Pillow'd his death-like forehead; then she wrung His dewy curls, long drench'd by every storm; And watch'd with eagerness each throb that drew A sigh from his heaved bosom-and her's too. And lifting him with care into the cave, The gentle girl and her attendant,- -one Light to the rocks that roof'd them, which the sun Had never seen, the maid, or whatsoe'er She was, appear'd distinct, and tall, and fair. Her brow was overhung with coins of gold, That sparkled o'er the auburn of her hair, Her clustering hair, whose longer locks were roll'd In braids behind, and though her stature were Even of the highest for a female mould, They nearly reach'd her heel; and in her air There was a something which bespoke command, As one who was a lady in the land. Her hair, I said, was auburn; but her eyes Were black as death-their lashes the same hue, Of downcast length, in whose silk shadow lies Deepest attraction, for when to the view Forth from its raven fringe the full glance flies, Ne'er with such force the swiftest arrow flew ; 'Tis as the snake late coil'd, who pours his length, And hurls at once his venom and his strength. Her brow was white and low, her cheek's pure die, Like twilight rosy still with the set sun; Short upper lip-sweet lips! that make us sigh (A race of mere impostors, when all's doneI've seen much finer women, ripe and real, Than all the nonsense of their stone ideal.) I'll tell you why I say so, for 'tis just One should not rail without a decent cause,There was an Irish lady, to whose bust I ne'er saw justice done, and yet she was A frequent model; and if e'er she must Yield to stern Time and Nature's wrinkling laws, They will destroy a face which mortal thought Ne'er compass'd, nor less mortal chisel wrought. And such was she, the lady of the cave; Her dress was very different from the Spanish, Simple, and yet of colours not so grave: For, as you know, the Spanish women banish Bright hues when out of doors, and yet, while wave Around them (what I hope will never vanish) The basquina and the mantilla, they Seem at the same time mystical and gay. But with our damsel this was not the case: Flow'd in her veil, and many a precious stone Flash'd on her little hand; but, what was shocking, Her small snow feet had slippers, but no stocking. And forth they wandered, her sire being gone, Thought daily service was her only mission, It was the cooling hour, just when the rounded With one star sparkling through it like an eye. And thus they wander'd forth, and hand in hand, And in the worn and wild receptacles Work'd by the storms, yet work'd as it were plann'd, They look'd up to the sky, whose floating glow Whence the broad moon rose circling into sight; They heard the wave's splash, and the wind so low, And saw each other's dark eyes darting light Into each other-and, beholding this, Their lips drew near, and clung into a kiss; A long, long kiss, a kiss of youth, and love, Such kisses as belong to early days. They were alone, but not alone as they The twilight glow, which momently grew less, Haidee was Nature's bride, and knew not this: Haidee was Passion's child, born where the sun Who was her chosen: what was said or done And now 'twas done on the lone shore were plighted Ocean their witness, and the cave their bed, Their priest was Solitude, and they were wed: And they were happy, for to their young eyes Each was an angel, and earth paradise. Don Juan. THE STORM. Barry Cornwall. THERE was a tempest brooding in the air, The barque wherein the luckless couple lay, No pilot had they their small boat to steer Who knew each creek and bay and sheltering steep, And all the many dangers of the deep. Shot shattering down, and thunders roar'd aloud, |