When thou and I, Camilla, thou and I Were borne about the bay or safely moor'd Beneath a low-brow'd cavern, where the tide Plash'd, sapping its worn ribs; and all without The slowly ridging rollers on the cliffs Clash'd, calling to each other, and thro' the arch Down those loud waters, like a setting star, Mixt with the gorgeous west the lighthouse shone, And silver-smiling Venus ere she fell Here, too, my love Waver'd at anchor with me, when day hung From his mid-dome in Heaven's airy halls; Gleams of the water-circles, as they broke, Flicker'd like doubtful smiles about her lips, Quiver'd a flying glory on her hair, Leapt like a passing thought across her eyes; And mine with one that will not pass, til earth And heaven pass too, dwelt on my heaven, a face Most starry-fair, but kindled from within As 'twere with dawn. She was darkhaired, dark-eyed: Oh, such dark eyes! a single glance of them Will govern a whole life from birth to death, Careless of all things else, led on with light And farther back, and still withdraw themselves Quite into the deep soul, that evermore Iresh springing from her fountains in the brain, Still pouring thro', floods with redundant life Didst swathe thyself all round Hope's quiet urn Forever? He, that saith it, hath o'erstept To which my spirit leaneth all her flowers, For Time and Grief abode too long with And, like all other friends i' the world, at last They grew aweary of her fellowship: But thou didst sit alone in the inner house, So Death gave back, and would no further come. Yet is my life nor in the present time, Into the granaries of memory The clear brow, bulwark of the precious brain, Chink'd as you scc, and scam'd—and all the while The light soul twines and mingles with the growths Of vigorous carly days, attracted, won, Who toils across the middle moon-lit nights, Or when the white heats of the blinding noons Beat from the concave sand; yet in him keeps A draught of that sweet fountain that ho loves, To stay his feet from falling, and his spirit From bitterness of death. Ye ask me, friends, When I began to love. How should I tell you? Or from the after-fullness of my heart, Flow back again unto my slender spring And first of love, tho' every turn and depth Between is clearer in my life than all Its present flow. Ye know not what ye ask. How should the broad and open flower tell What sort of bud it was, when, prest together In its green sheath, close-lapt in silken foids, It seem'd to keep its sweetness to itself, For young Life knows not when young But takes it all for granted: neither Love, Love in the womb, but resteth satisfied, Or as men know not when they fall asleep Grew with myself-say rather, was my My inward sap, the hold I have on earth, Which yet upholds my life, and evermore For how should I have lived and not have (O falsehood of all starcraft!), we were born. How like each other was the birth of each! Loathing to put it from herself forever, And breathless body of her good deeds So we were born, so orphan'd. She was And I without a father. So from each Our childhood, one had fallen away, and The careful burden of our tender years Can ye take off the sweetness from the Her life, to me delightedly fulfill'd The color and the sweetness from the rose, And place them by themselves; or set apart Their motions and their brightness from And then point out the flower or the star? Many, many years So unproportion'd to the dwelling-place), Apart, a.one together on those hills. Before he saw my day my father died, once. As Love and I do number equal years, Under the selfsame nenent of the toma All loving-kindnesses, all offices Ile waked for both he pray'd for both: Dreaming of both nor was his love the less Because it was divided, and shot forth Wherein we nested sleeping or awake, She was my foster-sister: on one arm Pillow'd us both: a comnion light of eyes One sustenance, which, still as thought Still larger inoulding all the house of thought. Made all our tastes and fancics like, perhaps All-all but one; and strange to me, and sweet. Sweet thro' strange years to know that Our general mother meant for me alone, mains, As was our childhood, so our infancy, They tell me, was a very miracle Of fellow-feeling and communion. They tell me that we would not be aloneWe cried when we were parted; when I wept, Her smile lit up the rainbow on my tears, Staid on the cloud of sorrow; that we loved The sound of one another's voices more Than the gray cuckoo loves his name, and learnt To lisp in tune together; that we slept Folding each