Part 8 (2/2)

”False Pontus! and the calm I hailed, The awaiting murder darkly veiled-- The lulled pellucid flow, The smiles in which thou wert arrayed, Were but the snares that love betrayed To thy false realm below!

Now in the midway of the main, Return relentlessly forbidden, Thou loosenest on the path beyond The horrors thou hadst hidden.”

Loud and more loud the tempest raves In thunder break the mountain waves, White-foaming on the rock-- No s.h.i.+p that ever swept the deep Its ribs of gnarled oak could keep Unshattered by the shock.

Dies in the blast the guiding torch To light the struggler to the strand; 'Tis death to battle with the wave, And death no less to land!

On Venus, daughter of the seas, She calls the tempest to appease-- To each wild-shrieking wind Along the ocean-desert borne, She vows a steer with golden horn-- Vain vow--relentless wind!

On every G.o.ddess of the deep, On all the G.o.ds in heaven that be, She calls--to soothe in calm, awhile The tempest-laden sea!

”Hearken the anguish of my cries!

From thy green halls, arise--arise, Leucothoe the divine!

Who, in the barren main afar, Oft on the storm-beat mariner Dost gently-saving s.h.i.+ne.

Oh,--reach to him thy mystic veil, To which the drowning clasp may cling, And safely from that roaring grave, To sh.o.r.e my lover bring!”

And now the savage winds are hus.h.i.+ng.

And o'er the arched horizon, blus.h.i.+ng, Day's chariot gleams on high!

Back to their wonted channels rolled, In crystal calm the waves behold One smile on sea and sky!

All softly breaks the rippling tide, Low-murmuring on the rocky land, And playful wavelets gently float A corpse upon the strand!

'Tis he!--who even in death would still Not fail the sweet vow to fulfil; She looks--sees--knows him there!

From her pale lips no sorrow speaks, No tears glide down her hueless cheeks; Cold-numbed in her despair-- She looked along the silent deep, She looked upon the brightening heaven, Till to the marble face the soul Its light sublime had given!

”Ye solemn powers men shrink to name, Your might is here, your rights ye claim-- Yet think not I repine Soon closed my course; yet I can bless The life that brought me happiness-- The fairest lot was mine!

Living have I thy temple served, Thy consecrated priestess been-- My last glad offering now receive Venus, thou mightiest queen!”

Flashed the white robe along the air, And from the tower that beetled there She sprang into the wave; Roused from his throne beneath the waste, Those holy forms the G.o.d embraced-- A G.o.d himself their grave!

Pleased with his prey, he glides along-- More blithe the murmured music seems, A gush from unexhausted urns His everlasting streams!

Ca.s.sANDRA.

Mirth the halls of Troy was filling, Ere its lofty ramparts fell; From the golden lute so thrilling Hymns of joy were heard to swell.

From the sad and tearful slaughter All had laid their arms aside, For Pelides Priam's daughter Claimed then as his own fair bride.

Laurel branches with them bearing, Troop on troop in bright array To the temples were repairing, Owning Thymbrius' sovereign sway.

Through the streets, with frantic measure, Danced the baccha.n.a.l mad round, And, amid the radiant pleasure, Only one sad breast was found.

Joyless in the midst of gladness, None to heed her, none to love, Roamed Ca.s.sandra, plunged in sadness, To Apollo's laurel grove.

To its dark and deep recesses Swift the sorrowing priestess hied, And from off her flowing tresses Tore the sacred band, and cried:

”All around with joy is beaming, Ev'ry heart is happy now, And my sire is fondly dreaming, Wreathed with flowers my sister's brow I alone am doomed to wailing, That sweet vision flies from me; In my mind, these walls a.s.sailing, Fierce destruction I can see.”

”Though a torch I see all-glowing, Yet 'tis not in Hymen's hand; Smoke across the skies is blowing, Yet 'tis from no votive brand.

Yonder see I feasts entrancing, But in my prophetic soul, Hear I now the G.o.d advancing, Who will steep in tears the bowl!”

”And they blame my lamentation, And they laugh my grief to scorn; To the haunts of desolation I must bear my woes forlorn.

All who happy are, now shun me, And my tears with laughter see; Heavy lies thy hand upon me, Cruel Pythian deity!”

”Thy divine decrees foretelling, Wherefore hast thou thrown me here, Where the ever-blind are dwelling, With a mind, alas, too clear?

<script>