I muse, as in a trance, whene'er

The languors of thy love-deep eyes Float on to me. I would I were

So tranced, so rapt in ecstacies,

To stand apart, and to adore,
Gazing on thee for evermore,

Serene, imperial Eleänore!

Sometimes, with most intensity

Gazing, I seem to see

Thought folded over thought, smiling asleep,
Slowly awaken'd, grow so full and deep

In thy large eyes, that, overpower'd quite,
I cannot veil, or droop my sight,

But am as nothing in its light:

As though a star, in inmost heaven set,

Ev'n while we gaze on it,

Should slowly round his orb, and slowly grow

To a full face, there like a sun remain

Fix'd—then as slowly fade again,

And draw itself to what it was before;

So full, so deep, so slow,

Thought seems to come and go
In thy large eyes, imperial Eleänore.

As thunder-clouds that, hung on high,

Roof'd the world with doubt and fear,

Floating thro' an evening atmosphere,
Grow golden all about the sky;

In thee all passion becomes passionless,
Touch'd by thy spirit's mellowness,

Losing his fire and active might

In a silent meditation,

Falling into a still delight,

And luxury of contemplation:

As waves that up a quiet cove

Rolling slide, and lying still

Shadow forth the banks at will

Or sometimes they swell and move,

VOL. I.

Pressing up against the land,

With motions of the outer sea:

And the self-same influence

Controlleth all the soul and sense

Of Passion gazing upon thee.

7

His bow-string slacken'd, languid Love,
Leaning his cheek upon his hand,

Droops both his wings, regarding thee,
And so would languish evermore,
Serene, imperial Eleänore.

But when I see thee roam, with tresses unconfined,

While the amorous, odorous wind

Breathes low between the sunset and the moon,

Or, in a shadowy saloon,

On silken cushions half reclined,

I watch thy grace; and in its place

My heart a charmed slumber keeps,
While I muse upon thy face;

And a languid fire creeps

Thro' my veins to all my frame,

Dissolvingly and slowly soon

From thy rose-red lips мy name

Floweth; then, as in a swoon,

With dinning sound my ears are rife,

My tremulous tongue faltereth,

I lose my colour, I lose my breath,

I drink the cup of a costly death,

Brimm'd with delirious draughts of warmest life. I die with my delight, before

I hear what I would hear from thee ;

Yet tell my name again to me,

I would be dying evermore,

So dying ever, Eleänore.

THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.

I SEE the wealthy miller yet,

His double chin, his portly size,
And who that knew him could forget
The busy wrinkles round his eyes?

The slow wise smile that, round about
His dusty forehead drily curl'd,
Seem'd half-within and half-without,

And full of dealings with the world?