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Impatiently upon her speech he broke.
“Whatever brought thee, ten times be it blest;
Ay, more than though a goddess it had brought;
For beauty like to thine, not heaven could boast;
Nor music like thy voice.”

His burning looks,
And tones, displeased her; but their wicked bent
She knew not; and no terror felt at all;
Knowing that evermore within the eye
Of God she was; and that, against His will,
No harm could touch her. From the frantic prince
Turning away,—his stream of passionate words,
She heard not, heeded not; more than the hum
Of babbling brook she had heeded. As alone,
Or of no presence conscious,—to and fro,
With arms crossed lightly, at slow pace she walked:
Now, toward the door a calm glance casting; now,
Toward the fast darkening sky. Each look he watched,
While pouring his vile love-strain; and, at length,
When with long gaze he saw her face upturned,
“Ah! sweetest one,” he cried, “here must thou stay,
Or bide a storm. I, too, must prisoner be;
For, verily, a frown the sky puts on,
Might threaten second hail-plague. Blest the cause,
Loveliest, that hither brought thee! blest the chance
That kept me from the chase! and ten times blest
The clouds that bring this darkness! for my tongue,—
A very coward when broad daylight falls
Full on thy sun-bright beauty,—in the shade,
Bold will become, and eloquent to tell,—
Thou marvel of all woman-kind,—the love,
O'erwhelming, maddening, that I feel for thee.
Since first I saw thee, no breath have I drawn,
That brought not thought of thee: no life have had,
Save what remembrance of thy beauty gave.
Without thee, henceforth, earth is but a tomb:
Food, wine, are nauseous; sweetest breath of flowers
Hath death-scent! brightest sunshine is black night!
Be thou my wife,”—more near her drawing now,
He cried; and fell upon the knee, and clasped
His hands imploringly; “be thou my wife;
And, sometime, Egypt's queen.”

At quiet pace,—
As though she saw him not, nor heard at all,—
Still walked she on; but, at the chamber's end
Made pause, at length; and in deep awe looked forth;
For, so thick fell the darkness suddenly,
Twilight seemed dropped on noon.

Yet terror none
Came on the sensual prince,—so his whole frame
With foul desire was burning. That strange gloom,
To him, was brightness; for it made him bold
To dare what, in broad daylight, he had feared.
“Proud, scornful beauty,” thought he, to his feet
Upstarting; “if thou still refuse my love,
By all the gods of Egypt, I will seize,
And rend the fruit from off the tree; and feed
To very surfeiting!”

With hurried step
Then to the door he went; the silver bolt
Slid noiselessly; and turned to seek his prey.
But, at the spacious chamber's farther end,
Invisible was she now; in darkness wrapped,
As in a robe.

Even in his madness, struck
By a brief terror, toward a window nigh
He looked; and saw what seemed a solid mass
Of blackness falling,—as if Chaos, once more
Rampant o'er heaven, mountains of thickest night
Were hurling 'thwart the sky. But soon again,—
Fear chased by passion,—through the obscure he groped;
Hoping, though utterly from sight concealed,
Yet that some sound,—perchance a sigh, a word,
A motion,—might reveal her. A faint light,
As of a glowworm's beam, at length he saw;
And toward it moved: but, ere a second step
His slow foot trod, the living lamp beheld,
Whence came that radiance,—the heaven-lifted face
Of the pure virgin. Like embodied air,
Touched by the star of evening's silvery beam,
Softly it shone; beauty celestial all.
Yet, in the frantic youth, nought stirred it now
But foulest fire of earth. Stone-still she stood,
Seeing him not; for, through the window yet,
Skyward she looked; with hope some quickening beam
To spy in the grave-like blackness. One step more,
And he might seize her: yet, so dead the hush
Had suddenly fallën, that he feared to stir,
Almost to breathe, lest her keen sense should catch
Note of his presence near; and, terrified,
In the darkness she should plunge, and baffle him.
So, glaring on her, silently he stood;
And, in his foul heart, thus.

“Enchantress bright
Thine own sweet witchery betrayeth thee.
Spite of thyself, from out thine exquisite flesh
Beameth celestial light; and thou know'st not
What eye beholds thee; what foot standeth near.
Ah! in these arms let me once prison thee;
Never, while life lasts, shall the chain be slacked.
Bosom to bosom, lip to lip, close pressed,
Till death comes will I lock thee. Turn aside,
Witch, goddess, turn aside; for yet thine eye
O'erawes me: turn aside; that I may spring
Unseen upon thee; and, on earth, find heaven.”