A mile beneath the cedar-wood. Thy bounteous forehead was not fann'd

With breezes from our oaken glades,

But thou wert nursed in some delicious land

Of lavish lights, and floating
shades:

And flattering thy childish thought
The oriental fairy brought,

At the moment of thy birth,

From old well-heads of haunted rills, And the hearts of purple hills,

And shadow'd coves on a sunny shore,

The choicest wealth of all the

earth,

Jewel or shell, or starry ore,

To deck thy cradle, Eleänore.

II.

Or the yellow-banded bees,
Thro' half-open lattices
Coming in the scented breeze,

Fed thee, a child, lying alone,
With whitest honey in fairy gar-
dens cull'd-

A glorious child, dreaming alone,
In silk-soft folds, upon yielding
down,

With the hum of swarming bees
Into dreamful slumber lull'd.

III.

Who may minister to thee?
Summer herself should minister
To thee, with fruitage golden-rinded
On golden salvers, or it may be,
Youngest Autumn, in a bower
Grape-thicken'd from the light, and

blinded

With many a deep-hued bell-like
flower

Of fragrant trailers, when the air
Sleepeth over all the heaven,
And the crag that fronts the Even,
All along the shadowing shore,
Crimsons over an inland mere,
Eleänore!

IV.

How many full-sail'd verse express,
How many measured words adore
The full-flowing harmony
Of thy swan-like stateliness,
Eleänore?

The luxuriant symmetry
Of thy floating gracefulness,
Eleänore?

Every turn and glance of thine,
Every lineament divine,
Eleänore,

And the steady sunset glow,
That stays upon thee? For in thee
Is nothing sudden, nothing single;
Like two streams of incense free
From one censer in one shrine,
Thought and motion mingle,
Mingle ever. Motions flow
To one another, even as tho'
They were modulated so

To an unheard melody,

Which lives about thee, and a sweep Of richest pauses, evermore Drawn from each other mellow-deep; Who may express thee, Eleänore?

V.

I stand before thee, Eleänore;

I see thy beauty gradually unfold, Daily and hourly, more and more. I muse, as in a trance, the while

Slowly, as from a cloud of gold, Comes out thy deep ambrosial smile. I muse, as in a trance, whene'er

The languors of thy love-deep eyes Float on to me. I would I were

So tranced, so rapt in ecstasies, To stand apart, and to adore, Gazing on thee forevermore, Serene, imperial Eleänore!

VI.

Sometimes, with most intensity
Gazing, I seem to see

Thought folded over thought, smiling asleep,

Slowly awaken'd, grow so full and deep In thy large eyes, that, overpower'd

quite,

Touch'd by thy spirit's mellowness,
Losing his fire and active might

In a silent meditation,

Falling into a still delight,

And luxury of contemplation: As waves that up a quiet cove Rolling slide, and lying still

Shadow forth the banks at will: Or sometimes they swell and move, Pressing up against the land, With motions of the outer sea:

And the self-same influence
Controlleth all the soul and sense
Of Passion gazing upon thee.
His bow-string slacken'd, languid Love,
Leaning his cheek upon his hand,
Droops both his wings, regarding
thee,

And so would languish evermore,
Serene, imperial Eleänore.

VIII.

But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined,

While the amorous, odorous wind Breathes low between the sunset

and the moon;

Or, in a shadowy saloon, On silken cushions half reclined;

I watch thy grace; and in its

place

My heart a charm'd slumber keeps,

While I muse upon thy face; And a languid fire creeps

Thro' my veins to all my frame, Dissolvingly and slowly soon

From thy rose-red lips мY name Floweth; and then, as in a swoon, With dinning sound my ears are rife,

My tremulous tongue faltereth, I lose my color, I lose my breath, I drink the cup of a costly death, Brimm'd with delirious draughts of warmest life.

I die with my delight, before

I hear what I would hear from thee;

Yet tell my name again to me, I would be dying evermore, So dying ever, Eleänore.

CARESS'D or chidden by the .slender hand,

And singing airy trifles this or that, Light Hope at Beauty's call would perch and stand,

And run thro' every change of sharp and flat;

And Fancy came and at her pillow sat, When Sleep had bound her in his rosy band,

And chased away the still-recurring gnat,

And woke her with a lay from fairy land.

But now they live with Beauty less and less,

For Hope is other Hope and wanders far,

Nor cares to lisp in love's delicious creeds;

And Fancy watches in the wilderness, Poor Fancy sadder than a single star,

That sets at twilight in a land of reeds.