'Dear mother Ida, harken 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

deep hair

moved.

'Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. She with a subtle smile in her mild eyes, The herald of her triumph, drawing nigh | Half-whisper'd in his ear, "I promise thee

The fairest and most loving wife in Greece,"

She spoke and laugh'd: I shut my sight for fear:

But when I look'd, Paris had raised his arm,

And I beheld great Herè's angry eyes, As she withdrew into the golden cloud, And I was left alone within the bower; And from that time to this I am alone, And I shall be alone until I die.

'Yet, mother Ida, harken ere I die. Fairest-why fairest wife? am I not fair? My love hath told me so a thousand times.

Methinks I must be fair, for yesterday, When I past by, a wild and wanton pard, | Eyed like the evening star, with playful tail

Crouch'd fawning in the weed. Most loving is she?

Seal'd it with kisses? water'd it with tears?

O happy tears, and how unlike to these! O happy Heaven, how canst thou see my face?

O happy earth, how canst thou bear my weight?

O death, death, death, thou ever-floating cloud,

There are enough unhappy on this earth, Pass by the happy souls, that love to live: I pray thee, pass before my light of life, And shadow all my soul, that I may die. Thou weighest heavy on the heart within, Weigh heavy on my eyelids : let me die.

'O mother, hear me yet before I die. I will not die alone, for fiery thoughts Do shape themselves within me, more and more,

Whereof I catch the issue, as I hear Dead sounds at night come from the inmost hills,

Like footsteps upon wool. I dimly see My far-off doubtful purpose, as a mother Conjectures of the features of her child Ere it is born: her child!-a shudder comes Across me never child be born of me, Unblest, to vex me with his father's eyes!

'O mother, hear me yet before I die. Hear me, O earth. I will not die alone, Lest their shrill happy laughter come to

me

Walking the cold and starless road of Death

Uncomforted, leaving my ancient love With the Greek woman. I will rise and

go

Down into Troy, and ere the stars come forth

Talk with the wild Cassandra, for she says A fire dances before her, and a sound Rings ever in her ears of armed men. What this may be I know not, but I know

That, wheresoe'er I am by night and day,

stone?

fire.'

To win his love I lay in wait :

O the Earl was fair to see!

I made a feast; I bade him come;
I won his love, I brought him home.

The wind is roaring in turret and tree.
And after supper, on a bed,
Upon my lap he laid his head:
O the Earl was fair to see!

I kiss'd his eyelids into rest :
His ruddy cheek upon my breast.

The wind is raging in turret and tree.
I hated him with the hate of hell,
But I loved his beauty passing well.
O the Earl was fair to see!

I rose up in the silent night:
I made my dagger sharp and bright.
The wind is raving in turret and tree.
As half-asleep his breath he drew,
Three times I stabb'd him thro' and thro'.
O the Earl was fair to see !

I curl'd and comb'd his comely head,
He look'd so grand when he was dead.
The wind is blowing in turret and tree.
I wrapt his body in the sheet,
And laid him at his mother's feet.
O the Earl was fair to see!

ΤΟ

WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM.

I SEND you here a sort of allegory, (For you will understand it) of a soul,

I chose. The ranged ramparts bright From level meadow-bases of deep grass Suddenly scaled the light.

Thereon I built it firm. Of ledge or shelf

The rock rose clear, or winding stair. My soul would live alone unto herself

In her high palace there.

And while the world runs round and round,' I said,

" 'Reign thou apart, a quiet king, Still as, while Saturn whirls, his stedfast shade

Sleeps on his luminous ring.'

Of cloisters, branch'd like mighty woods, Echoing all night to that sonorous flow Of spouted fountain-floods.

And round the roofs a gilded gallery

That lent broad verge to distant lands, Far as the wild swan wings, to where the sky

Dipt down to sea and sands.

From those four jets four currents in one swell

Across the mountain stream❜d below In misty folds, that floating as they fell Lit up a torrent-bow.

And high on every peak a statue seem'd

To hang on tiptoe, tossing up

A cloud of incense of all odour steam'd From out a golden cup.

By herds upon an endless plain, The ragged rims of thunder brooding low,

With shadow-streaks of rain.

mild;

And there the world-worn Dante grasp'd his song,

And somewhat grimly smiled.

And there the Ionian father of the rest;
A million wrinkles carved his skin;
A hundred winters snow'd upon his breast,
From cheek and throat and chin.
Above, the fair hall-ceiling stately-set
Many an arch high up did lift,
And angels rising and descending met
With interchange of gift.

Below was all mosaic choicely plann'd
With cycles of the human tale
Of this wide world, the times of every land
So wrought, they will not fail.

The people here, a beast of burden slow,
Toil'd onward, prick'd with goads and
stings;
Here play'd, a tiger, rolling to and fro
The heads and crowns of kings;

Here rose, an athlete, strong to break or bind

All force in bonds that might endure, And here once more like some sick man declined,

And trusted any cure.