other, breathing on cach other, Dreaming together (dreaming of cach other They should have added), till the morning light Sloped thro' the pines, upon the dewy pane Falling, unseal'd our eyelids, and we woke To gaze upon each other. If this be true, At thought of which my whole soul languishes And faints, and hath no pulse, no broath -as tho' A man in some still garden should infuse Of this our carliest, our closest-drawn, Most love.iest, carthly-heavenliest harmony? O blossom'd portal of the lonely house, Green prelude, April promise, glad newyear Of Being, which with carliest violets These have not seen thee, these can never know thee, They cannot understand mc. then Tass we Is traced with flame. Move with me t the event. There came a glorious morning, such a one As dawns but once a season. Mercury On such a morning would have flung himself From cloud to cloud, and swum with bal anced wings To some tall mountain: when I said to her, "A day for Gods to stoop," she answered, "Ay, And men to soar: for as that other gazed, Shading his eyes till all the fiery cloud, The prophet and the chariot and the steeds, Suck'd into oneness like a little star Were drunk into the inmost blue, wo stood, When first we came from out the pines at noon, With hands for caves, uplooking and almost Waiting to see some blessed shape in heaven, So bathed we were in brilliance. Never yet Before or after have I known the spring Pour with such sudden deluges of light Into the middle summer; for that day Love, rising, shook his wings, and charged the winds With spiced May-sweets from bound to bound, and blew Fresh fire into the sun, and from within Burst thro' the heated buds, and sent his sonl Into the songs of birds, and touch'd far-off His mountain-altars, his high hills, with flame Milder and purer. Thro' the rocks we wound: The great pine shook with lonely sounds of joy That came on the sea-wind. As mcuntain streams. Our bloods ran free: the sunshine sceni.l to brood More warmly on the heart than on the brow. We often paused, and, looking back, we saw The clefts and openings in the mountains fill'd With the blue valley and the glistening brooks, And all the low dark groves, a land of love! Still growing holier as you near'd the bay, When we had reach'd The grassy platform on some hill, I stoop'd, I gather'd the wild herbs, and for her brows And mine made garlands of the selfsame flower, Which she took smiling, and with my work thus Crown'd her clear forchead. Once or twice she told me (For I remember all things) to let grow The flowers that run poison in their veins. She said, "The evil flourish in the world," Then playfully she gave herself the lie"Nothing in nature is unbeautiful; So, brother, pluck, and spare not." So I Wove Ev'n the dull-blooded poppy-stem, "whose flower, Hued with the scarlet of a fierce sunrise, Like to the wild youth of an evil prince, Is without sweetness, but who crowns him. self Above the secret poisons of his heart In his old age." A graceful thought of hers Grav'n on my fancy! And oh, how like a nymph, A stately mountain nymph, she look'd! how native Unto the hills she trod on! While I gazed, My spirit leap'd as with those thrills of bliss That strike across the soul in prayer, and show us That we are surely heard. Methought a light Burst from the garland I had wov'n, and stood A solid glory on her bright black hair; dark eyes, And shot itself into the singing winds; A mystic light flash'd ev'n from her white robe As from a glass in the sun, and fell about My footsteps on the mountains. Last we came To what our people call “The Hill of Woe.' A bridge is there, that, look'd at from beneath, Seems but a cobweb filament to link The yawning of an earthquake-cloven chasm. And thence one night, when all the winds were loud, A woful man (for so the story went) Had thrust his wife and child and dash'd himself Into the dizzy depth below. Below, Fierce in the strength of far descent, a stream Flies with a shatter'd foam along the chasm. The path was perilous, loosely strewn with crags: We mounted slowly; yet to both there came | The joy of life in steepness overcome, And victories of ascent, and looking down On all that had look'd down on us; and joy In breathing nearer heaven; and joy to me, High over all the azure-circled earth, Burst into open prospect-heath and hill, Gilded with broom, or shatter'd into spires, And glory of broad waters interfused, Whence rose as it were breath and steam of gold, And over all the great wood rioting And climbing, streak'd or starr'd at intervals With