Classic Poem

I.

Soon over Meles' grave the wild flower dropt
Its brimming dew; nor far where Tigris' pray
Leaps to the beam, in life's sweet blossom cropt,
Four others, fair as he, were snatched from day.

Bridegrooms like him, they knew his fate, yet, bent
On their desires, resolved that fate to brave:
So in succession, each a victim went,
Borne from the bridal chamber to the grave.

II.

Low liest thou, Meles! and 'tis mine to know,
By light of song, the darkly hidden power
That closed thy bland but wily lip, and show,
In flowing verse, what followed thy death-hour.

III.

Noon slept upon thy grave, and Media's king
Had sat him down, from court and harem far,
With a young boy who knew to touch the string
Of the sweet harp, and wage the ivory war.

On painted field. The fainting breezes played
Among the curling clusters of his hair;
Through myrtle blooms and berries, white and red,
O'er the cool space of a pavilion, fair.

As fond Ionian artist might devise:
Twelve columns, ivory white, support a dome,
Painted to emulate the dark blue skies
When seamen watch the stars, and sigh, and think of home;

IV.

And in the midst Night's goddess (to the sight
More softly beauteous for a pictured moon
That mantles her in pale, mysterious light)
Comes stealing to the arms of her Endymion.

V.

On six fair pedestals, ranged two by two
Like Leda's sons, the smiling pillars stood;
As, each by either's side, they rose to view,
Spotless from limpid bath in some deep, dusky wood,

Draining their dripping locks. In either space
Between, three lattices, with blossoms bowered,
Alternate with three pictured scenes had place;
And all who saw believed some god empowered.

The gifted hand that spread their tints. In one,
Far from the Grecian camp, his rage profound
Soothing, with lyre in hand, sat Thetis' son,
Beside the ocean-wave that darkly dashed around.

VI.

Upon the next young Myrrha's form appears.
Guilt, fear, repentance, blanch her cheek of love,
While, tender, beauteous, shuddering, drowned in tears,
She flies the day, and hides in Saba's deepest grove.

VII.

A peerless third the bride of love displays,
Psyche, with lamp in hand; blest, while unknown
The cause that gave her bliss; now daring rays
The mystery pierce, and all her pleasures flown.

VIII.

Beneath that dome reclined the youthful king
Upon a silver couch, and soothed to mood
As free and soft as perfumes from the wing
Of bird that shook the jasmines as it wooed,

Its fitful song the mingling murmur meeting
Of marble founts of many a fair device,
And bees that banquet, from the sun retreating,
In every full, deep flower that crowns his paradise.

IX.

While gemmy diadem thrown down beside,
And garment at the neck plucked open, proved
His unconstraint, and scorn of regal pride,
When, thus apart retired, he sat with those he loved.

X.

One careless arm around the boy was flung,
Not undeserving of that free caress,
But warm and true, and of a heart and tongue
To heighten bliss, or mitigate distress.

XI.

Quick to perceive, in him no freedom rude
Reproved full confidence: friendship, the meat
His soul had starved without, with gratitude
Was ta'en; and her rich wine crowned high the banquet sweet.

What sire Altheitor owned 'twere hard to trace:
A beautiful Ionian was his mother.
Some found to Sardius semblance in his face,
Who never better could have loved a brother.

XII.

But now the ivory battle at its close,
" Go to thy harp,' said Sardius: " 'twere severe
To keep thee longer thus. " Then, as he rose,
" Where's our ambassador? Call Meles here. "

XIII.

Altheetor said, " Alas! my prince, the chase
Detains him long; and yet from peril sure
'Tis deemed he fares: nay, those there are who trace
His absence to some sylvan paramour. "

XIV.

" Let him be sought, " said Sardius. No delay
Mocked that command; but vestige, glimpse, nor breath
Was gleaned, till sadly, on the seventh day,
A band returned with tidings of his death.

XV.

Sardius was sad upon his audience-seat.
Then spoke old Philomars: " Remember well,
O king! without the city, had retreat
Two of those captives of a race so fell,

" Thy father and my lord would rid the earth,
Root, branch, and bud, and gave the task to me;
But two escaped the sword, and so had birth
Another serpent. This, O prince! to thee.

" Was told, and to complete the work I craved;
But thou didst check my zeal with angry mood,
And saidst, " If any trembling wretch be saved,
Let him live on: there's been enough of blood."

" We've traced Lord Meles to that serpent's den,
And seen him in the vile earth murdered lie:
Yet wherefore grieves the greatest king of men?
This only is the fruit of clemency. "

XVI.

