This Hermione absorbed

The lustre of the land and ocean,
Hills and islands, cloud and tree,
In her form and motion.

'I ask no bauble miniature,
Nor ringlets dead

Shorn from her comely head,
Now that morning not disdains
Mountains and the misty plains
Her colossal portraiture ;
They her heralds be,
Steeped in her quality,

And singers of her fame

Who is their Muse and dame.

'Higher, dear swallows! mind not what I say.

Ah! heedless how the weak are strong,

Say, was it just,

In thee to frame, in me to trust,

Thou to the Syrian couldst belong?

'I am of a lineage

That each for each doth fast engage;
In old Bassora's schools, I seemed
Hermit vowed to books and gloom, -
Ill-bestead for gay bridegroom.
I was by thy touch redeemed;
When thy meteor glances came,
We talked at large of worldly fate,
And drew truly every trait.

'Once I dwelt apart,

Now I live with all;

As shepherd's lamp on far hill-side
Seems, by the traveller espied,
A door into the mountain heart,
So didst thou quarry and unlock
Highways for me through the rock.

'Now, deceived, thou wanderest
In strange lands unblest;

And my kindred come to soothe me.
Southwind is my next of blood;
He is come through fragrant wood,
Drugged with spice from climates warm,
And in every twinkling glade,
And twilight nook,

Unveils thy form.

Out of the forest way

Forth paced it yesterday;

And when I sat by the watercourse,

Watching the daylight fade,

It throbbed up from the brook.

'River and rose and crag and bird,
Frost and sun and eldest night,
To me their aid preferred,
To me their comfort plight;
66 Courage! we are thine allies,
And with this hint be wise,
The chains of kind

The distant bind;

Deed thou doest she must do,
Above her will, be true;
And, in her strict resort
To winds and waterfalls

And autumn's sunlit festivals,

To music, and to music's thought,
Inextricably bound,

She shall find thee, and be found.
Follow not her flying feet;

VENUS, when her son was lost,
Cried him up and down the coast,
In hamlets, palaces and parks,
And told the truant by his marks, -
Golden curls, and quiver and bow.
This befell how long ago!

Time and tide are strangely changed,
Men and manners much deranged:
None will now find Cupid latent
By this foolish antique patent.
He came late along the waste,

Shod like a traveller for haste;

With malice dared me to proclaim him,
That the maids and boys might name him.

Boy no more, he wears all coats,
Frocks and blouses, capes, capotes;
He bears no bow, or quiver, or wand,
Nor chaplet on his head or hand.

Leave his weeds and heed his eyes,
All the rest he can disguise.

In the pit of his eye's a spark

Would bring back day if it were dark; And, if I tell you all my thought,

Though I comprehend it not,

In those unfathomable orbs

Every function he absorbs;

Doth eat, and drink, and fish, and shoot,
And write, and reason, and compute,
And ride, and run, and have, and hold,
And whine, and flatter, and regret,
And kiss, and couple, and beget,
By those roving eyeballs bold.

Undaunted are their courages,
Right Cossacks in their forages;
Fleeter they than any creature,

They are his steeds, and not his feature ; Inquisitive, and fierce, and fasting,

Restless, predatory, hasting;

And they pounce on other eyes

As lions on their prey;

And round their circles is writ,
Plainer than the day,

Underneath, within, above,

Love love love love.

He lives in his eyes;

There doth digest, and work, and spin,
And buy, and sell, and lose, and win;
He rolls them with delighted motion,
Joy-tides swell their mimic ocean.
Yet holds he them with tortest rein,
That they may seize and entertain

The glance that to their glance opposes,
Like fiery honey sucked from roses.
He palmistry can understand,
Imbibing virtue by his hand

As if it were a living root;

The pulse of hands will make him mute;
With all his force he gathers balms

Into those wise, thrilling palms.

Can your lurking thought surprise,
And interpret your device.
He is versed in occult science,
In magic and in clairvoyance,
Oft he keeps his fine ear strained,
And Reason on her tiptoe pained
For aëry intelligence,

And for strange coincidence.

But it touches his quick heart

When Fate by omens takes his part,

And chance dropped hints from Nature's sphere

Deeply soothe his anxious ear.

Heralds high before him run;

He has ushers many a one;

-

He spreads his welcome where he goes,
And touches all things with his rose.
All things wait for and divine him, -
How shall I dare to malign him,
Or accuse the god of sport?
I must end my true report,
Painting him from head to foot,
In as far as I took note,