falling brook or blossom'd bushand last, Framing the mighty landscape to the west, A purple range of mountain-cones, bc tween Whose interspaces gush'd in blinding bursts The incorporate blaze of sun and sea. At length Descending from the point and standing both, There on the tremulous bridge, that from bencath Had seem'd a gossamer filament up in air, We paused amid the splendor. All tho west And e'en unto the middle south was ribb`d And barr'd with bloom on bloom. Tho sun below, Held for a space 'wixt cloud and wave, shower'd down Rays of a mighty circle, weaving over That various wilderness a tissue of light Unparallel'd. On the other side, the moon, Half melted into thin blue air, stood still, And pale and fibrous as a wither'd leaf, Nor yet endured in presence of His eyes To induc his lustre; most unlover-like, Since in his absence full of light and joy, And giving light to others. But this most, Next to her presence whom I loved so well, Spoke loudly even into my inmost heart As to my outward hearing: the loud stream, Forth issuing from his portals in the crag (A visible link unto the home of my heart), Ran amber toward the west, and nigh the sea Parting my own loved mountains was re ceived, Shorn of its strength, into the sympathy Of that small bay, which out to open main Glow'd intermingling close beneath t..c sun. Spirit of Love! that little hour was bound Shut in from Time, and dedicate to | Scarce housed within the circle of this thee: Thy fires from heaven had touch'd it, and the earth They fell on became hallow'd evermore. We turn'd: our eyes met: hers were bright, and mine Were dim with floating tears, that shot the sunset In lightnings round me; and my name was borne Upon her breath. Henceforth my name has been A hallow'd memory like the names of old, Waver'd and floated-which was less than Because it lack'd the power of perfect Hope; But which was more and higher than all Hope,. Because all other Hope had lower aim; Even that this name to which her gracious lips Did lend such gentle utterance, this one name, In some obscure hereafter, might inwreathe (How lovelier, nobler then!) her life, her love, With my life, love, soul, spirit, and heart and strength. "Brother," she said, "let this be call'd henceforth The Hill of Hope;" and I replied, "O sister, My will is one with thine; the Hill of Hope." Nevertheless, we did not change the name. I did not speak; I could not speak my love. Love lieth deep: Love dwells not in lipdepths. Love wraps his wings on either side the heart, Constraining it with kisses close and warm, Absorbing all the incense of sweet thoughts So that they pass not to the shrine of sound. Else had the life of that delighted hour Drunk in the largeness of the utterance Of Love; but how should Earthly measure mete The Heavenly-unmeasured or unlimited Love, Who scarce can tune his high majestic sense Unto the thunder-song that wheels the spheres. Scarce living in the Eolian harmony, Earth, Be cabin'd up in words and syllables, Which pass with that which breathes them? Sooner Earth Might go round Heaven, and the strait girth of Time Inswathe the fullness of Eternity, O day which did enwomb that happy hour, Thou art blessed in the years, divinest day! O Genius of that hour which dost uphold Thy name is ever worshipp'd among hours! Had I died then, I had not seem'd to die, For bliss stood round me like the light of Heaven Had I died then, I had not known the death; Yea had the Power from whose right hand the light Of Life issueth, and from whose left hand floweth The Shadow of Death, perennial effluences, Whereof to all that draw the wholesome air Somewhile the one must overflow the other; Then had he stemm'd my day with night, and driven My current to the fountain whence it sprang, Even his own abiding excellenceOn me, methinks, that shock of gloom had fall'n Unfelt, and in this glory I had merged The other, like the sun I gazed upon,' Which seeming for the moment due to death, And dipping his head low beneath the verge, Yet bearing round about him his own day, In confidence of unabated strength, Steppeth from Heaven to Heaven, from light to light, And holdeth his undimmed forehead far Into a clearer zenith, pure of cloud. We trod the shadow of the downward hill; We past from light to dark. On the other side Is scoop'd a cavern and a mountain hall, Which none have fathom'd. If you go far in (The country people rumor) you may hear The moaning of the woman and the child, Shut in the secret chambers of the rock. I too have heard a sound-perchance of streams |