With a murmurous stir uncertain, in the air the purple curtain Swelleth in and swelleth out around her motionless pale brows, While the gliding of the river sends a rippling noise for ever Through the open casement whitened by the moonlight's slant repose. Said he "Vision of a lady! stand there silent, stand there steady! Now I see it plainly, plainly, now I cannot hope or doubt There, the brows of mild repression-there, the lips of silent passion, Curved like an archer's bow to send the bitter arrows out." Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling, And approached him slowly, slowly, in a gliding measured pace; With her two white hands extended as if praying one offended, And a look of supplication gazing earnest in his face. Said he "Wake me by no gesture,-sound of breath, or stir of vesture ! Let the blessed apparition melt not yet to its divine ! No approaching—hush, no breathing! or my heart must swoon to death in The too utter life thou bringest, O thou dream of Geraldine!" Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling, But the tears ran over lightly from her eyes and ten derly : "Dost thou, Bertram, truly love me? Is no woman far above me Found more worthy of thy poet-heart than such a one as I?" Said he "I would dream so ever, like the flowing of that river, Flowing ever in a shadow greenly onward to the sea! pleteness Would my heart and life flow onward, deathward, through this dream of THEE!" Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling, While the silver tears ran faster down the blushing of her cheeks; Then with both her hands enfolding both of his, she softly told him, Softened, quickened to adore her, on his knee he fell before her, And she whispered low in triumph, "It shall be as I have sworn. Very rich he is in virtues, very noble-noble, certes ; And I shall not blush in knowing that men call him lowly born." LORD WALTER'S WIFE. “BUT why do you go?” said the lady, while both sat under the yew, And her eyes were alive in their depth, as the kraken beneath the sea-blue. "Because I fear you," he answered ;-" because you are far too fair, And able to strangle my soul in a mesh of your goldcoloured hair." "Oh, that," she said, "is no reason! Such knots are quickly undone, And too much beauty, I reckon, is nothing but too much sun." "Yet farewell so," he answered ;-" the sun-stroke's fatal at times. I value your husband, Lord Walter, whose gallop rings still from the limes." "Oh, that," she said, "is no reason. You smell a rose through a fence : If two should smell it, what matters? who grumbles, and where's the pretence ?" "But I," he replied, "have promised another, when love was free, To love her alone, alone, who alone and afar loves me." "Why, that," she said, "is no reason. Love's always free, I am told. Will you vow to be safe from the headache on Tuesday, and think it will hold?" "But you," he replied, "have a daughter, a young little child, who was laid In your lap to be pure; so, I leave you: the angels would make me afraid." "Oh, that," she said, "is no reason. The angels keep out of the way; And Dora, the child, observes nothing, although you should please me and stay.” At which he rose up in his anger,-" Why, now, you no longer are fair! Why, now, you no longer are fatal, but ugly and hateful, I swear." At which she laughed out in her scorn.- "These men ! Oh, these men over-nice, Who are shocked if a colour, not virtuous, is frankly put on by a vice." Her eyes blazed upon him—“And you! You bring us your vices so near That we smell them! You think in our presence a thought 't would defame us to hear! "What reason had you, and what right,-I appeal to your soul from my life, To find me too fair as a woman? Why, sir, I am pure, and a wife. "Is the day-star too fair up above you? It burns you not. Dare you imply I brushed you more close than the star does, when Walter had set me as high? "If a man finds a woman too fair, he means simply adapted too much To uses unlawful and fatal. The praise !-shall I thank you for such? "Too fair?—not unless you misuse us! and surely if, once in a while, You attain to it, straightway you call us no longer too fair, but too vile. “A moment, I pray your attention !—I have a poor word in my head I must utter, though womanly custom would set it down better unsaid. "You grew, sir, pale to impertinence, once when I showed you a ring. You kissed my fan when I dropped it. No matter !—I 've broken the thing. "You did me the honour, perhaps, to be moved at my side now and then In the senses-a vice, I have heard, which is common to beasts and some men. "Love's a virtue for heroes!-as white as the snow on high hills, And immortal as every great soul is that struggles, endures, and fulfils. |