Part 3 — SCENE V.—LORD SEAFORD, alternately writing at a table and composing at his pianoforte.

SONG.

Eyes of beauty, eyes of light, Sweetly, softly, sadly bright! Draw not, ever, o'er my eye, Radiant mists of ecstasy.

Be not proud, O glorious orbs! Not your mystery absorbs; But the starry soul that lies Looking through your night of eyes.

One moment, be less perfect, sweet; Sin once in something small; One fault to lift me on my feet From love's too perfect thrall!

For now I have no soul; a sea Fills up my caverned brain, Heaving in silent waves to thee, The mistress of that main.

O angel! take my hand in thine; Unfold thy shining silver wings; Spread them around thy face and mine, Close curtained in their murmurings.

But I should faint with too much bliss To be alone in space with thee; Except, O dread! one angel-kiss In sweetest death should set me free.

O beauteous devil, tempt me, tempt me on, Till thou hast won my soul in sighs; I'll smile with thee upon thy flaming throne, If thou wilt keep those eyes.

And if the meanings of untold desires Should charm thy pain of one faint sting, I will arise amid the scorching fires, I will arise and sing.

O what is God to me? He sits apart Amid the clear stars, passionless and cold. Divine! thou art enough to fill my heart; O fold me in thy heaven, sweet love, infold.

With too much life, I fall before thee dead. With holding thee, my sense consumes in storm. Thou art too keen a flame, too hallowed For any temple but thy holy form.