Nine mornings with white ashes on their heads, Lamented they their toil each night o’erthrown. And now the largest orbit of the year, Leaning o’er black Mocattam’s rubied brow, Proceeded slow, majestic, and serene, Now seemed not further than the nearest cliff, And crimson light struck soft the phosphor wave. Then Gebir spake to Tamar in these words: “Tamar! I am thy elder and thy king, But am thy brother too, nor ever said, ‘Give me thy secret and become my slave:’ But haste thee not away; I will myself Await the nymph, disguised in thy attire.” Then starting from attention Tamar cried: “Brother! in sacred truth it cannot be! My life is yours, my love must be my own: Oh, surely he who seeks a second love Never felt one, or ’tis not one I feel.” But Gebir with complacent smile replied: “Go then, fond Tamar, go in happy hour— But ere thou partest ponder in thy breast And well bethink thee, lest thou part deceived, Will she disclose to thee the mysteries Of our calamity? and unconstrained? When even her love thy strength had to disclose. My heart indeed is full, but witness heaven! My people, not my passion, fills my heart.” “Then let me kiss thy garment,” said the youth, “And heaven be with thee, and on me thy grace.” Him then the monarch thus once more addressed: “Be of good courage: hast thou yet forgot What chaplets languished round thy unburnt hair, In colour like some tall smooth beech’s leaves Curled by autumnal suns?” How flattery Excites a pleasant, soothes a painful shame! “These,” amid stifled blushes Tamar said, “Were of the flowering raspberry and vine: But, ah! the seasons will not wait for love; Seek out some other now.” They parted here: And Gebir bending through the woodlands culled The creeping vine and viscous raspberry, Less green and less compliant than they were; And twisted in those mossy tufts that grow On brakes of roses when the roses fade: And as he passes on, the little hinds That shake for bristly herds the foodful bough, Wonder, stand still, gaze, and trip satisfied; Pleased more if chestnut, out of prickly husk Shot from the sandal, roll along the glade. And thus unnoticed went he, and untired Stepped up the acclivity; and as he stepped, And as the garlands nodded o’er his brow, Sudden from under a close alder sprang Th’ expectant nymph, and seized him unaware. He staggered at the shock; his feet at once Slipped backward from the withered grass short-grazed; But striking out one arm, though without aim, Then grasping with his other, he enclosed The struggler; she gained not one step’s retreat, Urging with open hands against his throat Intense, now holding in her breath constrained, Now pushing with quick impulse and by starts, Till the dust blackened upon every pore.