Then Sardius spoke (as on the earth he cast,
While grief gave anger place, his full dark eye): —
" Whoe'er has done this deed has done his last!
Soldier, priest, Jew, or Mede, by Belus he shall die. "

XVII.

Then brought they Zorah in, misfortune's pride;
His venerable locks with age were white:
He cheered his trembling partner at his side,
Reposing on his God, befall him as it might.

XVIII.

Young Egla marked him stand so firm and pale;
Looked in her mother's face, — 'twas anguish there;
Then gently threw aside her azure veil,
And in an upward glance sent forth to heaven a prayer.

XIX.

Then prostrate thus: " O monarch, seal my doom!
Thy sorrow for Lord Meles' death I know.
Take then thy victim, drag me to his tomb,
And to his manes let my life-blood flow!

XX.

" Oh! by the God who made yon glowing sun,
And warmed cold dust to beauty with his breath,
By all the good that e'er was caused or done,
Nor I nor mine have wrought thy subject's death.

XXI.

" Yet think not I would live. Alas! to me
No warrior of my country e'er shall come;
And forth with dance and flowers and minstrelsy
I go to bid no brother welcome home.

XXII.

" Sad from my birth, — nay, born upon that day
When perished all my race, — my infant ears
Were opened first with groans; and the first ray
I saw came dimly through my mother's tears.

" Pour forth my life, a guiltless offering
Most freely given! But let me die alone!
Destroy not those who gave me birth! O king!
I've blood enough: let it for all atone! "

XXIII.

She traced it on her hand, through the soft skin
Meandering seen. Without, that hand was white
As drops for infant lip; the palm within
Faintly carnationed, as of Amphitrit',

The fond Ionians fancied the pure shell
Chosen by that loved goddess for a car,
While o'er her feet dissolving foam-wreaths fell
In kisses: so they dreamed, in little bark afar.

XXIV.

Egla had ceased: her pure cheeks' heightened glow,
Her white hands clasped, blue veil half fallen down,
Fair locks and gushing tears, stole o'er him so,
That Sardius had not harmed her for his crown.

Yet, serious, thus fair justice' course pursued,
As if to hide what look and tone revealed: —
" What lured a Median to thy solitude?
How came his death? and who his corse concealed? "

XXV.

'Twas thus she told her tale: " A truant dove
Had flown. I strayed a little from the track
That winds in mazes to my lonely grove,
But heard a hunter's voice, and hastened back.

XXVI.

" Lord Meles saw; and with a slender dart
Fastened the little flutterer to a tree
By the white wing, with such surpassing art,
'Twas scarcely wounded when returned to me.

XXVII.

" Thankful I took; but, taught to be afraid
Of stranger's glance, retired: my mother sighed,
And trembling saw. Yet soon our dwelling's shade
The Median sought, and claimed me for a bride.

XXVIII.

" But when reluctant to my humble room
I had retired, was spread a fragrance there,
Like rose and lotus shaken in their bloom;
And something came and spoke, and looked so fair,

XXIX.

" It seemed all fresh from heaven. But soon the thought
Of things that tempt to sorcery in the night
Made me afraid. It fled, and Meles sought
His bridal bed: the moon was shining bright:

XXX.

" I saw his bracelets gleam, and knew him well;
But, ere he spoke, was breathed a sound so dread,
That fear enchained my senses like a spell;
And, when the morning came, my lord was dead.

XXXI.

" And then my mother, in her anxious care,
Concealed me in a cave, that long before
Saved her from massacre, and left me there
To live in darkness till the search was o'er.

" Her fears foretold. So in that cavern's gloom
Alone upon the damp bare rock I lay
Like a deserted corse; but that cold tomb
Soon filled with rosy mists, like dawn of day,

" Which, half dispersing, showed the same fair thing
I saw before; and with it came another,
More gentle than the first, — and helped it bring
Fresh flowers and fruits, — in semblance like a brother.

XXXII.

" They spread upon the rock a flowery couch,
And of a sparkling goblet bade me sip,
For that they saw me cold: I dared not touch,
But, 'mid the sweet temptation, closed my lip;

" And from their grateful warmth and looks so fair
I turned away, and shrank. Of their intent
I do not know to tell, or what they were,
But feared and doubted both, and, when they went.

" Fled trembling to my home, content to meet
The sternest death injustice might prepare,
Ere trust my weakness in that dark retreat
To such strange peril as assailed me there. "

XXXIII.

