In the lone leafy space between, Sent o'er the wave a sigh unblest At that still hour, his place of rest! Meanwhile there came a sound of song But, no-the nymphs knew well the tone- Had deep into those ruins roved, Her lover sung one moonlight night:— To that fair Fountain, by whose stream On summer-nights, and, like the hours, Nor sought their boats, till morning shone? They went, in cadence slow and light, And thus to that enchanted Spring Warbled their Farewell for the night: Now, by those stars that glance But when to merry feet Hearts with no echo beat, Say, can the dance be sweet? Maidens of Zea! No, naught but Music's strain, When lovers part in pain, Soothes, till they meet again, Oh, Maids of Zea! SECOND EVENING. SONG. WHEN evening shades are falling Their home beyond the deep; The shores with gladness smile, And lutes, their echoes blending, Are heard from isle to isle, Then, Mary, Star of the Sea,25 We pray, we pray, to thee! The noonday tempest over, Now Ocean toils no more, And wings of halcyons hover, Where all was strife before. Oh thus may life, in closing Its short tempestuous day, Beneath heaven's smile reposing, Shine all its storms away! Thus, Mary, Star of the Sea, We pray, we pray, to thee! On Helle's sea the light grew dim, And light and song together died. So soft through evening's air had breathed That choir of youthful voices, wreathed In many-linked harmony, That boats, then hurrying o'er the sea, Paused, when they reach'd this fairy shore, And linger'd till the strain was o'er. Of those young maids who've met to fleet Than when they last adorn'd these bowers For tidings of glad sound had come, At break of day, from the far islesTidings like breath of life to someThat Zea's sons would soon wing home, Crown'd with the light of Vict'ry's smiles, To meet that brightest of all meeds That wait on high, heroic deeds, When gentle eyes that scarce, for tears, Could trace the warrior's parting track, Shall, like a misty morn that clears, When the long-absent sun appears, Shine qut, all bliss, to hail him back. How fickle still the youthful breast!— More fond of change than a young moon, No joy so new was e'er possess'd But Youth would leave for newer soon. These Zean nymphs, though bright the spot, Where first they held their evening play, As ever fell to fairy's lot To wanton o'er by midnight's ray, And ne'er did evening more serene That stirr'd not the hush'd waters, went; Some that, ere rosy eve fell o'er The blushing wave, with mainsail free, Had put forth from the Attic shore, Or the near Isle of Ebony ;Some, Hydriot barks, that deep in caves Beneath Colonna's pillar'd cliffs, Had all day lurk'd, and o'er the waves Now shot their long and dart-like skiffs. Woe to the craft, however fleet, These sea-hawks in their course shall meet. Laden with juice of Lesbian vines, Or rich from Naxos' emery mines; For not more sure, when owlets flee O'er the dark crags of Pendelee, Doth the night-falcon mark his prey, Or pounce on it more fleet than they. And what a moon now lights the glade Had touch'd its virgin lustre yet; On a bold rock, that o'er the flood But lighter thoughts and lighter song Tell of some spells at work, and keep Young fancies chain'd in mute suspense, Watching what next may shine from thence. Nor long the pause, ere hands unseen That mystic curtain backward drew, And all, that late but shown between, In half-caught gleams, now burst to view. A picture 'twas of the early days Of glorious Greece, ere yet those rays Of rich, immortal Mind were hers That made mankind her worshippers; While, yet unsung, her landscapes shone With glory lent by Heaven alone; Nor temples crown'd her nameless hills, Nor Muse immortalized her rills; Nor aught but the mute poesy Of Such was the scene that mimic stage Ere yet the simple violet braid,20 Which then adorn'd her, had shone down The glory of earth's loftiest crown. While yet undream'd, her seeds of Art Lay sleeping in the marble mine— To all but life, in shapes divine; There, in the foreground of that scene, Of newly gather'd flowers, o'er which She graceful lean'd, intent