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oar,

That sought to sow themselves like winged seeds,

Born out of everything I heard and saw, Flutter'd about my senses and my soul; And vague desires, like fitful blasts of balm

To one that travels quickly, made the air Of Life delicious, and all kinds of thought,

That verged upon them, sweeter than the dream

Dream'd by a happy man, when the dark East,

Unseen, is brightening to his bridal

morn.

And sure this orbit of the memory folds For ever in itself the day we went To see her. All the land in flowery

squares,

Beneath a broad and equal-blowing wind, Smelt of the coming summer, as one large cloud

Drew

downward: but all else of Heaven was pure

Up to the Sun, and May from verge to

verge,

And now,

Waves all its lazy lilies, and creeps on,
Barge-laden, to three arches of a bridge | And May with me from head to heel.
Crown'd with the minster-towers.
The fields between
Are dewy-fresh, browsed by deep-udder'd
kine,

And all about the large lime feathers low, The lime a summer home of murmurous wings.

In that still place she, hoarded in herself,

Grew, seldom seen: not less among us lived

Her fame from lip to lip. Who had not heard

Of Rose, the Gardener's daughter?
Where was he,

So blunt in memory, so old at heart,
At such a distance from his youth in grief,
That, having seen, forgot? The common
mouth,

So gross to express delight, in praise of

her

Grew oratory. Such a lord is Love, And Beauty such a mistress of the world.

And if I said that Fancy, led by Love, Would play with flying forms and images,

As tho' 't were yesterday, as tho' it were The hour just flown, that morn with all its sound,

(For those old Mays had thrice the life of these,) Rings in mine ears. The steer forgot to

graze, And, where the hedge-row cuts the pathway, stood,

Leaning his horns into the neighbor field, And lowing to his fellows. From the woods

Came voices of the well-contented doves. The lark could scarce get out his notes

for joy,

But shook his song together as he near'd His happy home, the ground. To left and right,

The cuckoo told his name to all the hills;
The mellow ouzel fluted in the elm ;
The redcap whistled; and the nightingale
Sang loud, as tho' he were the bird of day.
And Eustace turn'd, and smiling said
to me,

"Hear how the bushes echo! by my life, | But, ere it touch'd a foot, that might have These birds have joyful thoughts. Think

you they sing

Like poets, from the vanity of song?
Or have they any sense of why they sing?
And would they praise the heavens for
what they have?"

And I made answer, "Were there nothing else

For which to praise the heavens but only love,

That only love were cause enough for praise."

Lightly he laugh'd, as one that read my thought,

And on we went; but ere an hour had pass'd,

We reach'd a meadow slanting to the North;

Down which a well-worn pathway courted

us

To one green wicket in a privet hedge; This, yielding, gave into a grassy walk Thro' crowded lilac - ambush trimly pruned;

And one warm gust, full-fed with perfume, blew

Beyond us, as we enter'd in the cool. The garden stretches southward. In the midst

A cedar spread his dark-green layers of shade.

The garden-glasses shone, and momently The twinkling laurel scatter'd silver lights.

"Eustace," I said, "this wonder keeps the house."

He nodded, but a moment afterwards He cried, "Look! look!" Before he ceased I turn'd,

And, ere a star can wink, beheld her there. For up the porch there grew an Eastern

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danced

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One rose, but one, by those fair fingers cull'd,

Were worth a hundred kisses press'd on lips

Less exquisite than thine."

She look'd but all Suffused with blushes - neither selfpossess'd

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Nor startled, but betwixt this mood and that,

Divided in a graceful quiet — paused, And dropt the branch she held, and turning, wound

Her looser hair in braid, and stirr'd her lips

For some sweet answer, tho' no answer came,

Nor yet refused the rose, but granted it, And moved away, and left me, statuelike,

In act to render thanks.

1, that whole day, Saw her no more, altho' I linger'd there Till every daisy slept, and Love's white

star

Beam'd thro' the thicken'd cedar in the dusk.

So home we went, and all the livelong

way

With solemn gibe did Eustace banter me.

"Now," said he, "will you climb the | Like one that never can be wholly known, Her beauty grew; till Autumn brought

top of Art.

You cannot fail but work in hues to dim The Titianic Flora. Will you match My Juliet? you, not you, - the Master, Love,

A more ideal Artist he than all."

So home I went, but could not sleep

for joy,

Reading her perfect features in the gloom, Kissing the rose she gave me o'er and o'er,

And shaping faithful record of the glance That graced the giving - such a noise of life

Swarm'd in the golden present, such a

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an hour

For Eustace, when I heard his deep "I will,"

Breathed, like the covenant of a God, to hold

From thence thro' all the worlds: but I rose up

Full of his bliss, and following her dark

eyes

Felt earth as air beneath me, till I reach'd The wicket-gate, and found her standing there.

