She had herself, last evening, sent
A winged messenger, whose flight
Through the clear, roseate element,
She watch'd till, lessening out of sight,
Far to the golden West it went,

Wafting to him, her distant love,

A missive in that language wrought

Which flowers can speak, when aptly wove,
Each hue a word, each leaf a thought.

And now

oh speed of pinion, known

To Love's light messengers alone!

Ere yet another evening takes

Its farewell of the golden lakes,

She sees another envoy fly,

With the wish'd answer, through the sky.

SONG.

Welcome, sweet bird, through the sunny air winging
Swift hast thou come o'er the far-shining sea,
Like Seba's dove, on thy snowy neck bringing
Love's written vows from my lover to me.
Oh, in thy absence, what hours did I number!-
Saying oft, "Idle bird, how could he rest?"
But thou art come at last, take now thy slumber,
And lull thee in dreams of all thou lov'st best.

Yet dost thou droop -even now while I utter
Love's happy welcome, thy pulse dies away;

Cheer thee, my bird - were it life's ebbing flutter, This fondling bosom should woo it to stay.

But no

thou'rt dying—thy last task is over Farewell, sweet martyr to Love and to me!

The smiles thou hast waken'd by news from my lover,

Will now all be turn'd into weeping for thee.

While thus this scene of song (their last
For the sweet summer season) pass'd,
A few presiding nymphs, whose care
Watch'd over all, invisibly,
As do those guardian sprites of air,

Whose watch we feel, but cannot see,
Had from the circle- scarcely missed,
Ere they were sparkling there again
Glided, like fairies, to assist

Their handmaids on the moonlight plain,
Where, hid by intercepting shade

From the stray glance of curious eyes,
A feast of fruits and wines was laid
Soon to shine out, a glad surprise!

And now the moon, her ark of light
Steering through Heav'n, as tho' she bore
In safety through that deep of night,
Spirits of earth, the good, the bright,
To some remote immortal shore,

Had hali-way sped her glorious way,
When, round reclined on hillocks green,
In groups, beneath that tranquil ray,
The Zeans at their feast were seen.
Gay was the picture every maid
Whom late the lighted scene display'd,
Still in her fancy garb array'd;-
The Arabian pilgrim, smiling here

Beside the nymph of India's sky;
While there the Mainiote mountaineer
Whisper'd in young Minerva's ear,

And urchin Love stood laughing by.

Meantime the elders round the board,

By mirth and wit themselves made young High cups of juice Zacynthian pour'd,

And, while the flask went round, thus sung

SONG.

Up with the sparkling brimmer,
Up to the crystal rim;
Let not a moon-beam glimmer

"Twixt the flood and brim.

When hath the world set eyes on

Aught to match this light,
Which, o'er our cup's horizon,
Dawns in bumpers bright?

Truth in a deep well lieth-
So the wise aver:

But Truth the fact denieth

Water suits not her.

No, her abode's in brimmers.
Like this mighty cup·
Waiting till we, good swimmers,
Dive to bring her up.

Thus circled round the song of glee,
And all was tuneful mirth the while,
Save on the cheeks of some, whose smile.
As fix'd they gaze upon the sea,
Turns into paleness suddenly!

What see they there? a bright blue light
That, like a meteor, gliding o'er
The distant wave, grows on the sight,

As though 't were wing'd to Zea's shore.

To some, 'mong those who came to gaze,
It seem'd the night-light, far away,
Of some lone fisher, by the blaze

Of pine torch, luring on his prey;
While others, as, 'twixt awe and mirth,
They breath'd the bless'd Panaya's * name,
Vow'd that such light was not of earth,

But of that drear, ill-omen'd flame, Which mariners see on sail or mast, When Death is coming in the blast.

• The name which the Greeks give to the Virgin Mary.

While marvelling thus they stood, a maid,
Who sate apart, with downcast eye,
Nor yet had, like the rest, surveyed
That coming light which now was nigh,
Soon as it met her sight, with cry

Of pain-like joy, ""Tis he! 'tis he!"
Loud she exclaim'd, and, hurrying by

The assembled throng, rush'd tow'rds the sea.

At burst so wild, alarm'd, amazed,

All stood, like statues, mute, and gazed

Into each other's eyes, to seek

What meant such mood, in maid so meek?

Till now, the tale was known to few,

But now from lip to lip it flew :—
A youth, the flower of all the band,

Who late had left this sunny shore,
When last he kiss'd that maiden's hand,
Lingering, to kiss it o'er and o'er,

By his sad brow too plainly told

The' ill-omen'd thought which cross'd him then That once those hands should lose their hold,

They ne'er would meet on earth again!

In vain his mistress, sad as he,

But with a heart from Self as free

As generous woman's only is,
Veil'd her own fears to banish his:
With frank rebuke, but still more vain,
Did a rough warrior, who stood by,
Call to his mind this martial strain,