Page:Felicia Hemans in The New Monthly Magazine Volume 14 1825.pdf/19



And like a slight young tree, that throws The weight of rain from its drooping boughs, Once more she wept:—but a changeful thing Is the human heart, as a mountain-spring, That works its way, through the torrent's foam, To the bright pool near it, the lily's home! —It is well!—the cloud on her soul that lay Hath melted in glittering drops away. Wake again, mingle, sweet flute and lyre! She turns to her lover, she leaves her sire! —Mother! on earth it must still be so, Thou rearest the lovely to see them go!

They are moving onward, the bridal throng, Ye may track their way by the swells of song! Ye may catch through the foliage their white robes' gleam, Like a swan midst the reeds of a shadowy stream! Their arms bear up garlands, their floating tread Is over the deep-vein'd violet's bed, They have light leaves around them, blue skies above, —An arch for the triumph of youth and love!

Still and sweet was the home that stood In the flowering depths of a Grecian wood, With the soft green light o'er its low roof spread, As if from the rays of an emerald shed, Pouring through lime-leaves that mingled on high, Asleep in the silence of noon's clear sky. Citrons amidst their dark foliage glow'd, Making a gleam round the lone abode; Laurels o'erhung it, whose faintest shiver Scatter'd out sheen, like a glancing river; Stars of the jasmine its pillars crown'd, Vine-stalks its lattice and walls had bound, And brightly before it a fountain's play Flung showers through a thicket of glossy bay, To a cypress which rose in that flashing rain, Like one tall shaft of some fallen fane.

And thither Ianthis had brought his bride, And the guests were met by that fountain-side; They lifted the veil from Eudora's face, It smiled out softly in pensive grace,