Page:Pocahontas, and Other Poems.djvu/257



summer breathed in Scio. Gay she hung Her coronal upon the olive groves, Flushed the rich clusters on the ripening vines, And shook fresh fragrance from the citron boughs, Till every breeze was satiate. But the sons Of that fair isle bore winter in their soul. 'Mid the proud temples of their ancestors, And through the weeping mastic bowers, their step Was like the man who hears the oppressor's voice In Nature's softest echo; for the Turk In sullen domination sternly roamed Where mighty Homer awed the listening world.

Once to the proud divan, with stately step, A youth drew near. Surpassing beauty sate Upon his princely brow, and from his eye A glance like lightning parted as he spake.

"I had a jewel. From my sires it came In long transmission; and upon my soul There was a bond to keep it for my sons.