Classic Poem

They met in the hour of the dim twilight,
The hour, that is neither day, nor night;
Like two proud queens, they met on high,
In that neutral space of the summer sky,
Where the evening star, when the day is done,
Shines through the haze of the sunken sun.
The first was darkly pale — with eyes
Deeper than are the midnight skies,
Pale, as an Indian monarch's bride,
The burning pyre beside;
Yet lovely, as the seraphim,
When pitying tears their splendour dim,
Tears shed in heaven itself, to see
The depth of human misery:
Her voice was musical, and low;
With something in its tone
Of charmed power, that seemed to flow
From worlds to man unknown.
Beneath her broad imperial brow,
Those deep eyes darkly shone,
Pure, as the wreathed stars below,
That glowed within her burning zone.
The second, was a brighter maiden,
Her brow with curls of gold was laden;
Her smile was sparkling, clear and free,
Though stately as a queen was she.
Her jewelled neck, and arms, were bare,
Snow-white, beneath her sunny hair —
Each vein was filled with fire, and lent
Her eye ethereal merriment;
Upon her cheek there lived a blush,
Warm, as the sunset's tender flush;
A tone in her glad voice had she,
At which, the heart beat like the sea,
When the west wind bloweth warm and free,
And a merry glance, like the smile of spring,
Which made each pulse a living thing.
But her dark rival stood, sedate
With soothing eyes compassionate,
Whose light my very heart did fill
With visions that subdued the will,
And bowed me with a sudden sense
Of unresisted reverence;
For, by the brow divinely fraught
With incommunicable thought —
By those low tones, which seemed to be
The accents of eternity —
By all the living memories,
Shrined in those calm, and searchless eyes,
It was, as though no voice had told,
As though no seraph could unfold
The mighty mysteries that sleep,
In that still spirit hidden deep.
Then, as the blue-eyed maiden bent
Above her charmed instrument,
And breathed unto the listening air,
Strains sweet enough to lull despair,
Those eyes of beauty did express
A pure and pitying tenderness,
And on her lip, there gleamed the while
A calm and melancholy smile.