She ceased, and now, in palace bade to stay,
Awaits the royal pleasure; but no more,
Though strictly watched and guarded all the day,
To that stern warrior's threats was given o'er, —

Dark Philomars, strong in his country's cause;
But harder than his battle-helm his heart:
Born while his father fought, and nursed in wars,
Pillage and fire his sports, to kill his only art.

XXXIV.

And, when he sacked a city, he could tear
The screaming infant from its mother's arms,
Dash it to earth, and, while 'twas weltering there,
With demon grasp impress her shuddering charms;

Then, as she faints with shrieks and struggles vain,
Coolly recall her with the ruffian blow;
And look, and pause, insatiate of her pain;
Then gash her tender throat, and see the life-blood flow.

XXXV.

O Nature! can it be? The thought alone
Chills the quick pulse: Belief retires afar;
Reason grows angry; Pity breathes a groan;
And each distrusts the truth: yet " such things are. "

Are! — nay, in this late age! God, canst thou view
Thine image so debased? The bard in grief
Thinks o'er the creed of fiends; sees what men do;
And, wondering, scarce rejects the wild belief.

XXXVI.

Night came; and old Idaspes, all alone
With Sardius, had retired; but why so late
He wakes, with his white hairs, may not be known;
And still the captives tremble for their fate.

But, when the old man went, that gentle boy
Altheitor sat by his loved master's couch;
And fervent pleadings for their lives employ
His lips that else had sung. The while his touch.

Thrilled o'er his lyre, gay Meles' early blight
Passed from the prince's thought: the transient gloom
Was to his soul just as some bird of night
Had flitted 'cross the moon, when, full and bright,
She o'er his garden shone in the sweet month of bloom.

XXXVII.

Of late his harem tired: if suns were there,
He did not burn, but sickened in their rays;
And snow-white Egla, mild and chaste and fair,
Came o'er his fancy, as in sultry days.

Soft clouds appear, when travellers bare the brow,
And, faint and panting, bless the timely shade,
And breathe the cool refreshment: so e'en now
Refreshed his languid soul the softly-imaged maid.

XXXVIII.

Or as some youth waked from the vine's excess,
Parched and impure, forgets the joys it gave,
And flies the fair Bacchante's wild caress
For some lone Naiad's grot, and cools him in the wave.

XXXIX.

Or as some graceful fawn, o'erspent with play,
Faints in the beam, and, where deep shades invite,
Flies, all impatient of the burning day,
And wooes the lily's shade to hide him from its light.

XL.

So felt the king: nor sleeping quite, nor waking,
As wildering o'er his lids the zephyrs sweep,
Whole beds of purple hyacinths forsaking;
And, when sweet revery gave place to sleep,

He dreamed of baths, or beds of flowers and dew,
Or sculptured marbles, as at Cnidos seen;
But still, with fair long locks, and veil of blue,
Another form would blend with every view,
With visionary grace and heavenly eye and mien.

XLI.

The smile of morning woke Idaspes' care;
And Egla, dubious if its light might bring
Or weal or woe to her, was bid prepare
To sit at evening banquet with the king.

XLII.

Then came an ancient dame, skilled in those arts
Employed by Beauty's daughters to enchain
Or lightly touch the soft voluptuous hearts
Of youths that seem, as they, of curl and eyebrow vain:

XLIII.

And, pouring perfumes in the bath, she told
Wild tales of a Chaldean princess, loved
By the fair sprite Eroziel, who, of old,
Taught all those trims to heighten beauty, proved.
\
By Lydian, Median, Perse, and Greek; with black
To tip the eyelid; stain the finger; deck
The cheek with hues that languor bids it lack;
And how he taught to twine the arms and neck.

With wreaths of gems, or made or found by him,
Or his enamoured brothers, when they bore
Love for the like, and many a secret dim
That nature would conceal, from charmed recesses tore.

XLIV.

This story o'er, the dainty maids were fain
To take the white rose of her hand, and tip
Each taper finger with a ruddy stain
To make it like the coral of her lip.

XLV.

But Egla this refused them, and forbore
The folded turban twined with many a string
Of gems; and, as in tender memory, wore
Her country's simpler garb to meet the youthful king.

XLVI.

Day o'er, the task was done; the melting hues
Of twilight gone, and reigned the evening gloom
Gently o'er fount and tower: she could refuse
No more, and, led by slaves, sought the fair banquet-room;

XLVII.

With unassured yet graceful step advancing,
The light vermilion of her cheek more warm
For doubting modesty; while all were glancing
Over the strange attire that well became such form.

XLVIII.

