Turn'd dark as they fell, but I slighted their brown,
Nor loved, till I saw the light ringlets shed wild,
That innocence wears when she is but a child;
And her eyes,-Oh I ne'er had been witched with their shine,
Had they been any other, my Ægle, than thine!

Then I gave me to magic, and gazed till I madden'd
In the full of their light,—but I sadden'd and sadden'd
The deeper I look'd,―till I sank on the snow
Of her bosom, a thing made of terror and woe,
And answer'd its throb with the shudder of fears,
And hid my cold eyes from her eyes with my tears,
And strain'd her white arms with the still languid weight
Of a fainting distress. There she sat like the Fate
That is nurse unto Death, and bent over in shame
To hide me from her-the true Ægle-that came
With the words on her lips the false witch had fore-given
To make me immortal-for now I was even

At the portals of Death, who but waited the hush
Of world-sounds in my ear to cry welcome, and rush
With my soul to the banks of his black-flowing river.
Oh, would it had flown from my body for ever,
Ere I listen'd those words, when I felt with a start,
The life-blood rush back in one throb to my heart,
And saw the pale lips where the rest of that spell
Had perish'd in horror-and heard the farewell

Of that voice that was drown'd in the dash of the stream!
How fain had I follow'd, and plunged with that scream
Into death, but my being indignantly lagg'd
Through the brutalised flesh that I painfully dragg'd
Behind me:- "O Circe! O mother of spite !

Speak the last of that curse! and imprison me quite
In the husk of a brute,-that no pity may name
The man that I was,-that no kindred may claim
The monster I am! Let me utterly be

Brute-buried, and Nature's dishonour with me
Uninscribed!"-But she listen'd my prayer, that was

To her malice, with smiles, and advised me to gaze
On the river for love,—and perchance she would make
In pity a maid without eyes for my sake,

And she left me like Scorn. Then I ask'd of the wave,
What monster I was, and it trembled and gave

The true shape of my grief, and I turn'd with my face From all waters for ever, and fled through that place, Till with horror more strong than all magic I pass'd Its bounds, and the world was before me at last.

There I wander'd in sorrow, and shunn'd the abodes Of men, that stood up in the likeness of Gods, But I saw from afar the warm shine of the sun On their cities, where man was a million, not one; And I saw the white smoke of their altars ascending, That show'd where the hearts of the many were blending, And the wind in my face brought shrill voices that came From the trumpets that gather'd whole bands in one fame As a chorus of man,—and they stream'd from the gates Like a dusky libation pour'd out to the Fates. But at times there were gentler processions of peace That I watch'd with my soul in my eyes till their cease, There were women! there men ! but to me a third sex I saw them all dots-yet I loved them as specks: And oft to assuage a sad yearning of eyes

I stole near the city, but stole covert-wise

Like a wild beast of love, and perchance to be smitten
By some hand that I rather had wept on than bitten !
Oh, I once had a haunt near a cot where a mother
Daily sat in the shade with her child, and would smother
Its eyelids in kisses, and then in its sleep

Sang dreams in its ear of its manhood, while deep

In a thicket of willows I gazed o'er the brooks

That murmur'd between us and kiss'd them with looks;
But the willows unbosom'd their secret, and never

I return'd to a spot I had startled for ever,
Though I oft long'd to know, but could ask it of none,
Was the mother still fair, and how big was her son?

For the haunters of fields they all shunn'd me by flight, The men in their horror, the women in fright; None ever remain'd save a child once that sported Among the wild bluebells, and playfully courted The breeze; and beside him a speckled snake lay Tight strangled, because it had hiss'd him away From the flower at his finger; he rose and drew near Like a Son of Immortals, one born to no fear,

But with strength of black locks and with eyes azure bright

To grow to large manhood of merciful might.

He came, with his face of bold wonder, to feel,
The hair of my side, and to lift up my heel,

And question'd my face with wide eyes; but when under
My lids he saw tears,-for I wept at his wonder,
He stroked me, and utter'd such kindliness then,
That the once love of women, the friendship of men
In past sorrow, no kindness e'er came like a kiss
On my heart in its desolate day such as this!

And I yearn'd at his cheeks in my love, and down bent,
And lifted him up in my arms with intent

To kiss him, but he cruel-kindly, alas!

Held out to my lips a pluck'd handful of grass!
Then I dropt him in horror, but felt as I fled
The stone he indignantly hurl'd at my head,

That dissever'd my ear,—but I felt not, whose fate
Was to meet more distress in his love than his hate!

Thus I wander'd, companion'd of grief and forlorn Till I wish'd for that land where my being was born, But what was that land with its love, where my home Was self-shut against me; for why should I come Like an after-distress to my grey-bearded father, With a blight to the last of his sight?—let him rather Lament for me dead, and shed tears in the urn Where I was not, and still in fond memory turn To his son even such as he left him. Oh, how Could I walk with the youth once my fellows, but now

Like Gods to my humbled estate?—or how bear
The steeds once the pride of my eyes and the care
Of my hands? Then I turn'd me self-banish'd, and came
Into Thessaly here, where I met with the same

As myself. I have heard how they met by a stream
In games, and were suddenly changed by a scream
That made wretches of many, as she roll'd her wild eyes
Against heaven, and so vanish'd.—The gentle and wise
Lose their thoughts in deep studies, and others their ill
In the mirth of mankind where they mingle them still.

THE TWO PEACOCKS OF BEDFONT

I

ALAS! That breathing Vanity should go
Where Pride is buried,-like its very ghost,
Uprisen from the naked bones below,

In novel flesh, clad in the silent boast
Of gaudy silk that flutters to and fro,

Shedding its chilling superstition most
On young and ignorant natures- -as it wont
To haunt the peaceful churchyard of Bedfont!

II

Each Sabbath morning, at the hour of prayer,
Behold two maidens, up the quiet green
Shining, far distant, in the summer air

That flaunts their dewy robes and breatnes between Their downy plumes,-sailing as if they were

Two far-off ships,—until they brush between

The churchyard's humble walls, and watch and wait On either side of the wide open'd gate.

III

And there they stand with haughty necks before God's holy house, that points towards the skiesFrowning reluctant duty from the poor,

And tempting homage from unthoughtful eyes: And Youth looks lingering from the temple door, Breathing its wishes in unfruitful sighs, With pouting lips,-forgetful of the grace,

Of health, and smiles, on the heart-conscious face ;

IV

Because that Wealth, which has no bliss beside,
May wear the happiness of rich attire;
And those two sisters, in their silly pride,

May change the soul's warm glances for the fire
Of lifeless diamonds ;—and for health denied,—
With art, that blushes at itself, inspire
Their languid cheeks and flourish in a glory
That has no life in life, nor after-story.

V

The aged priest goes shaking his grey hair
In meekest censuring, and turns his eye
Earthward in grief, and heavenward in pray'r,
And sighs, and clasps his hands, and passes by,
Good-hearted man! what sullen soul would wear
Thy sorrow for a garb, and constantly

Put on thy censure, that might win the praise
Of one so grey in goodness and in days?

VI

Also the solemn clerk partakes the shame
Of this ungodly shine of human pride,
And sadly blends his reverence and blame
In one grave bow, and passes with a stride
Impatient-many a red-hooded dame

Turns her pain'd head, but not her glance, aside

From wanton dress, and marvels o'er again,
That heaven hath no wet judgments for the vain.