FATIMA. LOVE, Love, Love! O withering might! O sun, that from thy noonday height Shudderest when I strain my sight, Throbbing thro' all thy heat and light, Lo, falling from my constant mind, Lo, parch'd and wither'd, deaf and blind, I whirl like leaves in roaring wind. Last night I wasted hateful hours I thirsted for the brooks, the showers: I roll'd among the tender flowers: I crush'd them on my breast, my mouth: I look'd athwart the burning drouth Of that long desert to the south. Last night, when some one spoke his name, Were shiver'd in my narrow frame. O Love, O fire! once he drew With one long kiss my whole soul thro' Before he mounts the hill, I know The wind sounds like a silver wire, My whole soul waiting silently, Droops blinded with his shining eye : I will grow round him in his place, (ΕΝΟΝΕ. HERE lies a vale in Ida, lovelier TH Than all the valleys of Ionian hills. On either hand The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, Stands up and takes the morning: but in front The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal Troas and Ilion's column'd citadel, The crown of Troas. Hither came at noon Mournful Enone, wandering forlorn Of Paris, once her playmate on the hills. Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine, “O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, “O mother Ida, 'many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. Hear me O Earth, hear me O Hills, O Caves That house the cold crown'd snake! O mountain brooks, I am the daughter of a River-God, Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Leading a jet-black goat white-horn'd, white-hooved, “O mother Ida, harken ere I die. The streaks of virgin snow. With down-dropt eyes And his cheek brighten'd as the foam-bow brightens "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. "My own Enone, Beautiful-brow'd Enone, my own soul, Behold this fruit, whose gleaming rind ingrav'n The knolls of Ida, loveliest in all grace "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. He prest the blossom of his lips to mine, And added 'This was cast upon the board, When all the full-faced presence of the Gods Ranged in the halls of Peleus; whereupon Rose feud, with question unto whom 't were due: But light-foot Iris brought it yester-eve, Delivering, that to me, by common voice Elected umpire, Herè comes to-day, Pallas and Aphrodite, claiming each This meed of fairest. Thou, within the cave Behind yon whispering tuft of oldest pine, Mayst well behold them unbeheld, unheard Hear all, and see thy Paris judge of Gods.' "Dear mother Ida, harken ere I die. It was the deep midnoon: one silvery cloud Had lost his way between the piney sides Of this long glen. Then to the bower they came, Naked they came to that smooth-swarded bower, And at their feet the crocus brake like fire, Violet, amaracus, and asphodel, Lotos and lilies and a wind arose, And overhead the wandering ivy and vine, Ran riot, garlanding the gnarled boughs With bunch and berry and flower thro' and thro'. "O mother Ida, harken ere I die. On the tree-tops a crested peacock lit, And o'er him flow'd a golden cloud, and lean'd |