To lend her space the admiring band gave way:
The sandals on her silvery feet were blue;
Of saffron tint her robe, as when young Day
Spreads softly o'er the heavens, and tints the trembling dew.

XLIX.

Light was that robe as mist; and not a gem
Or ornament impedes its wavy fold,
Long and profuse; save that, above its hem,
'Twas broidered with pomegranate-wreath in gold;

L.

And, by a silken cincture broad and blue
In shapely guise about the waist confined,
Blent with the curls, that, of a lighter hue,
Half floated, waving in their length behind:
The other half, in braided tresses twined,
Was decked with rose of pearls, and sapphires' azure too,

Arranged with curious skill to imitate
The sweet acacia's blossoms, just as live
And droop those tender flowers in natural state;
And so the trembling gems seemed sensitive,

And, pendent sometimes, touch her neck, and there
Seem shrinking from its softness as alive;
And o'er her arms, flower-white and round and bare,
Slight bandelets were twined of colors five,

Like little rainbows seemly on those arms:
None of that court had seen the like before;
Soft, fragrant, bright, — so much like heaven her charms,
It scarce could seem idolatry to adore.

LI.

He who beheld her hand forgot her face;
Yet in that face was all beside forgot;
And he who, as she went, beheld her pace,
And locks profuse, had said, " Nay, turn thee not. "

LII.

Placed on a banquet-couch beside the king,
'Mid many a sparkling guest no eye forbore;
But, like their darts, the warrior-princes fling
Such looks as seemed to pierce, and scan her o'er and o'er:

Nor met alone the glare of lip and eye, —
Charms, but not rare: the gazer stern and cool,
Who sought but faults, nor fault or spot could spy
In every limb, joint, vein, the maid was beautiful;

LIII.

Save that her lip, like some bud-bursting flower,
Just scorned the bounds of symmetry perchance,
But by its rashness gained an added power,
Heightening perfection to luxuriance.

LIV.

But that was only when she smiled, and when
Dissolved the intense expression of her eye;
And, had her spirit-love first seen her then,
He had not doubted her mortality.

LV.

And could she smile for that a stranger hung
O'er her fair form, and spoke to her of love?
Where is the youth who scorned a court, and sprung
Amid Euphrates' waves, as told her in her grove?

Haply she did, and for a while forgot
Those dark acacias, where so oft was wept
Her lone, uncertain, visionary lot;
Yet where an angel watched her as she slept.

LVI.

When light, love, music, beauty, all dispense
Their wild commingling charms, who shall control
The gushing torrent of attracted sense,
And keep the forms of memory and of soul?

LVII.

O theme of rapture, honored Constancy!
Invoked, hoped, sworn, but rare! have we perchance
To thank the generous breast that nurtures thee
For thy dear life, when saved? or fate or circumstance?

LVIII.

" Thy fragrant form, as the tall lily white,
Looks full and soft, yet supple as the reed
Kissing its image in the fountain light,
Or ostrich' wavy plume. " So speaks the Mede,

While, bending o'er her banquet-couch, he breathes
Her breath, whose fragrance wooes that near advance;
Plays with her silken tresses' wandering wreaths,
And looks, and looks again with renovated glance.

LIX.

But, ever watchful, to his prince's side
Came old Idaspes, — he alone might dare
To check the rising transport, ere its tide
Arose too high to quell, — and thus expressed his care,

Whispering in murmurs first: " At last, O king!
Thy subjects breathe; the cries of slaughter cease;
And happy laborers bless thee, as they bring
Forth from thy smiling fields the fruits of peace.

" Their wounds just healing over, wouldst thou rush
Upon thy doom and theirs? What bitter tears
Must flow if thou shouldst fall! what blood must gush!
Wait till the cause of Meles' fate appears;

" And, ere this dangerous beauty be thy bride,
Let him who loves thee best come forth and prove
The peril first. " Alcestes rose beside,
And said, " O prince! to prove my faith and love,

" I'll dare as many deaths as on the sod
Without the falling rose of leaves has strown;
And, if bland Meles fell by rival god,
So let me fall; and live the pride of Media's throne. "

LX.

Egla, o'erwhelmed with shame, distaste, and fear,
Could of remonstrance utter not a breath,
Ere fixed Idaspes' whisper met her ear, —
" One word impassive seats thy father's death. "

LXI.

And, while Alcestes' bolder glances stray
O'er the fair trembler to his monarch dear,
Not one distrustful whispering came to allay
The sudden joy with slightest shade of fear.

