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But her late foe stopped short amidst his course,
One moment gazed upon her piteously, TRON "ATALANTA'S RACE," IN "THE EARTHLY
Then with a groan his lingering feet did force
To leave the spot whence he her eyes could see ; AND there two runners did the sign abide And, changed likeone whoknows his time must be Foot set to foot, - a young man slim and fair, But short and bitter, without any word Crisp-haired, well knit, with firm limbs often tried He knelt before the bearer of the sword; In places where no man his strength may spare ; ! Dainty his thin coat was, and on his hair
Then high rose up the gleaming deadly blade, A golden circlet of renown he wore,
Bared of its flowers, and through the crowded place And in his hand an olive garland bore.
Was silence now, and midst of it the maid
Went by the poor wretch at a gentle pace, But on this day with whom shall he contend ? ) And he to hers upturned his sad white face; A maid stood by him like Diana clad
Nor did his eyes behold another sight When in the woods she lists her bow to bend, Ere on his soul there fell eternal night. Too fair for one to look on and be glad,
WILLIAM MORRIS Who scarcely yet has thirty summers had, If he must still behold her from afar ; Too fair to let the world live free from war.
ATALANTA CONQUERED. She seemed all earthly matters to forget;
FROM "ATALANTA'S RACE," IN "THE EARTHLY Of all tormenting lines her face was clear,
PARADISE." Her wide gray eyes upon the goal were set Now has the lingering month at last gone by, Calm and unmoved as though no soul were near; Again are all folk round the running place, But her foe trembled as a man in fear,
Nor other seems the dismal pageantry Nor from her loveliness one moment turned Than heretofore, but that another face His anxious face with fierce desire that burned. Looks o'er the smooth course ready for the race,
For now, beheld of all, Milanion Now through the hush there broke the trum
Stands on the spot he twice has looked upon. pet's clang. Just as the setting sun hade eventide.
But yet — what change is this that holds the Then from light feet a spurt of dust there sprang,
maid ? And swiftly were they running side by side ;
Does she indeed see in his glittering eye But silent did the thronging folk abide
More than disdain of the sharp shearing blade, Until the turning-post was reached at last,
Some happy hope of help and victory? And round about it still abreast they passed.
The others seemed to say, “We come to die,
Look down upon us for a little while,
That dead, we may bethink us of thy smile.”
But he — what look of mastery was this Headed the white-foot runner, and drew near
He cast on her ? why were his lips so red ? Unto the very end of all his fear;
Why was his face so flushed with happiness? And scarce his straining feet the ground could feel,
els So looks not one who deems himself but dead, And bliss unhoped for o'er his heart 'gan steal.
E'en if to death he bows a willing head;
Some earthly damsel fashioned to his mind.
Why must she drop her lids before his gaze, And even then he felt her past him bound
And even as she casts adown her eyes
Redden to note his eager glance of praise, Fleet as the wind, but scarcely saw her there
And wish that she were clad in other guise ? Till on the goal she laid her fingers fair.
Why must the memory to her heart arise There stood she breathing like a little child Of things unnoticed when they first were heard, Amid some warlike clamor laid asleep,
Some lover's song, some answering maiden's word? For no victorious joy her red lips smiled, Her cheek its wonted freshness did but keep; l What makes these longings, vague, without a No glance lit up her clear gray eyes and deep,
name, Though some divine thought softened all her face And this vain pity never felt before, As once more rang the trumpet through the place. This sudden languor, this contempt of fame,
This tender sorrow for the time past o'er, | To win the day, though now but scanty space These doubts that grow each minute more and was left betwixt him and the winning place.
more? Why does she tremble as the time grows near, Short was the way unto such wingéd feet, And weak defeat and woful victory fear ? Quickly she gained upon him till at last
He turned about her eager eyes to meet, But while she seemed to hear her beating And from his hand the third fair apple cast. heart,
She wavered not, but turned and ran so fast Above their heads the trumpet blast rang out, After the prize that should her bliss fulfil, And forth they sprang; and she must play her| That in her hand it lay ere it was still.
part; Then flew her white feet, knowing not a doubt, Nor did she rest, but turned about to win Though slackening once, she turned her head Once more, an unblest woful victory – about,
And yet — and yet -- why does her breath begin But then she cried aloud and faster fled
To fail her, and her feet drag heavily? Than e'er before, and all men deemed him Why fails she now to see if far or nigh dead.
The goal is? why do her gray eyes grow dim ?
| Why do these tremors run through every limb ? But with no sound he raised aloft his hand, And thence what seemed a ray of light there She spreads her arms abroad some stay to find flew
Else must she fall, irfdeed, and findeth this, And past the maid rolled on along the sand; A strong man's arms about her body twined. Then trembling she her feet together drew, Nor may she shudder now to feel his kiss, And in her heart a strong desire there grew So wrapped she is in new, unbroken bliss : To have the toy ; some god she thought had Made happy that the foe the prize hath won,
She weeps glad tears for all her glory done. That gift to her, to make of earth a heaven.
