When it was inarticulate as theirs, And the down deadened it within the nest?" He moved her gently from him, silent still, And this, and this alone, brought tears from her. Although she saw fate nearer: then with sighs, "I thought to have laid down my hair before Benignant Artemis, and not have dimmed Her polished altar with my virgin blood; I thought to have selected the white flowers To please the Nymphs, and to have asked of each By name, and with no sorrowful regret, Whether, since both my parents willed the change, I might at Hymen's feet bend my clipped brow; And (after those who mind us girls the most,) Adore our own Athena, that she would Regard me mildly with her azure eyes, But father! to see you no more, and see Your love, O father! go ere I am gone.." Gently he moved her off, and drew her back, Bending his lofty head far over hers, And the dark depths of nature heaved and burst. He turn'd away; not far, but silent still. She now first shuddered; for in him, so nigh, So long a silence seemed the approach of death, And like it. Once again she raised her voice. "O father! if the ships are now detained, And all your vows move not the Gods above, When the knife strikes me there will be To give her daily more and sweeter flowers Than he made drop from her on Enna's dell. Rhaicos was looking from his father's door -At the long trains that hastened to the town From all the valleys, like bright rivulets Gurgling with gladness, wave outrunning wave, 1 Compare Lowell's poem, Rhecus, which gives a somewhat different version of the same story Her cheek, but never mountain-ash display'd Berries of color like her lip so pure, "What dost thou here?" Echeion, halfafraid, Half-angry cried. She lifted up her eyes, But nothing spake she. Rhaicos drew one step Backward, for fear came likewise over him, But not such fear: he panted, gasp'd, drew in His breath, and would have turn'd it into words, But could not into one. "O send away That sad old man!" said she. The old man went Without a warning from his master's And the Cydonian bow (which thou shalt see) Won in my race last spring from Eutychos. Hamad. Bethink thee what it is to leave a home Thou never yet hast left, one night, one day. Rhaicos. No, 'tis not hard to leave it; 'tis not hard To leave, O maiden, that paternal home, If there be one on earth whom we may love First, last, for ever; one who says that she Will love for ever too. To say which word, Only to say it, surely is enough If any acorn of last year be left Acorn may do. Here's none. Another day Trust me; till then let me sit opposite. Hamad. I seat me; be thou seated, and content. Rhaicos. O sight for gods! ye men below! adore The Aphrodite. Is she there below? The Hellespont, and brought his kindred woe. And gather all the honey thou canst find Rhaicos went daily; but the nymph as oft, Invisible. To play at love, she knew, Stopping its breathings when it breathes most soft, Is sweeter than to play on any pipe. Cooling the pulses of her purple veins, And when her absence brought them out, they pleased. Even among the fondest of them all, What mortal or immortal maid is more Content with giving happiness than pain? Or eve, at any time when woods are safe." Day after day the Hours beheld them blessed, And season after season: years had past, Blessed were they still. He who asserts that Love Ever is sated of sweet things, the same Sweet things he fretted for in earlier days, Never, by Zeus! loved he a Hamadryad. The nights had now grown longer, and perhaps The Hamadryads find them lone and dull Among their woods; one did, alas! She called Her faithful bee: 't was when all bees should sleep, And all did sleep but hers. She was sent forth To bring that light which never wintry blast Blows out, nor rain nor snow extinguishes, The light that shines from loving eyes upon Eyes that love back, till they can see no more. Rhaicos was sitting at his father's hearth: Between them stood the table, not o'erspread With fruits which autumn now profusely bore, Nor anise cakes, nor odorous wine; but there The draft-board was expanded; at which game Down fell the languid brow, both hands fell down, A shriek was carried to the ancient hall Of Thallinos: he heard it not his son Heard it, and ran forthwith into the wood. No bark was on the tree, no leaf was green, The trunk was riven through. From that day forth Nor word nor whisper sooth'd his ear, nor sound Even of insect wing; but loud laments The woodmen and the shepherds one long year Heard day and night; for Rhaicos would not quit The solitary place, but moan'd and died. Hence milk and honey wonder not, O guest, To find set duly on the hollow stone. 1846. ACON AND RHODOPÉ; OR, INCON STANCY (A Sequel) THE Year's twelve daughters had in turn gone by, Of measured pace though varying mien all twelve, Some froward, some sedater, some adorn'd For festival, some reckless of attire. The snow had left the mountain-top; fresh flowers Had withered in the meadow; fig and prune |