LVII. Her LVIII. Too stern inscription for a page so young, LIX. Meanwhile she sits unconscious of her hap, With heavy head lies pillow'd in her lap, And elbows all unhinged; his sleeking hair Creeps o'er her knees, and settles where his hand Leans with lax fingers crook'd against the sand; LX. And there lies spread in many an oozy trail, LXI. And o'er his steadfast cheek a furrow'd pain LXII. But all that tender bloom about his eyes, Is death's own vi’lets, which his utmost rite It is to scatter when the red rose dies; For blue is chilly, and akin to white: Also he leaves some tinges on his lips, Which he hath kiss'd with such cold frosty nips. LXIII. Surely," quoth she, "he sleeps, the senseless thing, Oppress'd and faint with toiling in the stream!" Therefore she will not mar his rest, but sing So low, her tune shall mingle with his dream; LXIV. "O lovely boy!"—thus she attun'd her voice, "Welcome, thrice welcome, to a sea-maid's home, My love-mate thou shalt be, and true heart's choice; How have I long'd such a twin-self should come, A lonely thing, till this sweet chance befel, My heart kept sighing like a hollow shell. LXV. "Here thou shalt live, beneath this secret dome, An ocean bow'r, defended by the shade Of quiet waters; a cool emerald gloom To lap thee all about. Nay, be not fray'd, LXVI. "Look how the sunbeam burns upon their scales, And shows rich glimpses of their Tyrian skins, LXVII. "Lo! those green pretty leaves with tassel bells, My flowrets those, that never pine for drowth; Myself did plant them in the dappled shells, That drink the wave with such a rosy mouth, Pearls wouldst thou have beside? crystals to shine? I had such treasures once, now they are thine. LXVIII. "Now, lay thine ear against this golden sand, And thou shalt hear the music of the sea, Those hollow tunes it plays against the land, Is't not a rich and wondrous melody? I have lain hours, and fancied in its tone I heard the languages of ages gone! LXIX. "I too can sing when it shall please thy choice, Will add new notes of gladness to my range! LXX. "Or bid me speak and I will tell thee tales, LXXI. "But if thy lips will bless me with their speech, Then ope, sweet oracles! and I'll be mute; I was born ignorant for thee to teach, Nay all love's lore to thy dear looks impute; I saw to give away my heart aright!" |