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And she became companion of his thought.

His brother only, more than hitherto,
Silence her gentleness before him brought,

He would avoid, or sooner let subdue,
Society her sense, reading her books,

Partly from something strange unfelt before,
Music her voice, every sweet thing her looks, Partly because Giovanni sometimes wore
Which sometimes seemed, when he sat fixed awhile, A knot his bride had worked him,green and gold ;-
To steal beneath his eyes with upward smile: For in all things with nature did she hold;
And did he stroll into some lonely place,

And while 'twas being worked, her fancy was
Under the trees, upon the thick soft grass,

Of sunbeams mingling with a tuft of grass.
How charming, would be think, to see her here! Francesca from herself but ill could hide
How heightened then, and perfect would appear What pleasure now was added to her side,-
The two divinest things this world has got,

How placidly, yet fast, the days succeeded
A lovely woman in a rural spot!

With one who thought and felt so much as she did,

And how the chair he sat in, and the room,
Thus daily went he on, gathering sweet pain
About his fancy, till it thrilled again;

Began to look, when he had failed to come.

But as she better knew the cause than he,
And if his brother's image, less and less,

She seemed to have the more necessity
Startled him up from his new idleness,

For struggling hard, and rousing all her pride; 'Twas not,-he fancied,--that he reasoned worse,

And so she did at first; she even tried
Or felt less scorn of wrong, but the reverse.

To feel a sort of anger at his care;
That one should think of injuring another,

But these extremes brought but a kind despair ;
Or trenching on his peace,-this too a brother,-

And then she only spoke more sweetly to him,
And all from selfishness and pure weak will,
To him seemed marvellous and impossible.

And found her failing eyes give looks that melted

through him.
'Tis true, thought he, one being more there was,
Who might meantime have weary hours to pass,-

Giovanni too, who felt relieved indeed
One weaker too to bear them,—and for whom To see another to his place succeed,
No matter;-he could not reverse her doom; Or rather filling up some trifling hours,
And so he sighed and smiled, as if one thought Better spent elsewhere, and beneath his powers,
Of paltering could suppose that he was to be caught. Left the new tie to strengthen day by day,

Talked less and less, and longer kept away,
Yet if she loved him, common gratitude,

Secure in his self-love and sense of right,
If not, a sense of what was fair and good,

That he was welcome most, come when he might.
Besides his new relationship and right,

And doubtless, they, in their still finer sense,
Would make him wish to please her all he might;

With added care repaid this confidence,
And as to thinking, where could be the harm,

Turning their thoughts from his abuse of it
If to his heart he kept its secret charm?

To what on their own parts was graceful and was fit.
He wished not to himself another's blessing,
But then he might console for not possessing; Ah now, ye gentle pair,—now think awhile,
And glorious things there were, which but to see Now, while ye still can think, and still can smile;
And not admire, was mere stupidity:

Now, while your generous hearts have not been
He might as well object to his own eyes

grieved For loving to behold the fields and skies,

Perhaps with something not to be retrieved,
His neighbour's grove, or story-painted hall; And ye have still, within, the power of gladness,
'Twas but the taste for what was natural;

From self-resentment free and retrospective mad-
Only his fav’rite thought was loveliest of them all.
Concluding thus, and happier that he knew So did they think ;-but partly from delay,
His ground so well, near and more near he drew; Partly from fancied ignorance of the way,
And, sanctioned by his brother's manner, spent

And most from feeling the bare contemplation
Hours by her side as happy as well-meant.

Give them fresh need of mutual consolation,
He read with her, he rode, he went a hawking, They scarcely tried to see each other less,
He spent still evenings in delightful talking, And did but meet with deeper tenderness,
While she sat busy at her broidery frame;

Living, from day to day, as they were used,
Or touched the lute with her, and when they came Only with graver thoughts, and smiles reduced,
To some fine part, prepared her for the pleasure, And sighs more frequent, which, when one would
And then with double smile stole on the measure. The other longed to start up and receive. [heave,
Then at the tournament,—who there but she For whether some suspicion now had crossed
Made him more gallant still than formerly

Giovanni's mind, or whether he had lost
Couch o'er his tightened lance with double force, More of his temper lately, he would treat
Pass like the wind, sweeping down man and horse, His wife with petty scorns, and starts of heat,
And franklier then than ever, midst the shout And, to his own omissions proudly blind,
And dancing trumpetsride, uncovered, round about? O'erlook the pains she took to make him kind,

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And yet be angry, if he thought them less;

Where at her drink you started the slim deer,
He found reproaches in her meek distress,

