The old man's neck, and kiss'd him many times 160 And all the man was broken with remorse; And all his love came back a hundredfold; And for three hours he sobb'd o'er William's child, Thinking of William. So those four abode Within one house together; and as years 165 Went forward, Mary took another mate; But Dora lived unmarried till her death. OENONE--1832 There lies a vale in Ida,[176] lovelier Than all the valleys of Ionian[177] hills. The swimming vapour slopes athwart the glen, Puts forth an arm, and creeps from pine to pine, And loiters, slowly drawn. On either hand 5 The lawns and meadow-ledges midway down Hang rich in flowers, and far below them roars The long brook falling thro' the clov'n ravine In cataract after cataract to the sea. Behind the valley topmost Gargarus[178] 10 Stands up and takes the morning: but in front The gorges, opening wide apart, reveal Troas[179] and Ilion's[180] column'd citadel, The crown of Troas. Hither came at noon Mournful Oenone, wandering forlorn 15 Of Paris,[181] once her playmate on the hills. Her cheek had lost the rose, and round her neck Floated her hair or seem'd to float in rest. She, leaning on a fragment twined with vine, Sang to the stillness, till the mountain-shade 20 Sloped downward to her seat from the upper cliff. "O mother Ida, many-fountain'd Ida, Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. For now the noonday quiet holds the hill: The grasshopper is silent in the grass: 25 The lizard, with his shadow on the stone, Rests like a shadow, and the winds are dead. The purple flower droops: the golden bee Is lily-cradled: I alone awake. My eyes are full of tears, my heart of love, 30 My heart is breaking, and my eyes are dim, And I am all aweary of my life. "O mother Ida, many-fountained Ida, Dear mother Ida, hearken ere I die. Hear me, O Earth, hear me, O Hills, O Caves 35 That house the cold crown'd snake! O mountain brooks, I am the daughter of a River-God,[182] Hear me, for I will speak, and build up all My sorrow with my song, as yonder walls Rose slowly to a music slowly breathed,[183] 40 A cloud that gather'd shape: for it may be That, while I speak of it, a little while My heart may wander from its deeper woe.