sweetness, and his fiery eyes Grown humid, as he fixed them on the Queen In soft entreaty. From her lofty brow, So pale and passive, had the shadow rolled, As slightly and unconsciously she bent To his quick utterance. A sudden ray Stole from the twilight of her deepening eyes, And a warm redness into either cheek, Troubling its cold repose, shot quickly up. A moment of suspense, and then she spoke: "'Tis true that I thy body might restore, Since but suspension of its human powers, And not its loss or injury, I control. But what assurance have I that this boon May not prove dangerous? Mortals have what we, With all our vast machinery and weird powers Moving the earth, the sea and air, have not-- And that is--SOUL. A soul and body, too, Might circumvent us--work us desperate harm;-- At least 'tis wise to fear the things unknown, And to be chary how we give them scope. As long as thy body's powers restrain, Thy spirit to my will in bondage is; Thou hast no wherewithal to make ado-- No weapon at thy service--art a slave,-- And shall I give to thee a master's place? Yet, thou hast wakened in me a new thought. What is this love of which you mortals tell?-- Which puts such tender sweetness in your tones Such brightness in your looks, and makes you turn Upon each other such delighted eyes? Your words have stirred strange pleasure in my heart: I, too, would know what love is. I command That thou shalt teach me, BERTHO. Let the girl Return, uninjured, to her southern bowers; Whilst thou remain to teach me this new lore. Perchance, in finding Love, I'll gain a soul, And learn of immortality; and all The vague, sad intuitions that now mock me, Make real, and I become what I have dreamed. Make these things come to pass, and thou shalt have, Thy body and thy freedom, and a place, The highest of my chieftains. Follow me!" These ominous words of the enamored Queen, Spoken as though she knew not what it was That one should think of disobedience, Poor OLIVE heard, with looks of agony Fixed on the speaker's face--that Northern face, Wild in its power and in its beauty weird. The starry halo of that tintless crown, The midnight blackness of her plentiful hair, Set off the splendor of the countenance On which the maiden bent her pale regard.
