His eyes looked earnest on her, and those eyes Showed, if they had not, that they might have loved, For there was pity in them at that hour. With gentle speech, and more with gentle looks He soothed her; but lest Pity go beyond, And crossed Ambition lose her lofty aim, Bending, he kissed her garment and retired. He went, nor slumbered in the sultry noon When viands, couches, generous wines persuade And slumber most refreshes, nor at night, When heavy dews are laden with disease, And blindness waits not there for lingering age. Ere morning dawned behind him, he arrived At those rich meadows where young Tamar fed The royal flocks entrusted to his care. “Now,” said he to himself, “will I repose At least this burthen on a brother’s breast.” His brother stood before him. He, amazed, Reared suddenly his head, and thus began: “Is it thou, brother! Tamar, is it thou! Why, standing on the valley’s utmost verge, Lookest thou on that dull and dreary shore Where many a league Nile blackens all the sand. And why that sadness? when I passed our sheep The dew-drops were not shaken off the bar; Therefore if one be wanting ’tis untold.” “Yes, one is wanting, nor is that untold.” Said Tamar; “and this dull and dreary shore Is neither dull nor dreary at all hours.” Whereon the tear stole silent down his cheek, Silent, but not by Gebir unobserved: Wondering he gazed awhile, and pitying spake: “Let me approach thee; does the morning light Scatter this wan suffusion o’er thy brow, This faint blue lustre under both thine eyes?” “O brother, is this pity or reproach?” Cried Tamar; “cruel if it be reproach, If pity, oh, how vain!” “Whate’er it be That grieves thee, I will pity: thou but speak And I can tell thee, Tamar, pang for pang.” “Gebir! then more than brothers are we now! Everything, take my hand, will I confess. I neither feed the flock nor watch the fold; How can I, lost in love? But, Gebir, why That anger which has risen to your cheek? Can other men? could you?—what, no reply! And still more anger, and still worse concealed! Are these your promises, your pity this?” “Tamar, I well may pity what I feel— Mark me aright—I feel for thee—proceed— Relate me all.” “Then will I all relate,” Said the young shepherd, gladdened from his heart. “’Twas evening, though not sunset, and springtide Level with these green meadows, seemed still higher. ’Twas pleasant; and I loosened from my neck The pipe you gave me, and began to play. Oh, that I ne’er had learnt the tuneful art! It always brings us enemies or love! Well, I was playing, when above the waves Some swimmer’s head methought I saw ascend; I, sitting still, surveyed it, with my pipe Awkwardly held before my lips half-closed. Gebir! it was a nymph! a nymph divine!