Or hollowing one hand against his ear, 110 To list a foot-fall, ere he saw The wood-nymph, stay'd the Ausonian king to hear Of wisdom and of law. Or over hills with peaky tops engrail'd, And many a tract of palm and rice, The throne of Indian Cama slowly sail'd A summer fann'd with spice. Or sweet Europa's mantle blew unclasp'd, From off her shoulder backward borne ; From one hand droop'd a crocus; one hand grasp'd The mild bull's golden horn. 120 Or else flush'd Ganymede, his rosy thigh great bells Began to chime. throne; She took her To mimic heaven; and clapt her hands and cried, She sat betwixt the shining oriels, To sing her songs alone. 160 And thro' the topmost oriels' colored flame Two godlike faces gazed below; Plato the wise, and large-brow'd Verulam, The first of those who know. And all those names that in their motion were Full-welling change, fountain-heads of O Godlike isolation which art mine, I can but count thee perfect gain, Betwixt the slender shafts were bla- What time I watch the darkening zon'd fair droves of swine In diverse raiment strange; That range on yonder plain. 200 You thought to break a country hear Lady Clara Vere de Vere, I know you proud to bear your name, Your pride is yet no mate for mine, Too proud to care from whence came. Nor would I break for your sweet sak A heart that dotes on truer charms. A simple maiden in her flower Is worth a hundred coats-of-arms. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, Some meeker pupil you must find, For, were you queen of all that is, I could not stoop to such a mind. You sought to prove how I could love, And my disdain is my reply. The lion on your old stone gates Is not more cold to you than I. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, You put strange memories in my head. Not thrice your branching limes have blown Since I beheld young Laurence dead. O, your sweet eyes, your low replies! A great enchantress you may be; But there was that across his throat Which you had hardly cared to see. Lady Clara Vere de Vere, When thus he met his mother's view, She had the passions of her kind, She spake some certain truths of you. Indeed I heard one bitter word That scarce is fit for you to hear; Her manners had not that repose Which stamps the caste of Vere de Vere. |