Classic Poem

Tell me, ye glittering hosts of light,
That nightly gem yon arch above,
If in your beauteous realms so bright,
There dwells the sister of my love?
The lute unstrung neglected lies,
No more its chords her fingers sweep;
Far from her own fair Grecian skies,
She in her lonely grave doth sleep.
Ye birds, that round this wild retreat,
Warble your notes from bough to bough,
To me your music once was sweet,
But oh! it only mocks me now.
All nature smiles, but not for me,
And at my feet her flow'rets bloom;
Yet while their opening buds I see,
It o'er me casts a deeper gloom.
'Tis wrong, but oh! I cannot bear
While she in death is sleeping here,
That aught she loved a smile should wear —
Oh, lost Ianthe! sister dear!
How my sad spirit longs to break
Its earthy chain, and soar away,
Where angel choirs harmonious wake
In heavenly strains the choral lay.
My bosom's idol is no more,
I have no tie to bind me here,
I would that on our native shore
Thou did'st repose, my sister dear!
O Greece! my own bright land of song,
O'er thee my eager fancy plays;
Before me rise a youthful throng,
Companions of my childhood's days;
Land where the muses love to dwell,
Land of the cypress, fare thee well!

Thus Ida mused, the shades of night
Were gathering 'round a lonely wood,
Where in a simple robe of white,
Beside a new made grave she stood.
Her eye was of the mildest blue,
But its bright glance had passed away;
And with her curls of auburn hue,
The sporting zephyrs seemed to play.
She could not weep, else for the grief
That weighed so heavy on her heart,
She might have found that sweet relief
Which falling tears alone impart.
One hand upon her brow was pressed
As on her knees she sank in prayer;
The other held with fond caress,
A ringlet of her sister's hair.
" Father, divine! " she meekly said,
" Oh! deign to hear the suppliant's prayer;
On me thy chastening hand is laid,
I ask for strength my grief to bear. "
She rose, and in her tearless eye
A look of calm submission beamed;
She raised it to the azure sky,
Where night's pale lamps all lovely gleamed.
Then parting from her snowy brow,
The tresses that were waving there,
Upon a mound herself she threw,
Fanned by the cool refreshing air.
She raised her deep blue eyes once more,
Her hands were clasped upon her breast;
One gentle sigh, and all was o'er —
The broken-hearted was at rest.

Farewell, Grecian maiden! thy grief-stricken bosom
No longer convulsive with agony heaves;
A grave by the side of thy sister we've made thee,
And pity a sigh o'er thy memory breathes.
We'll plant near thy pillow the cypress and myrtle,
The willow shall weep o'er thy desolate grave;
The rose and the woodbine shall blossom around thee,
Farewell, Grecian maiden! fair child of the brave.