Retreating lightly with a lovely fear.
Forcing her silent tears, and then resenting, And all about, the birds kept leafy house,
Then almost angrier grown from half repenting, And sung and sparkled in and out the boughs;
And, hinting at the last, that some there were And all about, a lovely sky of blue
Better perhaps than he, and tastefuller,

Clearly was felt,or down the leaves laughed through;
And these, for what he knew,-he little cared, And here and there, in every part, were seats,
Might please her, and be pleased, though he des Some in the open walks, some in retreats ;

With bowering leaves o'erhead, to which the eye Then would he quit the room, and half disdain Looked up half sweetly and half awfully,Himself for being in so harsh a strain,

Places of nestling green, for poets made,
And venting thus his temper on a woman;

Where when the sunshine struck a yellow shade,
Yet not the more for that changed he in common, The slender trunks, to inward peeping sight,
Or took more pains to please her, and be near: Thronged in dark pillars up the gold green light.
What! should he truckle to a woman's tear?

But 'twixt the wood and flowery walks, halfway,
At times like these the princess tried to shun And formed of both, the loveliest portion lay,
The face of Paulo as too kind a one;

A spot, that struck you like enchanted ground:-
And shutting up her tears with resolute sigh, It was a shallow dell, set in a mound
Would walk into the air, and see the sky,

Of sloping shrubs, that mounted by degrees,
And feel about her all the garden green, (tween. The birch and poplar mixed with heavier trees;
And hear the birds that shot the covert boughs be From under which, sent through a marble spout,

Betwixt the dark wet green, a rill gushed out, A noble range it was, of many a rood,

Whose low sweet talking seemed as if it said Walled round with trees, and ending in a wood: Something eternal to that happy shade: Indeed the whole was leafy; and it had

The ground within was lawn, with plots of flowers
A winding stream about it, clear and glad,

Heaped towards the centre, and with citron bowers;
That danced from shade to shade, and on its way And in the midst of all, clustered about
Seemed smiling with delight to feel the day. With bay and myrtle, and just gleaming out,
There was the pouting rose, both red and white, Lurked a pavilion,-a delicious sight,
The flamy heart's-ease, flushed with purple light, Small, marble, well-proportioned, mellowy white,
Blush-hiding strawberry, sunny-coloured box, With yellow vine-leaves sprinkled,—but no more,-
Hyacinth, handsome with his clustering locks, And a young orange either side the door.
The lady lily, looking gently down,

The door was to the wood, forward, and square,
Pure lavender, to lay in bridal gown,

The rest was domed at top, and circular;
The daisy, lovely on both sides,-in short,

And through the dome the only light came in,
All the sweet cups to which the bees resort; Tinged, as it entered, with the vine-leaves thin.
With plots of grass, and perfumed walks between
Of citron, honeysuckle, and jessamine,

It was a beauteous piece of ancient skill,
With orange, whose warm leaves so finely suit, Spared froin the rage of and perfect still;
And look as if they'd shade a golden fruit;

By most supposed the work of fairy hands,
And midst the flowers, tursed round beneath a shade Famed for luxurious taste, and choice of lands,–
Of circling pines, a babbling fountain played, Alcina, or Morgana,—who from fights
And 'twixt their shafts you saw the water bright, And errant fame inveigled amorous knights

, Which through the darksome tops glimmered with

And lived with them in a long round of blisses, showering light.

Feasts, concerts, baths, and bower-enshaded kisses. So now you walked beside an odorous bed

But 'twas a temple, as its sculpture told, Of gorgeous hues, white, azure, golden, red;

Built to the nymphs that haunted there of old; And now turned off into a leafy walk,

For o'er the door was carved a sacrifice Close and continuous, fit for lovers' talk;

By girls and shepherds brought, with reverenteyes, And now pursued the stream, and as you trod

Of sylvan drinks and foods, simple and sweet, Onward and onward o'er the velvet sod,

And goats with struggling horns and planted feet: Felt on your face an air, watery and sweet,

And on a line with this ran round about And a new sense in your soft-lighting feet;

A like relief, touched exquisitely out, And then perhaps you entered upon shades,

That shewed, in various scenes, the nymphs them-
Pillowed with dells and uplands 'twixt the glades,

Some by the water side on bowery shelves
Through which the distant palace, now and then,
Looked lordly forth with many-windowed ken;

Leaning at will, --some in the water sporting
A land of trees, which reaching round about,

With sides half swelling forth, and looks of courtIn shady blessing stretched their old arms out,

Some in a flowery dell, hearing a swain (ingia With spots of sunny opening, and with nooks,

Play on his pipe, till the hills ring again,
To lie and read in, sloping into brooks,

Some tying up their long moist hair,--some sleeping
Under the trees, with fauns and satyrs peeping,

One Whe And And The



The Oic And And







Dr, sidelong-eyed, pretending not to see

And read with a full heart, half sweet, half sad, Che latter in the brakes come creepingly,

How old King Ban was spoiled of all he had While their forgotten urns, lying about

But one fair castle: how one summer's day in the green herbage, let the water out.

