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's 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 alter'd, 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 misty 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
[sits!"
And "by that lamp," I thought, "she
The white chalk-quarry from the hill
Gleam'd to the flying moon by fits.
"O that I were beside her now!

mill:

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,
[cheek
Your ripe lips moved not, but your
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 spellsTrue 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. And now those vivid hours are gone,

Like mine 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 chestnut 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.

Even 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, [entwine; Round my true heart thine arms 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, The kiss,

With farther lookings on.

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,

For look, the sunset, south and north, To yon old mill across the wolds;

Winds all the vale 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

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.

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, hearken 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, hearken 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, hearken 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 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

Naked they came to that smoothswarded 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 awild festoon
Ran riot,garlanding the gnarled boughs
With bunch and berry and flower thro'
and thro'.

"O mother Ida, hearken 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, overthrowing revenue Wherewith to embellish state, from many a vale

And river-sunder'd champaign clothed

with corn,

Or labor'd mines undrainable of ore. Honor,' 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.'

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 kingborn,

Should come most welcome, seeing men, in power

Only, are likest gods,who have attain'd Rest in a happy place and quiet seats Above the thunder, with undying bliss In knowledge of their own supremacy.'

"Dear mother Ida,hearken 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

Kept watch, waiting decision, made reply.

"Self- reverence, self-knowledge, self-control,

These three alone lead life to sovereign power,

Yet not for power (power of herself Would come uncall'd for), but to live by law,

Acting the law we live by without fear; And, because right is right, to follow right

Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.'

"Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Again she said: 'I woo thee not with gifts.

Sequel of guerdon could not alter me To fairer. Judge thou me by what I

am,

So shalt thou find me fairest.