Page:Hemans in Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine 23 1828.pdf/5

 —One moment, Erminia! one moment more, And life, all the beauty of life, is o'er! The bark of her lover hath touched the strand— Whom leads he forth with a gentle hand?— A young fair form, whose nymph-like grace Accorded well with the Grecian face, And the eye, in its clear soft darkness meek, And the lashes that droop'd o'er a pale rose cheek; And he look'd on that beauty with tender pride— The warrior hath brought back an Eastern bride!

But how stood She, the Forsaken, there, Struck by the lightning of swift despair? Still, as amazed with grief, she stood, And her cheek to her heart sent back the blood, And there came from her quivering lip no word— Only the fall of her lute was heard, As it dropt from her hand at her rival's feet, Into fragments, whose dying thrill was sweet!

What more remaineth? her day was done; Her fate and the Broken Lute's were one! The light, the vision, the gift of power, Pass'd from her soul in that mortal hour, Like the rich sound from the shatter'd string, Whence the gush of sweetness no more might spring! As an eagle struck in his upward flight, So was her hope from its radiant height, And her song went with it for evermore, A gladness taken from sea and shore! She had moved to the echoing sound of fame— Silently, silently, died her name! Silently melted her life away, As ye have seen a young flower decay, Or a lamp that hath swiftly burn'd, expire, Or a bright stream shrink from the summer's fire, Leaving its channel all dry and mute— Woe for the Broken Heart and Lute! F. H.