ACBAR AND NOURMAHAL.
Illumed by a wit that would fascinate sages,
Yet playful as Peris just loosed from their cages. FROM "THE LIGHT OF THE Harem."
While her laugh, full of life, without any control Oh! best of delights, as it everywhere is, But the sweet one of gracefulness, rung from her To be near the loved one, — what a rapture is his soul ; Who in moonlight and music thus sweetly may And where it most sparkled no glance could dis
cover, O'erthe Lake of Cashmere with that one by his side! In lip, cheek, oreyes, forshe brightened allover, If woman can make the worst wilderness dear, Like any fair lake that the breeze is upon, Think, think what a heaven she must make of
When it breaks into dimples, and laughs in the sun. Cashmere !
Such, such were the peerless enchantments that
So felt the magnificent Son of Acbar,
Nourmahal the proud Lord of the East for her When from powerand pompand the trophies of war slave; He flew to that valley, forgetting them all And though bright was his Harem, - a living With the Light of the Harem, his young Nour- parterre mahal.
of the flowers of this planet, — though treasures When free and uncrowned as the conqueror roved
the conqueror roved were there, By the banks of that lake, with his only beloved, For which Solomon's self might have given all He saw, in the wreaths she would playfully snatch the store From the hedges, a glory his crown could not That the navy from Ophir e'er winged to his shore, match,
Yet dim before her were the smiles of them all, And preferred in his heart the least ringlet that and the Light of his Harem was young Nourmahal! curled .
THOMAS MOORE. Down herexquisite neck to the throne of the world ! |
There's a beauty, forever unchangingly bright,
Three fields to cross, till a farm appears :
| And a voice less loud, through its joys and fears, When pensive, it seemed as if that very grace, Than the two hearts, beating each to each. That charm of all others, was born with her face ; And when angry, — for even in the tranquillest
climes Light breezes will ruffle the flowers sometimes,
THE LADY'S LOOKING-GLASS. The short, passing anger but seemed to awaken New beauty, like flowers that are sweetest when Celia and I, the other day, shaken.
Walked o'er the sand-hills to the sea : If tenderness touched her, the dark of her eye The setting sun adorned the coast, At once took a darker, a heavenlier dye,
His beams entire his fierceness lost : From the depth of whose shadow, like holy re And on the surface of the deep vealings
The winds lay only not asleep : From innermost shrines, came the light of her The nymphs did, like the scene, appear feelings!
Serenely pleasant, calmly fair ; , Then her mirth - 0, 't was sportive as ever Soft felt her words as flew the air. took wing
With secret joy I heard her say From the heart with a burst like the wild-bird That she would never miss one day in spring, —
A walk so fine, a sight so gay,
But, О the change! The winds grow high,
Dark was her hair ; her hand was white;
Her voice was exquisitely tender;
I never saw a waist so slender;
Shot right and left a score of arrows :
And wondered where she 'd left her sparrows
“Once more at least look back," said I,
She talked of politics or prayers,
Of Southey's prose or Wordsworth's sonnets, | Of danglers or of dancing bears,
Of battles or the last new bonnets ;
To me it mattered not a tittle, —
I might have thought they murmured Little.
Through sunny May, through sultry June,
I loved her with a love eternal ;
I wrote them to the Sunday Journal.
That ancient ladies have no feeling :
See any happiness in kneeling?
“ But when vain doubt and groundless fear
She was the daughter of a dean,
Rich, fat, and rather apoplectic;
Her grandmother for many a year,
And lord-lieutenant of the county.
But titles and the three-per-cents,
And mortgages, and great relations,
And India bonds, and tithes and rents,
0, what are they to love's sensations?
Black eyes, fair forehead, clustering locks, – YEARS, years ago, ere yet my dreams
Such wealth, such honors Cupid chooses ; Had been of being wise or witty,
He cares as little for the stocks
As Baron Rothschild for the muses.
She sketched; the vale, the wood, the beach Were in my fowling-piece and filly;
Grew lovelier from her pencil's shading : In short, while I was yet a boy,
She botanized; I envied each I fell in love with Laura Lilly.
Young blossom in her boudoir fading :
She warbled Handel ; it was grand, — I saw her at the county ball;
She made the Catilina jealous : There, when the sounds of flute and fiddle She touched the organ; I could stand Gave signal sweet in that old hall
For hours and hours to blow the bellows. Of hands across and down the middle, Hers was the subtlest spell by far
She kept an album too, at home,
Paintings of butterflies and Rome,