A dark-haired priestess, well he knew, of late
Had Meles loved; and, for the mystery
That hung so darkly o'er his early fate,
Looked for no deadlier cause than wounded jealousy.

LXII.

And for the story of the cave, he deemed
That lone, and in the dark, the frighted maid
Had gained a respite from her tears, and dreamed;
Or haply framed the tale but to evade.

Some feared result. But, be it as it might,
The thoughtless king accedes; and, ere the day
Again had dawned, dead, ghastly to the sight,
Before his bridal door the tall Alcestes lay.

LXIII.

So died the youth. But little might avail
His sacrifice; for Sardius, who forbore
His purpose but a while, contemned the tale,
And madly spoke thus, ere the day was o'er: —

LXIV.

Ask of Alcestes' manes, did he die
By angry god or mortal's traitorous hand?
Whoe'er will draw to light this mystery,
Shall live the captain of my choicest band. "

LXV.

That promise claimed Ripheus: he desired
No dearer boon; yet haply panted, less
By maddening thought of love and beauty fired
Than to a rival court to prove his fearlessness.

LXVI.

He had grasped the wily Parthian in the fight;
Leapt on the wounded tiger in the chase;
And oft his mother, vain in her delight,
Boasted she owed him to a god's embrace.

LXVII.

So he relied on that; and fickle chance
Conspired with the deceit, until his doom
Was rushed upon. But still his bold advance
Some caution guarded. To the fatal room.

He came, and first explored with trusty blade;
But, soon as he approached the fatal bride,
Opened the terrace-door, and, half in shade,
A form, as of a mortal, seemed to glide.

LXVIII.

He flew to strike; but baffling still the blow,
And still receding from the chamber far,
It lured him on; and in the morning low
And bloody lay the form, which not a scar.

Before had e'er defaced. Dismay profound
Gave place to doubt; for, as by mortal hand
And mortal weapon made, the wound was found,
And heard had been the clash that snapped his dinted brand.

LXIX.

Then came, with rage renewed, rough Philomars,
(For gentle bridegroom's office most unmeet
Of all,) and craved, in guerdon of his scars,
Permission to drag forth the deep deceit.

He charged upon the daughter of the Jew,
Whose life provoked his thirst; and pledged him, rife
With ancient hate, to bring her fraud to view,
Or pay the bold aspersion with his life.

LXX.

Led from the bridal room a deep arcade,
And paths of flowers; and fountains, often graced
With bathing beauty, now reflect the shade
Of warriors tall and grim with helm and corselet braced.

LXXI.

They guard each pass, so that a bird in vain
An outlet to his airy rounds might seek:
And Philomars stalked o'er the floor, with pain
Stifling the rage which yet he dared not wreak;

And muttering 'twixt clinched teeth, " At last, young witch,
Ends thy career! " then he; with careful touch
Of his proved sword, examined every niche;
Then to the bride approached, and would have pierced her couch.

LXXII.

Not Eva, lovelier than the tints of air,
Crouching amid the leaves lest heaven should see
That form, all panting 'neath her yellow hair,
E'er looked more fair, or trembled more, than she.

LXXIII.

But the pale blaze of every fragrant lamp
That moment died, as if a sudden gust
Of thick cold air had gushed from cavern damp;
And, groping in the darkness, vainly curst.

And struggled Philomars. 'Twas his last breath
That Egla heard, the suffocating noise
Of the one lengthened pang that gave him death:
She swooned upon her couch, but might not know the cause.

LXXIV.

The young Rosanes came at early morn
To view the corse, that lay in piteous case,
Grasping the sword its hand at eve had drawn,
The last fierce frown still stiff upon its face.

LXXV.

And thus the youth (in dress of horseman dight): —
" Art dead, old wolf? If ever, since his reign,
Pluto was grateful, take his thanks to-night;
For who has sent down more to people his domain?

LXXVI.

" But prithee, soldier, when the nether coasts
Receive thy soul, less grim and angry be,
Lest the fair sun be clouded o'er with ghosts
That rush again to earth to 'scape the sight of thee! "

LXXVII.

Rosanes of the painted eyebrow vain,
To gain report for wit and valor strove;
Rearing his Parthian courser on the plain,
And boasting, at the feast, of Naiad's love:

LXXVIII.

And round his neck an amulet he wore
Of many a gem in mystic mazes tied;
And mad for much applause, not long forbore
To name his wishes for the dangerous bride.

LXXIX.

Enough to tell, he shared the common fate
Of those whose rash adventurous zeal could dare
The spirit guarded couch. But, oh! thy state,
Altheetor, generous boy! best claims the minstrel's care.