There sat we down upon a garden

mound,

Two mutually enfolded; Love, the third, Between us, in the circle of his arms Enwound us both; and over many a range Of waning lime the gray cathedral towers, Across a hazy glimmer of the west, Reveal'd their shining windows: from them clash'd

The bells; we listen'd; with the time we play'd;

We spoke of other things; we coursed about

The subject most at heart, more near and near,

Like doves about a dovecote, wheeling

round

The central wish, until we settled there. Then, in that time and place, I spoke

to her,

Requiring, tho' I knew it was mine own, Yet for the pleasure that I took to hear, Requiring at her hand the greatest gift, A woman's heart, the heart of her I loved; And in that time and place she answer'd

me,

And in the compass of three little words, More musical than ever came in one, The silver fragments of a broken voice, Made me most happy, faltering, "I am thine."

Shall I cease here? Is this enough to

say That my desire, like all strongest hopes, By its own energy fulfill'd itself, Merged in completion? Would you learn at full

How passion rose thro' circumstantial grades

Beyond all grades develop'd? and indeed I had not stayed so long to tell you all, But while I mused came Memory with sad eyes,

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Stole from her sister Sorrow. Might I not tell

Of difference, reconcilement, pledges given,

And vows, where there was never need of vows,

And kisses, where the heart on one wild leap

Hung tranced from all pulsation, as above The heavens between their fairy fleeces pale

Sow'd all their mystic gulfs with fleeting stars;

Or while the balmy glooming, crescentlit,

Spread the light haze along the rivershores,

And in the hollows; or as once we met Unheedful, tho' beneath a whispering rain Night slid down one long stream of sighing wind,

And in her bosom bore the baby, Sleep. But this whole hour your eyes have

been intent

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DORA.

WITH farmer Allan at the farm abode William and Dora. William was his son, And she his niece. He often look'd at them,

And often thought, "I'll make them man and wife."

Now Dora felt her uncle's will in all, And yearn'd towards William; but the youth, because

He had been always with her in the house, Thought not of Dora.

Then there came a day When Allan call'd his son, and said, 'My son :

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I married late, but I would wish to see My grandchild on my knees before I die : And I have set my heart upon a match. Now therefore look to Dora: she is well To look to thrifty too beyond her age. She is my brother's daughter: he and I Had once hard words, and parted, and he died

In foreign lands; but for his sake I bred His daughter Dora: take her for your wife;

For I have wish'd this marriage, night and day,

For many years." But William answer'd

short:

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The less he liked her; and his ways were

harsh;

But Dora bore them meekly. Then before The month was out he left his father's house,

And hired himself to work within the fields;

And half in love, half spite, he woo'd and | And Dora would have risen and gone to wed

A laborer's daughter, Mary Morrison. Then, when the bells were ringing, Allan call'd

His niece and said: "My girl, I love you well;

him,

But her heart fail'd her; and the reapers

reap'd,

And the sun fell, and all the land was dark. But when the morrow came, she rose and took

But if you speak with him that was my son, The child once more, and sat upon the Or change a word with her he calls his wife,

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But Dora stored what little she could save,

And sent it them by stealth, nor did they know

Who sent it; till at last a fever seized On William, and in harvest time he died. Then Dora went to Mary. Mary sat And look'd with tears upon her boy, and thought

Hard things of Dora. Dora came and said:

"I have obey'd my uncle until now, And I have sinn'd, for it was all thro' me This evil came on William at the first. But, Mary, for the sake of him that's gone, And for your sake, the woman that he chose,

And for this orphan, I am come to you: You know there has not been for these

five years

So full a harvest let me take the boy, And I will set him in my uncle's eye Among the wheat; that when his heart

is glad

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mound;

And made a little wreath of all the flowers That grew about, and tied it round his hat

To make him pleasing in her uncle's eye. Then when the farmer pass'd into the field He spied her, and he left his men at work, And came and said: "Where were you yesterday?

Whose child is that? What are you doing here?"

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So Dora cast her eyes upon the ground, And answer'd softly, "This is William's child!" "And did I not," said Allan, did I not Forbid you, Dora?" Dora said again : "Do with me as you will, but take the child

And bless him for the sake of him that's gone!"

And Allan said, "I see it is a trick
Got up betwixt you and the woman there.
I must be taught my duty, and by you!
You knew my word was law, and yet you
dared

To slight it. Well-for I will take the boy;

Butgo you hence, and never see me more." So saying, he took the boy, that cried

aloud

And struggled hard. The wreath of flowers fell

At Dora's feet. She bow'd upon her hands, And the boy's cry came to her from the field,

More and more distant. She bow'd down

her head,

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