The Shepherd.
Upon the lofty ledges of an alp1
Green as an emerald, whence into the vale2
Leaps the loud cataract, the shepherd lay ;3
And, for the Spring was come and all things, sweet,4
His soul was moved to music, and he played5
Upon his pastoral pipe a prelude rare,6
Accordant with the bleatings of the hill,7
And lowings of the valley, and far away8
Murmurings of the many-voicèd main.9
Clear-voiced he sang, for he was skilled to wed10
Words winged with passion unto passionate airs ;11
Happy the singer, but the song was sad,12
To pique the more him happy, and thus he sang :13
“ O meadow flowers, primrose and violet,14
Ye touch her slender ankles as she moves,15
But I, that worship, may not kiss her feet.16
“ O mountain airs, where unconfinèd float17
Her locks ambrosial, would that I were you,18
To wanton with the tangles of her hair !19
“ O leaping waves, that press and lip and lave20
Her thousand beauties, when shall it be mine21
To touch and kiss and clasp her even as you ?22
“ But she more loves the blossom and the breeze23
Than lip or hand of mine, and thy cold clasp,24
O barren sea, than these impassioned arms.”25
So ran the song ; and even the while he sang26
Her head lay on his shoulder, and her hands27
Wove him the prize, a crown of meadow flowers,28
Primrose and violet, and with amorous touch29
He wooed her neck and wantoned with her hair,30
And marked the tell-tale colour flush and fail31
Thrilled with a touch, and felt the counter-thrill32
Throng all the passionate pulses of the blood,33
Nor envied in his heart the barren sea.34