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Even
now, when I shut my eyes, I can see her proud, imperial form, clothed
alternately in dense shadow and the red flickering of the fire, as she
stood, the wild centre of as weird a scene as I ever witnessed, and
delivered herself of the burden of her thoughts and forebodings in a
kind of rhythmical speech that ran something as follows:--
Thou art my chosen--I have waited for thee from the beginning!
Thou art very beautiful. Who hath hair like unto thee, or skin so
white?
Who hath so strong an arm, who is so much a man?
Thine eyes are the sky, and the light in them is the stars.
Thou art perfect and of a happy face, and my heart turned itself
towards thee.
Ay, when mine eyes fell upon thee I did desire thee,--
Then did I take thee to me--oh, thou Beloved,
And hold thee fast, lest harm should come unto thee.
Ay, I did cover thine head with mine hair, lest the sun should
strike it;
And altogether was I thine, and thou wast altogether mine.


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