And his eye was that blue so clear, so dark,
Like the falcon's when flying his highest mark.
And telling a tale of gallant war,

On his brow was a slight but glorious scar.
His voice had that low and lutelike sound,
Whose echo within the heart is found.
His very faults were those that win
Too dazzling and ready an entrance in.
Daring, and fiery, wild to range,

Reckless of what might ensue from the change;
Too eager for pleasure to fill up the void,
Till the very impatience their nature destroy'd;
Restless, inconstant, he sought to possess,-
The danger was dared, and the charm grew
But, O! these were only youth's meteor fires,
The ignis blaze that with youth expires.

less.

-The starry lyre has reach'd the sea,-
Started young CYRIS to his knee:
Surely her dark eyes met his own;
But, ah! the lovely dream is flown.
-I need not tell how long the day
Pass'd in its weariness away;

I need not say how Crnis' sight
Pined for the darkness of the night.
But darkness came, and with it brought
The vision which the watcher sought.
He saw the starry lyre arise-

The seven fair sisters' glittering carTill, lost amid the distant skies,

Each only look'd a burning star. Again, at morning's dewy hour,

He saw them seek their ocean bower;

train'd,

And its wilful waywardness somewhat
-Was it the spell of morning dew
That o'er his lips its influence threw,
Clearing those earthly mists away,
That erst like veils before them lay?
Whether fair dream, or actual sight,
It was a vision of delight:
For free to his charm'd eyes were given
The spirits of the starry heaven.
It was that hour, when each faint dye
Of rose upon the morning's cheek
Warns the bright watchers of the sky
Their other ocean home to seek.
He saw the Archer with his bow,
Guide now his radiant car below;
He saw the shining Serpent fold
Beneath the wave his scales of gold.
-But of all the pageants nigh,
Only one fix'd CYRIS' eye:
Borne by music on their way,
Every chord a living ray,
Sinking on a songlike breeze,
The lyre of the Pleiades,
With its seven fair sisters bent
O'er their starry instrument;
Each a star upon her brow,
Somewhat dim in daylight's glow,
That clasp'd the flashing coronet
On their midnight tresses set.
-All were young, all were fair—
But one-O! CYRIS gazed but there.
Each other lip wore sterner mould,—
Fair, but so proud,-bright, but so cold;
And clear pale cheek, and radiant eye,
Wore neither blush, nor smile, nor sigh,
Those sweet signs of humanity.
But o'er CYRENE'S cheek the rose,
Like moon-touch'd water, ebbs and flows;
And eyes that droop like summer flowers
Told they could change with shine and showers.

Her silver veil is lined with gold;
Like a crown'd queen, she comes to hold
Her empire in the sky alone-
No rival near her midnight throne.
Sometimes he fancied o'er the tide
He saw pale phantoms dimly glide:
The moonbeams fell o'er sea and sky,
No other light met Crnis' eye.

The night-the moon-he watch'd in vain,
No starry lyre rose from the main.
-And who were they the lovely seven,
With shape of earth, and home in heaven?
Daughters of King Atlas they-

He of the enchanted sway;
He who read the mystic lines
Of the planets' wondrous signs:
He the sovereign of the air-
They were his, these daughters fair.
Six were brides, in sky and sea,
To some crown'd divinity;
But his youngest, loveliest one,
Was as yet unwoo'd, unwon.
She's kneeling at her father's side :—
What the boon could be denied
To that fair but tear-wash'd check,
That look'd so earnest, yet so meek;
To that mouth whose gentle words
Murmur like the wind-lute's chords;
To that soft and pleading eye
Who is there could suit deny?
Bent the king, with look of care,
O'er the dear one kneeling there;
Bent and kiss'd his pleading one,-
Ah, that smile! her suit is won.
-It was a little fountain made
A perfect sanctuary of shade;
The pine boughs like a roof, beneath
The tapestry of the acacia wreath.

The air was haunted, sounds, and sighs,
The falling waters' melodies;

The breath of flowers, the faint perfume
Of the green pineleaf's early bloom;
And murmurs from the music hung
Ever the woodland boughs among;
His couch of moss, his pillow flowers,
Dreaming away the listless hours—

Those dreams so vague, those dreams so vain,

Yet iron links in lover's chain--
Prince CYRIs leant: the solitude

Suited such visionary mood;

For love hath delicate delights,—

The silence of the summer nights;

The leaves and buds, whose languid sighs
Seem like the echo of his own;
The wind which like a lute note dies;

The shadow by the branches thrown,
Although a sweet uncertain smile
Wanders through those boughs the while,
As if the young Moon liked to know
Her fountain mirror bright below;
Linking his thoughts with all of these,
For love is full of fantasies.