to cull All that was there of hue most rich, To form a wreath, such as the eye Of her young lover, who stood by, With palette mingled fresh, might choose To fix by Painting's rainbow hues. The wreath was form'd; the maiden raised But on that bright look's witchery. From lips as moonlight fresh and pure, Thus hail'd the bright dream passing there, And sung the Birth of Portraiture." SONG. As once a Grecian maiden wove Her garland mid the summer bow'rs, There stood a youth, with eyes of love, To watch her while she wreathed the flow'rs. The youth was skill'd in Painting's art, CHORUS. Bless'd be Love, to whom we owe All that's fair and bright below. His hand had pictured many a rose, And sketch'd the rays that light the brook; But what were these, or what were those, To woman's blush, to woman's look? "Oh, if such magic pow'r there be, "This, this," he cried, "is all my prayer, "To paint that living light I see, "And fix the soul that sparkles there." His prayer, as soon as breathed, was heard; His palette, touch'd by Love, grew warm, And Painting saw her hues transferr'd From lifeless flow'rs to woman's form. Still as from tint to tint he stole, The fair design shone out the more, And there was now a life, a soul, Where only colors glow'd before. Then first carnations learn'd to speak, And lilies into life were brought; While, mantling on the maiden's cheek, Young roses kindled into thought. Then hyacinths their darkest dyes Upon the locks of Beauty threw; And violets, transform'd to eyes, Inshrined a soul within their blue. CHORUS. Bless'd be Love, to whom we owe To look what lights were on the sea, And think of th' absent silently. But soon that summons, known so well Through bow'r and hall, in Eastern lands, Whose sound, more sure than gong or bell, Lovers and slaves alike commands,— The clapping of young female hands, Calls back the groups from rock and field To see some new-form'd scene reveal'd;And fleet and eager, down the slopes Of the green glade, like antelopes, When, in their thirst, they hear the sound Of distant rills, the light nymphs bound. Far different now the scene-a waste Of Libyan sands, by moonlight's ray; An ancient well, whereon were traced The warning words, for such as stray Unarmed there," Drink and away!"28 While, near it, from the night-ray screen'd, And like his bells, in hush'd repose, A camel slept-young as if wean'd When last the star, Canopus, rose.20 Such was the back-ground's silent scene;- A youth whose cheeks of way-worn hue And pilgrim-bonnet, told the tale That he had been to Mecca's Vale: Haply in pleasant dreams, ev'n now Thinking the long-wish'd hour is come When, o'er the well-known porch at home, His hand shall hang the aloe boughTrophy of his accomplish'd vow.30 But brief his dream-for now the call Of the camp-chiefs from rear to van, "Bind on your burdens,"" wakes up all The widely slumb'ring caravan; And thus meanwhile, to greet the ear Of the young pilgrim as he wakes, The song of one who, ling'ring near, Had watch'd his slumber, cheerly breaks. Soon as the scene had closed, a cheer Of gentle voices, old and young, This tale of yore so aptly sung; And while some nymphs, in haste to tell How crown'd with praise their task had been, SONG. UP and march! the timbrel's sound And while, apart from that gay throng, SONG. No life is like the mountaineer's, Where, throned above this world, he hears Its strife at distance die. Or, should the sound of hostile drum Proclaim below, "We come-we come," Each crag that tow'rs in air Gives answer, "Come who dare!" While, like bees, from dell and dingle, Swift the swarming warriors mingle, And their cry “Hurra!” will be, "Hurra, to victory!" Then, when battle's hour is over, See the happy mountain lover, With the nymph, who'll soon be bride, Every shadow of his lot In her sunny smile forgot. Oh, no life is like the mountaineer's, His home is near the sky, Where, throned above this world, he hears Its strife at distance die. Nor only thus through summer suns Ev'n winter, bleak and dim, Then how bless'd, when night is closing, He beguiles the hour along; |