Classic Poem

XI.

So flowed the unpitying virgin's thought,
When pierced the laurel shade
A voice, that struck with dread and joy
The bosom of the maid.
Unseen the man, but known how well!
And while he breathed a song,
His harp-string helped with sweeter grief
His overburdened tongue.

XII.

" Once more, beloved maid! I strive
To touch thy frozen ear,
And wake the hopes so often chilled
Upon the lap of fear.
Once more, alas! I seek to stir
A heart of human mould
With throbs of Nature's pulse that has
Sweet throbbings manifold.

XIII.

" And O! bethink thee, icy breast!
How vain the thought of pride
Which bids thee from my pleading turn
In sullenness aside;
How weak and cheap a thing it is,
But O! how rich in good
The joy of hearts when each to each
Reveals its fondest mood.

XIV.

" E'en hadst thou given some rival's head
The flowery wreath of love,
Thy scorn of me men would not hate,
Nor would the gods reprove.
In words of bitter wrathfulness
My grief might urge its way,
But every curse invoked on thee
Would make my soul its prey.

XV.

" O! give me but one whispered word,
Or gently wave thy hand;
Bestow but this on him whose life
Thy very looks command.
The light of youth that gilds thee now
Will not be always thine,
But thou may'st bid in deathless song
Thy beauty's radiance shine.