LXXX.

When Media's last king died a tumult rose,
And all Idaspes' prudence scarce procured
To keep the youthful Sardius from his foes,
And, ere his father's throne was yet secured,

Upon a terrace while Altheitor hung
About the prince, who carelessly carest,
A well-aimed arrow glanced: the stripling sprung,
Stood like a shield, and let it pierce his breast.

LXXXI.

But sage Pithois knew the healing good
Of every herb: he plucked the dart away,
And stopped the rich effusion of his blood
As at his monarch's feet the boy exulting lay;

LXXXII.

Drew forth from scrip an antidotal balm,
And, ere the venom through life's streams could creep,
Bestowed — for death's convulsions — dewy calm,
And steeped each throbbing vein in salutary sleep.

LXXXIII.

But now Altheitor's sick. The kindly draught,
The bath of bruised herbs, were vainly tried;
While his young breath seemed as it fain would waft
His soul away, so piteously he sighed.

LXXXIV.

Above his couch were hung his sword and lyre,
His polished bow, and javelin often proved
In the far chase, where once in faith and fire
He fared beside to guard and watch the prince he loved.

LXXXV.

His fragrant locks, thrown backward from his brow,
Displayed its throbbing pulse: ah! how rebelled
That heart, the seat of truth! Beside him now
One languid hand the good Pithois held,

LXXXVI.

And looked, and thought, and bent his brow in vain;
Then, in the sadness of his baffled skill,
Resigned the boy to fate; then thought again,
Was there no hidden cause for such consuming ill?

LXXXVII.

Still o'er the couch he casts his gentle eyes,
And brings fresh balm; but all is unavailing.
Altheitor faintly breathes his thanks, and sighs,
As if his guiltless life that moment were exhaling.

LXXXVIII.

'Twas long he had not spoke: now heaved his breast;
And now, despite of shame, a tear was straying
From the closed, quivering lid. Some grief supprest,
Some secret care, upon his life was preying.

LXXXIX.

So came a glimpse across Pithois' thought;
And, in obedience to the doubt, he said, —
" 'Tis strange, Altheitor, thou hast never aught
Asked or expressed of the fair captive maid;

" For it was thou who forced the crowd to yield,
When she was rudely dragged, on audience-day,
And gently loosed from Philomars's shield
A lock of her fair hair he else had torn away.

XC.

" Sardius believed and loved her; would have wed;
But old Idaspes, doubtful 'twas some god,
That, amorous of her charms, laid Meles dead,
A while restrained the king, who saw, unawed,

" The gay Alcestes from her chamber fair
Thrown dead and black. Ripheus, too, lies low;
Old Philomars spoke his last curses there;
And young Rosanes ne'er his silver bow

" Shall draw again. And yet the king is fixed
In his resolve to wed: some power divine,
Envying our peace, impels; or she has mixed,
By magic skill, some philtre with his wine.

XCI.

" Or there's in her blue eye some wicked light
That steadily allures him to his doom.
She's bidden to the feast again to-night,
And good Idaspes' countenance in gloom

" Is fallen; in vain he strives; his silver hairs
Rise with the anguish at his heart's true core:
While the impatient, reckless Sardius swears
By Baal, whate'er betides, to wait but three days more.

XCII.

" Nor soldier, prince, or satrap, more appear
Vaunting their fealty firm with flattering breath;
But each speaks low, as if some god were near,
In silent anger singling him for death. "

XCIII.

Now o'er Altheitor's face what changes glistened
As ear and open lip drank every word!
He raised him from his couch, he looked, he listened,
Reviving, renovating, as he heard.

XCIV.

O'er cheek and brow a lively red was rushing,
While half he felt his dark eye could not tell;
Then (spent the pang of hope) cold dews were gushing
From brow again turned pale. He drooped; he fell

Faint on his pillow. Unsurprised and calm,
Soon to restore, the good Pithois knew:
He saw what fever raged, and knew its balm;
Spoke comfort to his charge; and for a while withdrew.

XCV.

What in his breast revolved I cannot tell:
To seek Idaspes' aid his steps were bent;
And when 'twas midnight, as by sudden spell
Restored, to bridal room Altheitor went.

XCVI.

Touching his golden harp to prelude sweet,
Entered the youth so pensive, pale, and fair;
Advanced respectful to the virgin's feet,
And, lowly bending down, made tuneful parlance there.

XCVII.

Like perfume soft his gentle accents rose,
And sweetly thrilled the gilded roof along:
His warm devoted soul no terror knows,
And truth and love lend fervor to his song.

