Page images
PDF
EPUB
[blocks in formation]
[merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][merged small][ocr errors][merged small][merged small]
[blocks in formation]

"Twas hither now-to catch a view

Of the white waters, as they play'd Silently in the light—a few

Of the more restless damsels stray'd; And some would linger 'mid the scent

Of hanging foliage, that perfum'd The ruin'd walls; while others went,

Culling whatever flow'ret bloom'd In the lone leafy space between, Where gilded chambers once had been; Or, turning sadly to the sea,

Sent o'er the wave a sigh unblest To some brave champion of the FreeThinking, alas, how cold might be, At that still hour, his place of rest!

Meanwhile there came a sound of song

From the dark ruins-a faint strain, As if some echo, that among Those minstrel halls had slumber'd long, Were murm'ring into life again.

But, no-the nymphs knew well the toneA maiden of their train, who lov'd, Like the night-bird, to sing alone,

Had deep into those ruins rov'd, And there, all other thoughts forgot, Was warbling o'er, in lone delight, A lay that, on that very spot,

Her lover sung one moonlight night:

SONG.

AH! where are they, who heard, in former hours, The voice of Song in these neglected bow'rs?

They are gone - all gone!

a valley watered by the streams of a fountain, whence Ionlis received its name."

3 Zea was the birthplace of this poet, whose verses are by Catullus called "tears."

[blocks in formation]

Who has not read the tales, that tell
Of old Eleusis' sacred Well,
Or heard what legend-songs recount
Of Syra, and its holy Fount,
Gushing, at once, from the hard rock
Into the laps of living flowers-
Where village maidens lov'd to flock,

On summer-nights, and, like the hours,
Link'd in harmonious dance and song,
Charm'd the unconscious night along;
While holy pilgrims, on their way

To Delos' isle, stood looking on, Enchanted with a scene so gay,

Nor sought their boats, till morning shone?

Such was the scene this lovely glade
And its fair inmates now display'd,

As round the Fount, in linked ring,

They went, in cadence slow and light, And thus to that enchanted Spring

Warbled their Farewell for the night :

These "Songs of the Well," as they were called among the ancients, still exist in Greece. De Guys tells us that he has seen "the young women in Prince's Island, assembled in the evening at a public well, suddenly strike up a dance, while others sung in concert to them."

2 "The inhabitants of Syra, both ancient and modern, may be considered as the worshippers of water. The old fountain, at which the nymphs of the island assembled in the earliest ages, exists in its original state; the same rendezvous as it was

SONG.

HERE, while the moonlight dim
Falls on that mossy brim,

Sing we our Fountain Hymn,
Maidens of Zea!
Nothing but Music's strain,
When Lovers part in pain,
Soothes, till they meet again,
Oh, Maids of Zea!

Bright Fount, so clear and cold, Round which the nymphs of old Stood, with their locks of gold, Fountain of Zea!

Not even Castaly,

Fam'd though its streamlet be,
Murmurs or shines like thee,

Oh, Fount of Zea!

Thou, while our hymn we sing, Thy silver voice shall bring, Answering, answering,

Sweet Fount of Zea! For, of all rills that run, Sparkling by moon or sun, Thou art the fairest one,

Bright Fount of Zea!

Now, by those stars that glance Over heaven's still expanse, Weave we our mirthful dance,

Daughters of Zea!

Such as, in former days,
Danc'd they, by Dian's rays,
Where the Eurotas strays,3
Oh, Maids of Zea!

But when to merry feet Hearts with no echo beat, Say, can the dance be sweet?

Maidens of Zea!

No, nought but Music's strain, When lovers part in pain, Soothes, till they meet again, Oh, Maids of Zea!

[blocks in formation]
[blocks in formation]

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 out, 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,
Had now exchang'd that shelter'd scene
For a wide glade beside the sea-
A lawn, whose soft expanse of green
Turn'd to the west sun smilingly,
As though, in conscious beauty bright,
It joy'd to give him light for light.

And ne'er did evening more serene
Look down from heav'n on lovelier scene.
Calm lay the flood around, while fleet,

O'er the blue shining element,
Light barks, as if with fairy feet

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
Where these young island nymphs are met!
Full-orb'd, yet pure, as if no shade

Had touch'd its virgin lustre yet;
And freshly bright, as if just made
By Love's own hands, of new-born light
Stol'n from his mother's star to-night.

On a bold rock, that o'er the flood Jutted from that soft glade, there stood A Chapel, fronting tow'rds the sea,Built in some by-gone century,—

Where, nightly, as the seaman's mark,
When waves rose high or clouds were dark,
A lamp, bequeath'd by some kind Saint,
Shed o'er the wave its glimmer faint,
Waking in way-worn men a sigh
And pray'r to heav'n, as they went by.
'Twas there, around that rock-built shrine,
A group of maidens and their sires
Had stood to watch the day's decline,
And, as the light fell o'er their lyres,
Sung to the Queen-Star of the Sea
That soft and holy melody.

But lighter thoughts and lighter song
Now woo the coming hours along :
For, mark, where smooth the herbage lies,
Yon gay pavilion, curtain'd deep

With silken folds, through which, bright eyes,
From time to time, are seen to peep;
While twinkling lights that, to and fro,
Beneath those veils, like meteors, go,

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 shone 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 immortalis'd her rills; Nor aught but the mute poesy Of sun, and stars, and shining sea Illum'd that land of bards to be. While, prescient of the gifted race

That yet would realm so blest adorn, Nature took pains to deck the place Where glorious Art was to be born. Such was the scene that mimic stage

Of Athens and her hills portray'd;
Athens, in her first, youthful age,

Ere yet the simple violet braid,1
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-
Sleeping till Genius bade them start
To all but life, in shapes divine;

1" Violet-crowned Athens."- Pindar.

Till deified the quarry shone And all Olympus stood in stone!

There, in the foreground of that scene,
On a soft bank of living green,
Sat a young nymph, with her lap full
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 pallet mingled fresh, might choose
To fix by Painting's rainbow hues.

The wreath was form'd; the maiden rais'd
Her speaking eyes to his, while he-
Oh not upon the flowers now gaz'd,

But on that bright look's witchery.
While, quick as if but then the thought,
Like light, had reach'd his soul, he caught
His pencil up, and, warm and true
As life itself, that love-look drew:
And, as his raptur'd task went on,
And forth each kindling feature shone,
Sweet voices, through the moonlight air,

From lips as moonlight fresh and pure, Thus hail'd the bright dream passing there, And sung the Birth of Portraiture.2

[blocks in formation]
« PreviousContinue »