Nearer he drew her and yet nearer, clasped Above the knees midway, and now one arm Fell, and her other lapsing o’er the neck Of Gebir swung against his back incurved, The swoll’n veins glowing deep, and with a groan On his broad shoulder fell her face reclined. But ah, she knew not whom that roseate face Cooled with its breath ambrosial; for she stood High on the bank, and often swept and broke His chaplets mingled with her loosened hair. Whether while Tamar tarried came desire, And she grown languid loosed the wings of love, Which she before held proudly at her will, And nought but Tamar in her soul, and nought Where Tamar was that seemed or feared deceit, To fraud she yielded what no force had gained— Or whether Jove in pity to mankind, When from his crystal fount the visual orbs He filled with piercing ether and endued With somewhat of omnipotence, ordained That never two fair forms at once torment The human heart and draw it different ways, And thus in prowess like a god the chief Subdued her strength nor softened at her charms— The nymph divine, the magic mistress, failed. Recovering, still half resting on the turf, She looked up wildly, and could now descry The kingly brow, arched lofty for command. “Traitor!” said she, undaunted, though amaze Threw o’er her varying cheek the air of fear, “Thinkest thou thus that with impunity Thou hast forsooth deceived me? dar’st thou deem Those eyes not hateful that have seen me fall? O heaven! soon may they close on my disgrace. Merciless man, what! for one sheep estranged Hast thou thrown into dungeons and of day Amerced thy shepherd? hast thou, while the iron Pierced through his tender limbs into his soul, By threats, by tortures, torn out that offence, And heard him (oh, could I!) avow his love? Say, hast thou? cruel, hateful!—ah my fears! I feel them true! speak, tell me, are they true?” She blending thus entreaty with reproach Bent forward, as though falling on her knee Whence she had hardly risen, and at this pause Shed from her large dark eyes a shower of tears. Th’ Iberian king her sorrow thus consoled. “Weep no more, heavenly damsel, weep no more: Neither by force withheld, or choice estranged Thy Tamar lives, and only lives for thee. Happy, thrice happy, you! ’tis me alone Whom heaven and earth and ocean with one hate Conspire on, and throughout each path pursue. Whether in waves beneath or skies above Thou hast thy habitation, ’tis from heaven, From heaven alone, such power, such charms, descend. Then oh! discover whence that ruin comes Each night upon our city, whence are heard Those yells of rapture round our fallen walls: In our affliction can the gods delight, Or meet oblation for the nymphs are tears?” He spake, and indignation sank in woe.