XCVIII.

She hides her face upon her couch, that there
She may not see him die. No groan! — she springs,
Frantic between a hope-beam and despair,
And twines her long hair round him as he sings.

XCIX.

Then thus: " O being, who unseen but near
Art hovering now, behold and pity me!
For love, hope, beauty, music, all that's dear,
Look — look on me, and spare my agony!

C.

" Spirit! in mercy, make not me the cause,
The hateful cause, of this kind being's death!
In pity kill me first! He lives! he draws —
Thou wilt not blast? — he draws his harmless breath! "

CI.

Still lives Altheitor; still unguarded strays
One hand o'er his fallen lyre; but all his soul
Is lost, — given up: he fain would turn to gaze,
But cannot turn, so twined. Now all that stole.

Through every vein, and thrilled each separate nerve,
Himself could not have told, all wound and clasped
In her white arms and hair. Ah! can they serve
To save him? " What a sea of sweets! " he gasped;

But 'twas delight: sound, fragrance, all were breathing.
Still swelled the transport: " Let me look — and thank, "
He sighs, celestial smiles his lip inwreathing:
" I die — but ask no more, " he said, and sank —

Still by her arms supported — lower — lower —
As by soft sleep oppressed: so calm, so fair,
He rested on the purple tapestried floor,
It seemed an angel lay reposing there.

CII.

Egla bent o'er him in amaze; a while
Thanked God, the spirit, and her stars (so much
Like life his gently closing lids and smile)
Then felt upon his heart. Ah! to that touch.

Responds no quivering pulse: 'tis past. Then burst
Her grief thus from her inmost heart that bleeds: —
" Nay, finish, fiend unpitying and accurst!
Finish, and rid me too of life, and of thy deeds! "

CIII.

She hid her face in both her hands; and when,
At length, looked up, a form was bending o'er
The good, the beauteous boy. With piteous ken
It sought her eye, but still to speak forbore.

CIV.

A deep unutterable anguish kept
The silence long; then from his inmost breast
The spirit spoke: " Oh! were I him so wept,
Daughter of earth, I tell thee, I were blest.

CV.

" Couldst thou conceive but half the pain I bear,
Or agent of what good I fain would be,
I had not — added to my deep despair
And heavy curse — another curse from thee.

CVI.

" I've loved the youth since first to this vile court
I followed thee from the deserted cave.
I saw him in thy arms, and did not hurt:
What could I more? Alas! I could not save.

CVII.

" He died of love, — of the o'er-perfect joy
Of being pitied, prayed for, prest by thee!
Oh! for the fate of that devoted boy
I'd sell my birthright to eternity!

CVIII.

" I'm not the cause of this thy last distress.
Nay! look upon thy spirit ere he flies!
Look on me once, and learn to hate me less, "
He said; and tears fell fast from his immortal eyes.

CIX.

Her looks were on the corse. No more he said.
Deeper the darkness grew; 'twas near the dawn:
And chilled and sorrowing through the air he sped,
And in Harcania's deepest shades, ere morn,

Was hidden 'mid the leaves. Low moaned the blast,
And chilly mists obscured the rising sun:
So bitter were his tears, that, where he past,
Was blighted every flower they fell upon.

CX.

Held was the place, but wilder his despair:
Low shaggy rocks that o'er deep caverns scowl
Echo his groans: the tigress in her lair.
Starts at the sound, and answers with a growl.

CXI.

The day wore on: the tide of transport through,
He listened to the forest's murmuring sound,
Until his grief alleviation drew
From the according horrors that surround.

CXII.

And thus at length his plaintive lip expressed
The mitigated pang: 'tis sometimes so
When grief meets genius in the mortal breast,
And words most deeply sweet betray subsided woe.

CXIII.

" Thou'rt gone, Altheitor: of thy gentle breath
Guiltless am I, but bear the penalty!
Oh! is there one to whom thy early death
Can cause the sorrow it has caused to me?

CXIV.

" Cold, cold, and hushed, is that fond, faithful breast:
Oh! of the breath of God too much was there!
It swelled, aspired; it could not be comprest,
But gained a bliss frail nature could not bear.

CXV.

" O good and true beyond thy mortal birth!
What high-souled angel helped in forming thee?
Haply thou wert-what I had been, if earth
Had been the element composing me.

CXVI.

" Banished from heaven so long, what there transpires
This weary exiled ear may rarely meet.
But it is whispered that the Unquelled desires
Another Spirit for each forfeit seat.

