Gebir | Page 6

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 abodes,?And murmurs as the ocean murmurs there.?And I have others given me by the nymphs,?Of sweeter sound than any pipe you have.?But we, by Neptune, for no pipe contend -?This time a sheep I win, a pipe the next.'?Now came she forward eager to engage,?But first her dress, her bosom then surveyed,?And heaved it, doubting if she could deceive.?Her bosom seemed, enclosed in haze like heaven,?To baffle touch, and rose forth undefined:?Above her knees she drew the robe succinct,?Above her breast, and just below her arms.?'This will preserve my breath when tightly bound,?If struggle