And when I most succeeded, as I thought, My bosom and my throat felt so compressed That life was almost quivering on my lips, Yet nothing was there painful! these are signs Of secret arts and not of human might— What arts I cannot tell—I only know My eyes grew dizzy, and my strength decayed. I was indeed o’ercome! with what regret, And more, with what confusion, when I reached The fold, and yielding up the sheep, she cried: ‘This pays a shepherd to a conquering maid.’ She smiled, and more of pleasure than disdain Was in her dimpled chin and liberal lip, And eyes that languished, lengthening, just like love. She went away; I on the wicker gate Leant, and could follow with my eyes alone. The sheep she carried easy as a cloak; But when I heard its bleating, as I did, And saw, she hastening on, its hinder feet Struggle and from her snowy shoulder slip— One shoulder its poor efforts had unveiled— Then all my passions mingling fell in tears; Restless then ran I to the highest ground To watch her—she was gone—gone down the tide— And the long moonbeam on the hard wet sand Lay like a jasper column half-upreared.” “But, Tamar! tell me, will she not return?” “She will return, yet not before the moon Again is at the full; she promised this, Though when she promised I could not reply.” “By all the gods I pity thee! go on— Fear not my anger, look not on my shame; For when a lover only hears of love He finds his folly out, and is ashamed. Away with watchful nights and lonely days, Contempt of earth and aspect up to heaven, Within contemplation, with humility, A tattered cloak that pride wears when deformed, Away with all that hides me from myself, Parts me from others, whispers I am wise— From our own wisdom less is to be reaped Than from the barest folly of our friend. Tamar! thy pastures, large and rich, afford Flowers to thy bees and herbage to thy sheep, But, battened on too much, the poorest croft Of thy poor neighbour yields what thine denies.” They hastened to the camp, and Gebir there Resolved his native country to forego, And ordered, from those ruins to the right They forthwith raise a city: Tamar heard With wonder, though in passing ’twas half-told, His brother’s love, and sighed upon his own. SECOND BOOK.