Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling, And approached him slowly, slowly, in a gliding measured pace; With her two white hands extended as if praying one offended, And a look of supplication gazing earnest in his face. VII. Said he--"Wake me by no gesture,--sound of breath, or stir of vesture! Let the blessèd apparition melt not yet to its divine! No approaching--hush, no breathing! or my heart must swoon to death in The too utter life thou bringest, O thou dream of Geraldine!" VIII. Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling, But the tears ran over lightly from her eyes and tenderly:-- "Dost thou, Bertram, truly love me? Is no woman far above me Found more worthy of thy poet-heart than such a one as _I_?" IX. Said he--"I would dream so ever, like the flowing of that river, Flowing ever in a shadow greenly onward to the sea! So, thou vision of all sweetness, princely to a full completeness Would my heart and life flow onward, deathward, through this dream of THEE!" X. Ever, evermore the while in a slow silence she kept smiling, While the silver tears ran faster down the blushing of her cheeks; Then with both her hands enfolding both of his, she softly told him, "Bertram, if I say I love thee, ... 't is the vision only speaks." XI. Softened, quickened to adore her, on his knee he fell before her, And she whispered low in triumph, "It shall be as I have sworn. Very rich he is in virtues, very noble--noble, certes; And I shall not blush in knowing that men call him lowly born." _THE RUNAWAY SLAVE AT PILGRIM'S POINT._ I. I stand on the mark beside the shore Of the first white pilgrim's bended knee, Where exile turned to ancestor, And God was thanked for liberty. I have run through the night, my skin is as dark, I bend my knee down on this mark: I look on the sky and the sea. II. O pilgrim-souls, I speak to you! I see you come proud and slow From the land of the spirits pale as dew And round me and round me ye go. O pilgrims, I have gasped and run All night long from the whips of one Who in your names works sin and woe! III. And thus I thought that I would come And kneel here where ye knelt before, And feel your souls around me hum In undertone to the ocean's roar; And lift my black face, my black hand, Here, in your names, to curse this land Ye blessed in freedom's, evermore. IV. I am black, I am black, And yet God made me, they say: But if He did so, smiling back He must have cast his work away Under the feet of his white creatures, With a look of scorn, that the dusky features Might be trodden again to clay. V.