Upon thy lips Vassant[10] has made his lair, I find within thine eyes new worlds of light, In my own world no more I find repose. 3. The Ganges roars; the mighty Ganges swells, The Himalaya glows in evening’s light, And from the banyan-forest’s gloomy night The elephantine herd breaks forth and yells. O for a type to show how she excels! A typo of thee, so lovely to the sight, Thee the incomparable, good and bright, So that sweet rapture in my bosom dwells. In vain thou see’st me seek for types, and prate,-- See’st me with feelings struggle, and with rhyme, And, ah, thou smilest at my pangs of love! But smile! For when thou smil’st, Gandarvas straight Seize on the sweet guitar, and all the time Sing in the golden sunny halls above. 9. CATHERINE. 1. A beauteous star arises o’er my night, A star which smiles down on me comfort bright, And new life pledges to supply,-- O do not lie! As leaps to the moon the sea with sullen roar, So gladly, wildly, doth my spirit soar Up to thy blissful light on high,-- O do not lie! 2. “Will you not be presented to her?” The duchess whisper’d once to me. “On no account! for I to woo her “Methinks have too much modesty.” How gracefully she stands before me! I fancy, when I near her go, A newborn life is stealing o’er me, With newborn joy and newborn woe. I’m from her kept as though by anguish, While yearning drives me to draw near; Her eyes, as they so sweetly languish, The wild stars of my fate appear. Her brow is clear, yet in the distance The future lightning gathers there, The storm which, spite of all resistance, My spirit’s deepest seat will tear. Her mouth is lovely, but with terror I see beneath the roses hiss The serpents which will prove my error, With honied scorn and treach’rous kiss. Impell’d by yearning, still more near I Draw to the dear but dangerous place; Her darling voice already hear I-- Bright flames her every sentence grace. “Sir, what’s the name”--I hear her utter These words--“Of her whose voice I heard?” I only answer with a stutter: “Madam, I did not hear one word!” 3. Yes, I now, a poor magician, Like sage Merlin, am held fast In my magic ring at last, In disconsolate condition. At her feet imprison’d sweetly I am lying all the while, Gazing on her eyes’ sweet smile, And the hours are passing fleetly. Thus, for hours, days, weeks behold me! Like a vision time has fled, Scarcely know I what I said, And I know not what she told me. Just as if her lips were dearly Press’d to mine, beyond control I am stirr’d, till in my soul I can trace the flames full clearly. 4.