PART EIGHTH.

SAYINGS FROM

" THE SPANISH GYPSY'

AND OTHER POEMS.

THE SPANISH GYPSY.

George Eliot (in propria persona).

'TIS the warm South, where Europe spreads her lands
Like fretted leaflets, breathing on the deep :
Broad-breasted Spain, leaning with equal love
On the Mid Sea that moans with memories,
And on the untravelled Ocean's restless tides.

Has come the time of sweet serenity

When colour glows unglittering, and the soul
Of visible things shows silent happiness,

As that of lovers trusting though apart.

The ripe-cheeked fruits, the crimson-petalled flowers;
The wingèd life that pausing seems a gem
Cunningly carven on the dark green leaf;
The face of man with hues supremely blent
To difference fine as of a voice 'mid sounds :-

Each lovely light-dipped thing seems to emerge
Flushed gravely from baptismal sacrament.
All beauteous existence rests, yet wakes,
Lies still, yet conscious, with clear open eyes
And gentle breath and mild suffusèd joy.
'Tis day, but day that falls like melody
Repeated on a string with graver tones
Tones such as linger in a long farewell.

And still the light is changing high above
Float soft pink clouds; others with deeper flush
Stretch like flamingos bending toward the south.
Comes a more solemn brilliance o'er the sky,
A meaning more intense upon the air--
The inspiration of the dying day.

JUAN'S SONG.

DAY is dying! Float, O song,
Down the westward river,

Requiem chanting to the Day—

Day, the mighty Giver.

Pierced by shafts of Time he bleeds,

Melted rubies sending

Through the river and the sky,

Earth and heaven blending;