With his fair queen and child he went away Never, be sure, before or since was seen

To ask the great King Arthur for assistance; A summer-house so fine in such a nest of green. How reaching by himself a hill at distance

He turned to give his castle a last look, All the green garden, flower-bed, shade, and plot,

And saw its far white face: and how a smoke, rancesca loved, but most of all this spot.

As he was looking, burst in volumes forth, Whenever she walked forth, wherever went

And good King Ban saw all that he was worth, About the grounds, to this at last she bent:

And his fair castle, burning to the ground, Jere she had brought a lute and a few books;

So that his wearied pulse felt over-wound, Here would she lie for hours with grateful looks,

And he lay down, and said a prayer apart Thanking at heart the sunshine and the leaves,

For those he loved, and broke his poor old heart. C'he summer rain-drops counting from the eaves, Then read she of the queen with her young child, And all that promising, calm smile we see

How she came up, and nearly had gone wild; In nature's face, when we look patiently.

And how in journeying on in her despair, Shen would she think of heaven; and you might hear

She reached a lake, and met a lady there, sometimes, when every thing was hushed and clear,

Who pitied her, and took the baby sweet Her gentle voice from out those shades emerging,

Into her arms, when lo, with closing feet Singing the evening anthem to the Virgin.

She sprang up all at once, like bird from brake, The gardeners and the rest, who served the place,

And vanished with him underneath the lake. And blest whenever they beheld her face,

The mother's feelings we as well may pass:(nelt when they heard it, bowing and uncovered,

The fairy of the place that lady was, And felt as if in air some sainted beauty hovered.

And Launcelot (so the boy was called) became One day,~'twas on a summer afternoon,

Her inmate, till in search of knightly fame

He went to Arthur's court, and played his part When airs and gurgling brooks are best in tune,

So rarely, and displayed so frank a heart, And grasshoppers are loud, and day-work done,

That what with all his charms of look and limb, And shades have heavy outlines in the sun,

The Queen Geneura fell in love with him :The princess came to her accustomed bower

And here, with growing interest in her reading, To get her, if she could, a soothing hour,

The princess, doubly fixed, was now proceeding. Trying, as she was used, to leave her eares Without, and slumberously enjoy the airs,

Ready she sat with one hand to turn o'er And the low-talking leaves, and that cool light The leaf, to which her thoughts ran on before, The vines let in, and all that hushing sight

The other propping her white brow, and throwing Of closing wood seen through the opening door,

Its ringlets out, under the skylight glowing. And distant plash of waters tumbling o'er,

So sat she fixed; and so observed was she And smell of citron blooms, and fifty luxuries more.

Of one, who at the door stood tenderly, She tried, as usual, for the trial's sake,

Paulo,—who from a window seeing her For even that diminished her heart-ache;

Go straight across the lawn, and guessing where, And never yet, how ill soe'er at ease,

Had thought she was in tears, and found, that day

His usual efforts vain to keep away.
Came she for nothing, midst the flowers and trees.
Yet somehow or another, on that day,

May I come in?" said he:-it made her start, She seemed to feel too lightly borne away,

That smiling voice;-she coloured, pressed her heart Too much relieved,—too much inclined to draw

A moment, as for breath, and then with free A careless joy from every thing she saw,

And usual tone said, “O yes,-certainly.” And looking round her with a new-born eye,

There's apt to be, at conscious times like these, As if some tree of knowledge had been nigh, An affectation of a bright-eyed ease, To taste of nature, primitive and free,

An air of something quite serene and sure, And bask at ease in her heart's liberty.

As if to seem so, was to be secure: Painfully clear those rising thoughts appeared,

With this the lovers met, with this they spoke, With something dark at bottom that she feared;

With this they sat down to the self-same book, And snatching from the fields her thoughtful look,

And Paulo, by degrees, gently embraced She reached o'er-head, and took her down a book,

With one permitted arm her lovely waist; And fell to reading with as fixed an air,

And both their cheeks, like peaches on a tree, As though she had been wrapt since morning there.

