth, From old well-heads of haunted rills, And the hearts of purple hills,

And shadow'd coves on a sunny shore,

The choicest wealth of all the
earth,

Jewel or shell, or starry ore,
To deck thy cradle, Elelincre.

II.

Or the yellow-banded bees,
Thro' half-open lattices
Coming in the scented breeze,

Fed thee, a child, lying alone, With whitest honey in fairy gardens cull'd

A glorious child, dreaming alone,
In silk-soft folds, upon yielding
down,

With the hum of swarming bees
Into dreamful slumber lull'd.

III.

Who may minister to thee?
Summer herself should minister

To thee, with fruitage golden-
rinded

On golden salvers, or it may be, Youngest Autumn, in a bower Grape-thicken'd from the light, and blinded

With many a deep-hued bell-like flower

Of fragrant trailers, when the air
Sleepeth over all the heaven.

And the crag that fronts the Even, All along the shadowy shore, Crimsons over an inland inere, Eleänore !

I stand before thee, Elinore;

I see thy beauty gradually unfold, Daily and hourly, more and more. I muse, as in a trance, the while

Slowly, as from a cloud of gold Comes out thy deep ambrosial smile. I muse, as in a trance, whene'er

The languors of the love-deep eyes Float on to me. I would I were So tranced, so rapt in estasies, To stand apart, and to adore, Gazing on thee for evermore, Serene, imperial Elenore!

In thee all passion becomes passionless, Touch'd by thy spirit's mellowness,

In a silent meditation,

Falling into a still delight,

And luxury of contemplation: As waves that up a quiet cove

Rolling slide, and lying still

Shadow forth the banks at will: Or sometimes they swell and move, Pressing up against the land, With motions of the outer sea: And the self-same influence Controlleth all the soul and sense Of Passion gazing upon thee. His bow-string slacken'd, languid Love, Leaning his cheek upon his hand, Droops both his wings, regarding thee, And so would languish evermore, Serene, imperial Eleanore.

VIII.

But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined,

While the amorous, odorous wind

Breathes low between the sunset
and the moon

Or, in a shadowy saloon,
On silken cushions half reclined;

I watch thy grace; and in its place
My heart a charmed slumber keeps,
While I muse upon thy face;
I
And a languid fire creeps

Thro' my veins to all my frame, Dissolvingly and slowly soon

From thy rose-red lips My name
Floweth and then, as in a swoon,
With dinning sound my ears are rife,
My tremulous tongue faltereth,
I lose my color, I lose my breath,
I drink the cup of a costly death,
Brimm'd with delirious draughts of
warmest life.

I die with my delight, before
I hear what I would hear from thee;
Yet tell my name again to me,
I would be dying evermore,
So dying ever, Eleänore.

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 dryly 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 With summer lightnings of a soul

So full of suminer 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
pain.

Would God renew me from my birth
I'd almost live my life again.
So sweet it seems with thee to walk,
And once again to woo thee mine-
It seems in after-dinner talk

Across the walnuts and the wineTo 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 dream

Still hither thither idly sway'd

Like those long mosses in the stream. Or from the bridge I leaned to hear The milldam rushing down with noise,

And see the minnows everywhere

In crystal eddies glance and poise, The tall flag-flowers when they sprung Below the range of stepping stones, Or those three chestnuts near, that hung

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
Were glistening to the breezy blue;
And on the slope, an absent fool,
I cast me down, nor thought of you,
But angled in the higher pool."
A love-song I had somewhere read,
An echo from a measured strain,
Beat time to nothing in my head
From some odd corner of the brain.
It haunted me, the morning long,
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 aie;
They past into the level flood,
And there a vision caught my eye;
The reflex of a beauteous form,
A glowing arm, a gleaming neck,
As when a sunbeam wavers warm
Within the dark and dimpled beck.

For you remember, you had set,

That morning, on the casement-edge A long green box of mignonette,

And you were leaning from the ledge: And when I raised my eyes, above

They met with two so full and bright— Such eyes! I swear to you, my love, That these have never lost their light.

I loved, and love dispell'd the fear
That I should die an early death:
For love possess'd the atmosphere,
And fill'd the breast with purer breath.
My mother thought, What ails the boy?
For I was altered and began
To move about the house with joy,

And with the certain step of man.

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 Inisty with the floating meal. And oft in ramblings on the wold,

When April nights began to blow, And April's crescent glimmer'd cold, I saw the village lights below; I knew your taper far away,

And full at heart of trembling hope, From off the wold I came, and lay Upon the freshly-flower'd slope. The deep brook groan'd beneath the mill;

And by that lamp," I thought, "she sits!"

The white chalk-quarry from the hill Gleam'd to the flying moon by fits. "O that I were beside her now!

O, will she answer if I call? O, would she give me vow for vow, Sweet Alice, if I told her all?" Sometimes I saw you sit and spin; And, in the pauses of the wind, Sometimes I heard you sing within; Sometimes your shadow cross'd the blind.

At last you rose and moved the light, And the long shadow of the chair Flitted across into the night,

And all the casement darken'd there. But when at last I dared to speak,

The lanes, you know, were white with May,

Your ripe lips moved not, but your

che k

Flush'd like the coming of the day; And so it was-half-sly, half-shy.

You would and would not, little one! Although I pleaded tenderly,

And you and I were all alone. And slowly was my mother brought To yield consent to my desire: She wish'd me happy, but she thought I might have look'd a little higher And I was young-too young to wed:

"Yet must I love her for your sake; Go fetch your Alice here," she said: Her eyelid quiver'd as she spake. And down I went to fetch my bride : But, Alice, you were ill at ease; This dress and that by turns you tried, Too fearful that you should not please.

I loved you better for your fears,

I knew you could not look but well; And dews, that would have fall'n in tears,

I kiss'd away before they fell.

I watch'd the little flutterings,
The doubt my mother would not see;
She spoke at large of many things,

And at the last she spoke of me;
And turning look'd upon your face,
As near this door you sat apart,
And rose, and, with a silent grace
Approaching, press'd you heart to
heart.

Ah, well-but sing the foolish song
I gave you, Alice, on the day
When, arm in arm, we went along,

A pensive pair, and you were gay With bridal flowers-that I may seem,

As in the nights of old, to lie Beside the mill-wheel in the stream. While those full chestnuts whisper by.

It is the miller's daughter,

And she is grown so dear, so dear. That I would be the jewel

That trembles at 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-
True love interprets-right alone.
His light upon the letter dwells,

For all the spirit is his own.
So if I waste words now, in truth

You must blame Love. His early rago Had force to make me rhyme in youth And makes me talk too much in age. And now those vivid hours are gone, Like my own life to me thou art, Where 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 chesnut shade I found the blue Forget-me-not.

Love that hath us in the net
Can he pass, and we forget?
Many suns arise and set.
Many a chance the years beget.
Love the gift is Love the debt.
Ever so.

Love is hurt with jar and fret.
Love is made a vague regret.
Eyes with idle tears are wet.
Idle habit links us yet.
What is love? for we forget:
Ah, no! no!

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 forever 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 that brought us pain, That loss but made us love the more.

With farther lookings on. The kiss, The woven arms, seem but to be Weak symbols of the settled bliss, 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 val 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.

O LOVE, Love, Love! O withering 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.

swoon,

Faints like a dazzled morning moon. The wind sounds like a silver wire, And from beyond the noou 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.