" Left vacant by our fall. That Spirit placed
In mortal form must every trial bear
'Midst all that can pollute; and, if defaced
But by one stain, it may not enter there.

CXVII.

" Though all the earth is winged, from bound to bound;
Though heaven desires, and angels watch and pray,
To see their ranks with fair completion crowned, —
So few to bless their utmost search are found,
That half in heaven have ceased to hope the day;
And pensive seraphs' sighs o'er heavenly harps resound.

CXVIII.

" And when, long wandering from his blissful height,
One like to thee some quick-eyed Spirit views,
He springs to heaven, more radiant from delight,
And heaven's blue domes ring loud with rapture at the news.

CXIX.

" Yet oft the being by all heaven beloved
(So doubtful every good in world like this)
Some fiend corrupts ere ripe to be removed,
And tears are seen in eyes made but to float in bliss.

CXX.

" Thou'lt take, perchance, Altheitor, (who so pure
That may if thou mayst not?) 'mid the bright throng,
My high, my forfeit place: love would secure
Its prize, so killed thee ere below too long.

CXXI.

" " Decay shall ne'er thy perfect form defile,
Nor hungry flame consume." In dews I'll steep
Thy limbs, and thou shalt look upon the pile
As gentle as a maiden fallen asleep.

" 'Mid musings of ideal bliss, and making
Of her wild hopes, lit up by fancy's beam,
A fairer lover than may woo her waking,
Blest to her wish alone in soft ecstatic dream.

CXXII.

" And I will steal thee, when the perfumes rise
Around the cassia-wood in smoky wave:
I'll shroud thee in a mist from mortal eyes,
And gently lay thee in some sparry cave.

" Of Paros; there seek out some kindly Gnome,
And see him ('mid his lamps of airy light),
By wondrous process done in earth's dark womb,
Change thee, smile, lip, hair, all, to marble pure and white.

CXXIII.

" O my loved Hyacinth! when as a god
I hurled the disk, and from thy hapless head
The pure sweet blood made flowers upon the sod.
'Twas thus I wept thee, — beautiful, but dead,

" Like all I've loved! — Oriel, false fiend, thy breath
Guided my weapon: come! most happy thou
If my pain please. I mourn another death:
Come with thy insect wings; I'll hear thy mockery now.

CXXIV.

" Thou didst not change his blood to purple flowers;
Thy poisonous breath can blight, but not create:
Thou canst but hover o'er Phrairion's bowers,
And claim of men the honors of his state.

CXXV.

" Thou kill'st my Hyacinth; but yet a beam
Of comfort still was mine: I saw preserved
His beauty all entire, and gave a gleam
Of him to a young burning Greek. So served.

" Thy crime a worthy cause: for, long inspired
With a consuming wish, that Grecian's heart,
Lost to repose, so caught what it desired;
And soon the chiselled stone glowed with a wondrous art. "

CXXVI.

While thus the now half-solaced Zophiil brings
Food to his soul, passed o'er his gloomier mood:
He shakes his ringlets, spreads his pinions, springs
From that rude seat, and leaves the mazy wood.

CXXVII.

That morn o'er Ecbatane rose pale and slow:
Thick lingering night-damps clog the morning's breath,
And veiled the sun that rose with bloody glow,
As if great Nature's heart bled for the recent death.

CXXVIII.

White-haired Idaspes from the fatal room
Bade his own slaves love's loveliest victim bring, —
Fresh, fair, but cold, — and in that lurid gloom
Set forth the funeral couch, and showed him to the king;

CXXIX.

And drew away the tunic from the scar
Seen on his cold white breast. " And is it thou? "
He said: " when Treachery wings her darts afar,
What faithful heart will be presented now?

CXXX.

" Alas! alas! that ever these old eyes
Should see Altheitor thus! Where is there one,
When lowly in the earth Idaspes lies,
Will love and guard his prince as thou hast done? "

CXXXI.

Sardius believed he slept; but, undeceived,
Soon as he found that faithful heart was cold,
He turned away his radiant brow, and grieved,
And at that moment freely would have sold.

CXXXII.

The diadem, that from his locks he tore,
For that one life. Idaspes watched his mood,
And (ere the first fierce burst of grief was o'er,
While lost Altheitor's every pulse) pursued.

With guardian skill the kindly deep design:
He probed the king's light changeful heart, and gained
A promise that the maid of Palestine,
Until twelve moons had o'er his garden waned,

Should live in banishment from court. So, sent
To muse in peace upon her unknown love
(So long announced), dejected Egla went
With all her house, and seeks her own acacia-grove.