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,
Nor were the anemones about her hair
Soft, smooth and wavering like the face
beneath.

"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
Within it; thy thin robe too ill protects
Thy dainty limbs against the harm one
small

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?
Or sits she here before me? as she sate
Before the shepherd on those heights
that shade

The Hellespont, and brought his kindred

woe.

And gather all the honey thou canst find
In every crevice, over and above
What has been promised; would they
reckon that?

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.
She play'd on his: she fed upon his sighs;
They pleased her when they gently
waved her hair,

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