VIII.

Still side by side the lovers rest
Afloat in that sequestered nest.
page 321 As close to Ranolf s, Amo's head
Reclined,—her silky tresses spread
Beneath, beyond his own—unrolled
In black abundance uncontrolled,
To the warm and moisture-drinking air—
A splintered sunbeam lighting there,
Upon his locks of amber gleamed,
Which so contrasted—cushioned—seemed
A moon where sable soft cloud streamed,
Or golden lustrous coronet
On funeral pall of velvet set.
O'er rocks and trees, through light and shade
His curious eyes unresting strayed;
But hers were fixed upon his face,
Their choicest, dearest resting-place!
"O Rano—" such appeared to be
The train of feelings half expressed
In murmuring words that filled her breast:
"Great is indeed my love for thee!
It seems almost a dream, even now,
These lips—these eyes—this noble brow,
These locks that like the day-break shine,
Are mine, O mine—all—only mine!
How can I make you know and feel, -
How much I love you! how reveal
My thirst for what my heart adores,
The longing of my soul for yours!—
O best I love to lie awake,
A lonely tender watch to keep
Over my trusting own one's sleep,
And think, how can my love be shown!—-
What can I ever do to make
Myself more worthy of his own?
page 322 And almost wish your welfare less
That more might be the chance for me
To make or mend the happiness,
Health, comfort, I would have depend
On me, your dearest, only friend!
To do some little more of good
Than just preparing clothes or food;—
And I at times would almost flee
Your dear caress and company,
E'en when I know no need to go,
Just to contrive—consider—do
Some thing—some active thing for you;
As if the care itself were dear
As him I cared for!—all the same
It is my joy to trust—revere—
Look up to—as my ruler claim
And sole protector, guide and guard,—
Him o'er whose weal I watch and ward.
So would I, with the parent's love
The cherished child's affection prove;
So be the mother-bird to hold
The young one in her fond wing's fold,
Yet nestle like the fledgeling too
Beneath the breast so sheltering, true:
As if—my love, my lord, my life,
It were not all to be your wife!—
But I can never, never have
Enough of that sweet love I crave;
Can never find or feign or steal
Sufficient outlet to reveal
The burning boundless love I fed
I So could I anger—give you pain,
To soothe, coax, comfort you again;
page 323 Would have you sick, to nurse and tend,
And deeper love that way expend
Upon you; have you cruel, sweet!
So might I down before you throw
Myself in self-abandonment
More utter—not to frustrate so
The working of your fall intent,
But to cling to you and entreat
And clasp your knees and kiss your feet
And mercy with hot tears implore,
Only to feel myself the more
Your own—all yours—life—body—soul—
On whom no shadow of control
Shall check your power at any hour
To wreak your wildest whim or will—
To ban—to bless—to save or kill 1
So would I tend—implore—offend—
Do anything your thoughts to fill,
Share each emotion, every thrill,
And bear an all-absorbing part
In all the beatings of your heart!
So should my Soul live, drink, and feed
On yours—its ardour-kindling spring!
For are you not—indeed—indeed—
The gulf into whose depths I fling
My all of being; plunged and tost
In fathomless sweet fires, and lost
In this immeasurable abyss
And whirl of overwhelming bliss!
Yes, yes 1 you know that you are this,
My soul-devouring, lordly bird
Of beauty! O, with plumes so fair,
Such stately step, commanding air
page 324 And eyes so proud and free! O whence,
Whence shall I seek new life to drain,
Win some existence back again,
But from this heart of yours alone
Which so consumes—absorbs my own!—

So dearest, you conceive how thence
My foolish fancy, my pretence
Of drowning came; 'twas but to hear
Your love in your lamenting—cheer
My heart with your despair and feel
The sweet sensations o'er me steal
Of your fond efforts to restore
And bring me back to life once more!—
But had I really died to-day
Think not, dear friend! my
Soul set free—
This 'Wairua'—could have fled away
To any realm where Spirits stray,
Could ever have abandoned thee! I
I know, I know! distressed, forlorn,
It could not from thy side be torn—
Would long for—linger—only rest
Near what in life it loved the best!"