« AnteriorContinuar »
And in a trice, ere Flora could retire,
Huge blocks of stone were ranged on either side: In front, behind, they rose, each moment higher, Compact, with smooth cement solidified.
'Nay, I might think ye mean to wall me in,'
She cried, and, smiling, stretched she forth her arm To poor Manol, who on his brow the sin
Felt burning, yet who feared the demons' charm, And thousand hellish machinations dire.
'To wall thee in?' he stammered; 'aye, to make
With frenzied eagerness the builders ten
Then, clambering the topmost stone to place,
In one heart-breaking glimpse he saw her face,
And to his ear came up the feeble cry-
My fainting voice will soon for e'er be hushed. pray thee hear me; if to save thy soul
I die, then, sweetest love, content I die !'
With bleeding hands the stone he fastened down :
The Prince, amazed and frightened, found him there
And wept with him whom he had come to crown.
AN IDYL AMONG THE ROCKS.
UPON A SUN-SWEPT HILL.
I AM a Greek of Thessaly. One day
His lean and withered throat, and held him fast.
Then he turned
And, as I let him breathe anew, he said :
And pillaging the passing men of God !-
Shone like a star.
I could not see to strike;
The tumbled olives packed within his hoard,
And with a smile as sweet as one that plays
Upon the features of a pictured saint,
He said, 'My son, thy limbs are strong, and brave Thy heart is, if the gleam within thine eyes.
Belies thee not.
Submit to me, and come Where duty calls thee. I will find thee work Fit for thy sword, and for the soul of man.' I know not why, but I obeyed the monk, And followed, meekly as a hound in leash, Along the mighty hill, and down across The wooded, stony, brown Thessalian vales, And through a waste where not a blossom grew, And stood at last before the lofty crag Crowned by Saint Stephen's monastery walls.
AT THE MONASTERY.
A HUNGRY brigand might wander years
But the monks would sleep secure from fears,
With their gold and silver under lock,
Is hundreds of feet above the plain,
And he must angel or demon be
Whoever the topmost crag could gain,
Unless in a basket hoisted up
By the brawny arms of the monks themselves.
If they ask you there to dine or sup
You must leave your arms behind, nor dare