Leaned with a touch together thrillingly;

And o'er the book they hung, and nothing said, 'Twas Launcelot of the Lake, a bright romance, And every lingering page grew longer as they read. That like a trumpet, made young pulses dance, Yet had a softer note that shook still more; As thus they sat, and felt with leaps of heart She had begun it but the day before,

Their colour change, they came upon the part


Yet no Socet So bar latisit Thoug Tempe lofixes

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Wher Toch Andt

The Coid And There

From finding me by any sign or symptom,

I have put off my wings, my bow and quiver.

Where fond Geneura, with her flame long nurst, He felt the sharp sweetness more strengthen his
Smiled upon Launcelot when he kissed her first: Ten times than ever the spicy rains,
That touch, at last, through every fibre slid;


And ere they're aware, he has burst his chains:
And Paulo turned, scarce knowing what he did, He has burst his chains, and ah, ha! he's gone,
Only he felt he could no more dissemble,

And the links and the gazers are left alone,
And kissed her, mouth to mouth, all in a tremble. And off to the mountains the panther's flown.
Sad were those hearts, and sweet was that long kiss:
Sacred be love from sight, whate'er it is.

Now what made the panther a prisoner be;
The world was all forgot, the struggle o'er,

Lo! 'twas the spices and luxury. Desperate the joy. That day they read no more.

And what set that lordly panther free?

'Twas Love !-'twas Love!-'twas no one but he. THE PANTHER.

FROM MYNTAS. The panther leaped to the front of his lair,

PROLOGUE. And stood with a foot up, and snuffed the air;

He quivered his tongue from his panting mouth,

Who would believe that in a human form,
And looked with a yearning towards the south;
For he scented afar in the coming breeze,

And underneath these lowly shepherd's weeds,

There walked a hidden God? and he no God
News of the gums and their blossoming trees;
And out of Armenia that same day,

Sylvan, or of the common crowd of heaven,
He and his race came bounding away.

But the most potent of their greatest;-one Over the mountains and down to the plains

Who many a time has made the hand of Mars Like Bacchus's panthers with wine in their veins,

Let fall his bloody sword; and looked away, They came where the woods wept odorous rains;

From the earth-shaker Neptune, his great trident;

And his old thunders from consummate Jove.
And there, with a quivering, every beast
Fell to his old Pamphylian feast.

Doubtless beneath this aspect and this dress,

Venus will not soon know me,-me, her son,
The people who lived not far away,
Heard the roaring on that same day;

Her own son, Love. I am constrained to leave her,
And they said, as they lay in their carpeted rooms,

And hide from her pursuit; because she wishes

That I should place my arrows and myself The panthers are come, and are drinking the gums:

At her discretion solely; and like a woman, And some of them going with swords and spears,

Vain and ambitious, she would hunt me back To gather their share of the rich round tears,

Among mere courts, and coronets, and sceptres, The panther I spoke of followed them back;

There to pin down my powers; and to my ministers And dumbly they let him tread close in the track,

And minor brethren, leave sole liberty And lured him after them into the town;

To lodge in the green woods, and filesh their darts And then they let the portcullis down,

In bosoms rude. But I, who am no boy, And took the panther, which happened to be Whate'er I seem in visage or in act, The largest was seen in all Pamphily.

Would of myself dispose as it should please me;

Since not to her, but me, were given by lot
By every one there was the panther admired,

The torch omnipotent, and golden bow.
So fine was his shape and so sleekly attired,
And such an air, both princely and swift,

Therefore I hide about; and so escaping
He had, when giving a sudden lift

Not her authority, which she has not in me, To his mighty paw, he'd turn at a sound,

But the strong pressure of a mother's prayers, And so stand panting and looking around,

I cover me in the wood, and do become As if he attended a monarch crowned.

An inmate with its lowly populace. And truly, they wondered the more to behold She follows me, and promises to give About his neck a collar of gold,

To whomsoever will betray me to her, On which was written, in characters broad,

Sweet kisses, or a something else still dearer! “ Arsaces the king to the Nysian God.”

As if, forsooth, I knew not how to give So they tied to the collar a golden chain,

To whomsoever will conceal me from her, And made the panther a captive again,

Sweet kisses, or a something else still dearer. And by degrees he grew fearful and still,

This, at the least, is certain; that my kisses As if he had lost his lordly will.

Will be much dearer to the lasses' lips, But now came the spring, when free-born love

If I, who am Love's self, to love apply me; Calls up nature in forest and grove,

So that in many an instance, she must needs And makes each thing leap forth, and be

Ask after me in vain. The lips are sealed.
Loving, and lovely, and blithe as he.

