Page:TheBirth of the War-God.djvu/82

70 Who dyed her Lady's feet—no word spake she, But beat her with her flower-wreath playfully. Then tiring-women took the jetty dye To guard, not deck, the beauty of her eye Whose languid half-shut glances might compare With Lotus leaves just opening to the air; And as fresh gems adorned her neck and arms, So quickly changing grew the Maiden's charms. Like some fair plant where bud succeeding bud Unfolds new beauty; or a silver flood Where gay birds follow quickly; or like Night, When crowding stars come forth in all their light. Oft as the mirror would her glance beguile She longed to meet her Lord's approving smile — Her tasteful skill the timid maid essays To win one smile of love, one word of praise.

The happy Mother took the golden dye And raised to hers young 's beaming eye— Then swelled her bosom with maternal pride As thus she decked her darling for a bride— Oh, she had longed to trace on that fair brow The nuptial line, yet scarce could mark it now! On 's rounded arm the woollen band Was fixt securely by the Nurse's hand— Blind with the tears that filled her swimming eye, In vain the Mother strove that band to tie. Spotless as curling foam-flakes stood she there, As yielding soft, as graceful and as fair— Or like the glory of an autumn night Robed by the full Moon in a veil of light.