And flaming downward over all

From heat to heat the day decreased,

And slowly rounded to the east

The one black shadow from the wall.

66

The day to night," she made her moan,

"The day to night, the night to morn, And day and night I am left alone

To live forgotten, and love forlorn."

VIII.

At eve a dry cicala sung,

There came a sound as of the sea;

Backward the lattice-blind she flung,

And lean'd upon the balcony.

There all in spaces rosy-bright

Large Hesper glitter'd on her tears,

And deepening thro' the silent spheres,

Heaven over Heaven rose the night.

And weeping then she made her moan,

66

The night comes on that knows not morn, When I shall cease to be all alone,

To live forgotten, and love forlorn."

ELEANORE.

THY dark eyes open'd not,

Nor first reveal'd themselves to English air,

For there is nothing here,

Which, from the outward to the inward brought, Moulded thy baby thought.

Far off from human neighbourhood,

Thou wert born, on a summer morn,

A mile beneath the cedar-wood.

Thy bounteous forehead was not fann'd

With breezes from our oaken glades,

But thou wert nursed in some delicious land

Of lavish lights, and floating shades:

And flattering thy childish thought

The oriental fairy brought,

At the moment of thy birth,

From old well-heads of haunted rills,

And the hearts of purple hills,

And shadow'd coves on a sunny shore,

The choicest wealth of all the earth, Jewel or shell, or starry ore,

To deck thy cradle, Eleänore.

Or the yellow-banded bees,
Thro' half-open lattices

Coming in the scented breeze,

Fed thee, a child, lying alone,

With whitest honey in fairy gardens cull'd—

A glorious child, dreaming alone,

In silk-soft folds, upon yielding down,

With the hum of swarming bees

Into dreamful slumber lull'd.

Who

may minister to thee?

Summer herself should minister

To thee, with fruitage golden-rinded

On golden salvers, or it may be,

Youngest Autumn, in a bower

Grape-thicken'd from the light, and blinded

With many a deep-hued bell-like flower Of fragrant trailers, when the air

Sleepeth over all the heaven,

And the crag that fronts the Even,
All along the shadowing shore,

Crimsons over an inland mere,

The full-flowing harmony

Of thy swan-like stateliness,

Eleanore?

The luxuriant symmetry

Of thy floating gracefulness,

Eleanore?

Every turn and glance of thine,

Every lineament divine,

Eleänore,