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 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

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 rage
Had force to make me rhyme in youth,

And makes me talk too much in age.

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 cicala sleeps. The purple flowers droop: 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! O 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 downdropt eyes

I sat alone white-breasted like a star Fronting the dawn he moved; a leopard 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 foambow 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

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."

'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

Ranged in the halls of Peleus; whereupon 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, Herè 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, unheard

Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods."

'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'.