But to keep closer still, and to prevent her
The panther he felt the thrill o' the air,
And he gave a leap up like that at his lair;

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Yet not the more for that walk I unarmed;

Will ease thee of this little suffering.
Since this which seems a rod, is my good torch, The sage Artesia told them me, and had
So have I wrought deception, and breathes all That little ivory horn of mine in payment,
Invisible flame; and this good dart of mine, Fretted with gold.” So saying, she applied
Though pointed not with gold, is nevertheless To the hurt cheek the lips of her divine
Temper divine; and wheresoe'er it lights,

And most delicious mouth, and with sweet humming
Infixes love.

Murmured some verses that I knew not of.

Oh admirable effect! a little while,
And now will I with this,

And all the pain was gone; either by virtue
Pierce with a deep immedicable wound

Of those enchanted words, or as I thought, Into the hard heart of the cruellest nymph,

By virtue of those lips of dew, That ever followed on Diana's choir.

That heal whate'er they turn them to. No shallower shall it go in Sylvia's bosom,

I, who till then had never had a wish (Such is the name of this fair heart of rock)

Beyond the sunny sweetness of her eyes, Than once it went, years back, out of this hand, Or her dear dulcet words, more dulcet far Into the gentle bosom of Amyntas,

Than the soft murmur of a humming stream When every where he followed her about

Crooking its way among the pebble-stones, To chace and sport, young lover his young lass. Or summer airs that babble in the leaves, And that my point may go the deeper, I

Felt a new wish move in me to apply
Will wait awhile, till pity mollify

This mouth of mine to hers; and so becoming
The blunting ice, which round about her heart Crafty and plotting, (an unusual art
Cold honour has kept bound, and virgin niceness ; With me, but it was love's intelligence)
And wheresoe'er it turn to softness most,

I did bethink me of a gentle stratagem
There will I lance the dart. And to perform To work out my new wit. I made pretence,
So fair a work most finely, I go now

As if the bee had bitten my under lip;
To mingle with the holiday multitude

And fell to lamentations of such sort,
of flowery-crowned shepherds, who are met That the sweet medicine which I dared not ask
Hard by in the accustomed place of sport,

With word of mouth, I asked for with my looks.
Where I will feign me one of them; and there, The simple Sylvia then
Even in this place and fashion, will I strike

Compassioning my pain,
A blow invisible to mortal eye.

Offered to give her help

To that pretended wound;
After new fashion shall these woods to day

And oh! the real and the mortal wound,
Hear love discoursed; and it shall well be seen

Which pierced into my being,
That my divinity is present here

When her lips came on mine.
In its own person, not its ministers.

Never did bee from flower
I will inbreathe high fancies in rude hearts;

Suck sugar so divine,
I will refine, and render dulcet sweet,

As was the honey that I gathered then
Their tongues; because, wherever I may be, From those twin roses fresh.
Whether with rustic or heroic men,

I could have bathed in them my burning kisses,
There am I Love; and inequality,

But fear and shame withheld
As it niay please me, do I equalize;

That too audacious fire,
And 'tis my crowning glory and great miracle And made them gently hang.
To make the rural pipe as eloquent

But while into my bosom's core, the sweetness,
Even as the subtlest harp. If my proud mother, Mixed with a secret poison, did go down,
Who scorns to have me roving in the woods, It pierced me so with pleasure, that still feigning
Knows not thus much, 'tis she is blind, not I; The pain of the bee's weapon, I contrived
Though blind I am miscalled by blinded men. That more than once the enchantment was repeated.

From that time forth, desire
And irrepressible pain so grew within me,

That not being able to contain it more,
One day, Sylvia and Phillis I was compelled to speak; and so, one day,
Were sitting underneath a shady beech,

While in a circle a whole set of us,
I with them; when a little ingenious bee,

Shepherds and nymphs, sat playing at the game,
Gathering his honey in those flowery fields, In which they tell in one another's ears
Lit on the cheeks of Phillis, cheeks as red

Their secret each, “ Sylvia,” said I in her's,

“ I burn for thee; and if thou help me not,
As the red rose; and bit, and bit again
With so much eagerness, that it appeared

I feel I cannot live.” As I said this,
The likeness did beguile him. Phillis, at this, She dropt her lovely looks, and out of them
Impatient of the smart, sent up a cry; [grieve; There came a sudden and unusual flush,
“ Hush! Hush !” said my sweet Sylvia,“ do not Portending shame and anger: not an answer
I have a few words of enchantment, Phillis, Did she vouchsafe me, but by a dead silence,




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