Love changed his plan, with warmth exclaiming,

"How rosy was her lip's soft dye!"

And much that flute, the flatt'rer, blaming,

For twisting lips so sweet awry.

The nymph look'd down, beheld her features, Reflected in the passing rill,

And started, shock'd-for, ah, ye creatures! Ev'n when divine, you're women still.

Quick from the lips it made so odious,

That graceless flute the Goddess took, And, while yet fill'd with breath melodious, Flung it into the glassy brook; Where, as its vocal life was fleeting

Adown the current, faint and shrill, Twas heard in plaintive tone repeating, "Woman, alas, vain woman still!"

An interval of dark repose

Such as the summer lightning knows,
"Twixt flash and flash, as still more bright
The quick revealment comes and goes,
Op'ning each time the veils of night,
To show, within, a world of light—
Such pause, so brief, now pass'd between
This last gay vision and the scene,
Which now its depth of light disclosed.

A bow'r it seem'd, an Indian bow'r,
Within whose shade a nymph reposed,
Sleeping away noon's sunny hour-
Lovely as she, the Sprite, who weaves
Her mansion of sweet Durva leaves,
And there, as Indian legends say,
Dreams the long summer hours away.
And mark, how charm'd this sleeper seems
With some hid fancy-she, too, dreams!
Oh for a wizard's art to tell

The wonders that now bless her sight!
"Tis done-a truer, holier spell
Than e'er from wizard's lip yet fell
Thus brings her vision all to light:—

And now-oh speed of pinion, known

To Love's light messengers alone!-
Ere yet another ev'ning 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 the 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 miss'd,

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 though she bore
In safety, through that deep of night,
Spirits of earth, the good, the bright,
To some remote immortal shore,
Had half-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-ev'ry 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 mountainee Whisper'd in young Minerva's ear,

And urchin Love stood laughing t

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 moonbeam 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 'twere 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 breathed the blest 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.
While marv'ling thus they stood, a maid,
Who sat apart, with downcast eye,
Nor yet had, like the rest, survey'd
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,
Ling'ring, to kiss it o'er and o'er,

By his sad brow, too plainly told

Th' ill-omen'd thought which cross'd him then, That once those hands should loose 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 gen'rous 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,

His favorite once, ere Beauty's eye
Had taught his soldier-heart to sigh:-

SONG.

MARCH! nor heed those arms that hold thee, Though so fondly close they come; Closer still will they enfold thee,

When thou bring'st fresh laurels home. Dost thou dote on woman's brow?

Dost thou live but in her breath? March!-one hour of victory now Wins thee woman's smile till death.

Oh, what bliss, when war is over,

Beauty's long-miss'd smile to meet, And, when wreaths our temples cover, Lay them shining at her feet! Who would not, that hour to reach, Breathe out life's expiring sigh,