Page:The Poetical Works of Thomas Parnell (1833).djvu/33

Rh Disgrac'd by her he lov'd—forsaken—left, Of all the treasure of his heart bereft; O'er her pale statue (she was imag'd there, E'en in his hall) gazing with mute despair, Her damask'd chambers of their mistress bare, Her handmaids weeping round,—with tearful eye, He knew the nuptial bower, and left it with a sigh.

Then the red beacons wav'd their beards of flame, Then o'er the deep the mailed warriors came, Breathing revenge—"disgrace he brought, and shame, To the Atridæ—a dishonour'd name." Pale Asia trembled, as the kindling strain Woke the fierce war, and shook the ensanguin'd plain; The battle bled—Scamander roll'd with gore.— What shades are moving on the moonlight shore? Who waits expectant of her lord's return In the Argive halls? what festal torches burn? Alas! yon broken armour, and an urn, Is all she holds—all that is left to tell, Beneath barbaric spears the flower of Hellas fell. Break off!—for time is list'ning to the lay, Heard from the syren shores, along the bay Of green Parthenope—the later theme Immortal, sung by him in mystic dream, Whose marble seat is still on Arno's shelving stream. Rh