Gebir | Page 6

sculptured galleries met her

ear;
Then lifting up her head, the evening sun
Poured a fresh
splendour on her burnished throne--
The fair Charoba, the young
queen, complied.
But Gebir when he heard of her approach
Laid by his orbed shield,
his vizor-helm,
His buckler and his corset he laid by,
And bade that
none attend him; at his side
Two faithful dogs that urge the silent
course,
Shaggy, deep-chested, crouched; the crocodile,
Crying, oft
made them raise their flaccid ears
And push their heads within their
master's hand.
There was a brightening paleness in his face,
Such as
Diana rising o'er the rocks
Showered on the lonely Latmian; on his
brow
Sorrow there was, yet nought was there severe.
But when the
royal damsel first he saw,
Faint, hanging on her handmaids, and her
knees
Tottering, as from the motion of the car,
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!
I cannot wait describing how she
came,
How I was sitting, how she first assumed
The sailor; of what
happened there remains
Enough to say, and too much to forget.

The

sweet deceiver stepped upon this bank
Before I was aware; for with
surprise
Moments fly rapid as with love itself.
Stooping to tune
afresh the hoarsened reed,
I heard a rustling, and where that arose

My glance first lighted on her nimble feet.
Her feet resembled those
long shells explored
By him who to befriend his steed's dim sight

Would blow the pungent powder in the eye.
Her eyes too! O
immortal gods! her eyes
Resembled--what could they resemble? what

Ever resemble those! E'en her attire
Was not of wonted woof nor
vulgar art:
Her mantle showed the yellow samphire-pod,
Her girdle
the dove-coloured wave serene.
'Shepherd,' said she, 'and will you
wrestle now
And with the sailor's hardier race engage?'
I was
rejoiced to hear it, and contrived
How to keep up contention; could I
fail
By pressing not too strongly, yet to press?
'Whether a shepherd,
as indeed you seem,
Or whether of the hardier race you boast,
I am
not daunted, no; I will engage.
But first,' said she, 'what wager will
you lay?'
'A sheep,' I answered; 'add whate'er you will.'
'I cannot,'
she replied, 'make that return:
Our hided vessels in their pitchy round

Seldom, unless from rapine, hold a sheep.
But I have sinuous shells
of pearly hue
Within, and they that lustre have imbibed
In the sun's
palace porch, where when unyoked
His chariot-wheel stands midway
in the wave:
Shake one and it awakens, then apply
Its polished lips
to your attentive ear,
And it remembers its august