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And a languid fire creeps
Through my veins to all my frame, Dissolvingly and slowly: soon,
From thy rose-red lips My name Floweth ; and then, as in a swoon,
With dinning sound my ears are rife,
My tremulous tongue faltereth,
I drink the cup of a costly death, Brimmed 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.
THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
I SEE the wealthy miller yet,
His double chin, his portly size,
The busy wrinkles round his eyes ?
His dusty forehead dryly curled,
And full of dealings with the world?
In yonder chair I see him sit,
Three fingers round the old silver cup
So full of summer warmth, so glad,
His memory scarce can make me sad.
Yet fill my glass : give me one kiss :
My own sweet Alice, we must die.
There's somewhat in this world amiss
Shall be unriddled by and by. There's somewhat flows to us in life,
But more is taken quite away. Pray, Alice, pray, my darling wife,
That we may die the selfsame day.
Have I not found a happy earth?
I least should breathe a thought of pain. Would God renew me from my birth
I'd almost live my life again.
And once again to woo thee mine-
Across the walnuts and the wine
To be the long and listless boy
Late left an orphan of the squire, Where this old mansion mounted high
Looks down upon the village spire: For even here, where I and you
Have lived and loved alone so long, Each morn my sleep was broken through
By some wild skýlark's matin song.
And oft I heard the tender dove
your eyes, my love,
Before I dreamed that pleasant dreamStill hither thither idly swayed
Like those long mosses in the stream.
Or from the bridge I leaned to hear
The mill-dam rushing down with noise, And see the minnows everywhere
In crystal eddies glance and poise, The tali flag-flowers, when they sprung
Below the range of stepping stones, And those three chestnuts near, that hung
In masses thick with milky cones.
But, Alice, what an hour was that,
When, after roving in the woods, ('Twas April then,) I came and sat
Below the chestnuts, when their buds Were glistening to the breezy blue;
And on the slope, an absent fool, I cast me down, nor thought of you,
But angled in the higher pool.
A love-song I had somewhere read,
An echo from a measured strain, Beat time to nothing in my head
From some odd corner of the brain. It ,
With weary sameness in the rhymes, The phantom of a silent song,
That went and came a thousand times.
Then leapt a trout. In lazy mood
I watched the little circles die; They past into the level flood,
And there a vision caught my eye; The reílex of a beauteous form,
A glowing arm, a gleaming neck, As when a sunbeam wavers warm
Within the dark and dimpled beck.
For you remember, you had set,
That morning, on the casement's edge A long green box of mignonette,
And you were leaning from the ledge: And when I raised my eyes, above
They met with two so full and bright, Such eyes! I swear to you, my love,
That these have never lost their light.
I loved, and love dispelled the fear
That I should die an early death:
And filled the breast with
For I was altered, and began
And with the certain step of man.
I loved the brimming wave that swam
Through quiet meadows round the mill,
The pool beneath it never still,
The dark round of the dripping wheel,
Made misty with the floating meal.
And oft in ramblings on the wold,
When April nights began to blow, And April's crescent glimmered cold,
I saw the village lights below; I knew your taper far away,
And full at heart of trembling hope, From off the wold I came, and lay
Upon the freshly-flowered slope.
The deep brook groaned beneath the mill;
And “by that lamp," I thought, " she sits !” The white chalk-quarry from the hill
Gleamed to the flying moon by fits. 56 O that I were beside her now !
O will she answer if I call ?
Sweet Alice, if I told her all ?”
Sometimes I saw you sit and spin ;
And, in the pauses of the wind, Sometimes I heard you sing within;
Sometimes your shadow crossed the blind; At last you rose and moved the light,
And the long shadow of the chair Flitted across into the night,
And all the casement darkened there.
But when at last I dared to speak,
The lanes, you know, were white with May Your ripe lips moved not, but your
cheek Flushed like the coming of the day; And so it was—half-sly, half-shy,
You would, and would not, little one ! Although I pleaded tenderly,
And you and I were all alone.
And slowly was my mother brought
To yield consent to my desire :
I might have looked a little higher;
“ Yet must I love her for your sake; Go fetch your Alice here,” she said:
Her eyelid quivered as she spake.
And down I went to fetch my bride:
But, Alice, you were ill at ease; This dress and that by turns you tried,
Too fearful that you should not please. I loved you better for your fears,
I knew you could not look but well; And dews, that would have fall'n in tears.
kissed away before they fell.
I watched the little flutterings,
The doubt my mother would not see; She spoke at large of many things,
And at the last she spoke of me; And turning looked upon your face,
As near this door you sat apart,