XIX.

With all that chilling mystery of mien, And seeming gladness to remain unseen, He had (if 'twere not nature's boon) an art Of fixing memory on another's heart: It was not love perchance--nor hate--nor aught That words can image to express the thought; But they who saw him did not see in vain, And once beheld--would ask of him again: And those to whom he spake remembered well, And on the words, however light, would dwell: 370 None knew, nor how, nor why, but he entwined Himself perforce around the hearer's mind;[js] There he was stamped, in liking, or in hate, If greeted once; however brief the date That friendship, pity, or aversion knew,[jt] Still there within the inmost thought he grew. You could not penetrate his soul, but found, Despite your wonder, to your own he wound; His presence haunted still; and from the breast[ju] He forced an all unwilling interest: 380 Vain was the struggle in that mental net-- His Spirit seemed to dare you to forget!