"My God, my land, my father-these did move “And I went mourning, 'No fair Hebrew boy Shall smile away my maiden blame among The Hebrew mothers '-emptied of all joy, "Leaving the olive-gardens far below, Leaving the promise of my bridal bower, The valleys of grape-loaded vines that glow Beneath the battled tower. The light white cloud swam over us. Anon We heard the lion roaring from his den; We saw the large white stars rise one by one, Or, from the darken'd glen, "Saw God divide the night with flying flame, When the next moon was roll'd into the sky, Strength came to me that equall'd my desire. How beautiful a thing it was to die For God and for my sire! "It comforts me in this one thought to dwell, That I subdued me to my father's will; Because the kiss he gave me, ere I fell, Sweetens the spirit still. "Moreover it is written that my race Hew'd Ammon, hip and thigh, from Aroer On Arnon unto Minneth." Here her face Glow'd, as I look'd at her. She lock'd her lips: she left me where I stood: Losing her carol I stood pensively, As one that from a casement leans his head, When midnight bells cease ringing suddenly, And the old year is dead. "Alas! alas! a low voice, full of care, Murmur'd beside me: "Turn and look on me: I am that Rosamond, whom men call fair, If what I was I be. "Would I had been some maiden coarse and O me, that I should ever see the light! Those dragon eyes of anger'd Eleanor Do hunt me, day and night." poor! She ceased in tears, fallen from hope and trust: To whom the Egyptian: "O, you tamely died! You should have clung to Fulvia's waist, and thrust The dagger thro' her side." With that sharp sound the white dawn's creeping beams, Of folded sleep. The captain of my dreams. Morn broaden'd on the borders of the dark, Or her, who knew that Love can vanquish Death, No memory labours longer from the deep That glimpses, moving up, than I from sleep To gather and tell o'er Each little sound and sight. With what dull pain M As when a soul laments, which hath been blest, Because all words, tho' cull'd with choicest art, MARGARET. 1. O SWEET pale Margaret, What lit your eyes with tearful power, you From all things outward have won Between the rainbow and the sun. Of dainty sorrow without sound, |