-Why starts young Crais from his dream?
There is a shadow on the stream,
There is an odour on the air;-
What shape of beauty fronts him there!
He knows her by her clear dark eye,
Touch'd with the light that rules the sky;
The star upon her forehead set,
Her wild hair's sparkling coronet;
Her white arms, and her silvery vest,—
The lovely Pleiad stands confest.
-I cannot sing as I have sung;

My heart is changed, my lute unstrung;
Once said I that my early chords
Were vow'd to love or sorrow's words:
But love has like an odour past,
Or echo, all too sweet to last:
And sorrow now holds lonely sway
O'er my young heart, and lute, and lay.
Be it for those whose unwaked youth
Believes that hope and love are sooth-
The loved, the happy-let them dream
This meeting by the forest stream.
-No more they parted till the night
Call'd on her starry host for light,
And that bright lyre arose on high
With its fair watchers to their sky.
Then came the wanderings long and lonely,
As if the world held them, them only;
The gather'd flower, which is to bear
Some gentle secret whisper'd there;
The seat beneath the forest tree;
The breathless silence, which to love
Is all that eloquence can be;

The looks ten thousand words above;

(15)

The fond deep gaze, till the fix'd eye
Casts each on each a mingled dye;
The interest round each little word,
Though scarcely said, and scarcely heard.
Little love asks of language aid,

For never yet hath vow been made
In that young hour when love is new;
He feels at first so deep, so true,

A promise is a useless token,

When neither dream it can be broken.
Alas! vows are his after sign!-
We prop the tree in its decline-
The ghosts that haunt a parting hour,
With all of grief, and naught of power;
A chain half sunder'd in the making,—
The plighted vows already breaking.
From such dreams all too soon we wake;
For like the moonlight on the lake,
One passing cloud, one waving bough—
The silver light, what is it now?
-Said I not, that young prince was one
Who wearied when the goal was won;
To whom the charm of change was all
That bound his heart in woman's thrall?
And she now lingering at his side,
His bright, his half-immortal bride,
Though she had come with him to die,
Share earthly tear, and earthly sigh;
Left for his sake her glorious sphere,-
What matter'd that ?-she now was here.
-At first 'twas like a frightful dream:
Why should such terror even seem?
Again-again-it cannot be !
Wo for such wasting misery!-
This watching love's o'erclouding sky,
Though still believing it must clear;
This closing of the trusting eye;

The hope that darkens into fear;
The lingering change of doubt and dread;
All in the one dear presence fled.
Till days of anguish past alone,
Till careless look, and alter'd tone,
Relieve us from the rack, to know
Our last of fate, our worst of wo.
-And she, the guileless, pure, and bright,
Whose nature was her morning's light;
Who deem'd of love as it is given
The sunniest element to heaven;
Whose sweet belief in it was caught
Only from what her own heart taught—
Her woman's heart, that dreamy shrine,
Of what itself made half divine,-
CYRENE, when thy shadow came

With thy first step that touch'd the earth,

It was an omen how the same

Doth sorrow haunt all mortal birth. Thou hast but left those starry spheres For woman's destiny of tears.

k 2

-They parted as all lovers part,-
She with her wrong'd and breaking heart;
But he, rejoicing he is free,

Bounds like the captive from his chain, And wilfully believing she

Hath found her liberty again:

Or if dark thoughts will cross his mind,
They are but clouds before the wind.
-Thou false one, go!-but deep and dread
Be minstrel curse upon thy head!
-Go, be the first in battle line,

Where banners sweep, and falchions shine;
Go thou to lighted festival,

Be there the peerless one of all;

Let bright cheeks wear yet brighter rays
If they can catch Prince CYRIS' gaze;
Be thine in all that honour'd name,
Men hold to emulate is fame;
Yet not the less my curse shall rest,
A serpent coiling in thy breast.
Weariness, like a weed, shall spring
Wherever is thy wandering.
Thy heart a lonely shrine shall be,
Guarded by no divinity.

Thou shalt be lonely, and shalt know
It is thyself has made thee so.

Thou hast been faithless, and shalt dread
Deceit in aught of fondness said.

Go, with the doom thou'st made thine own!
Go, false one! to thy grave-alone.-
-'Twas the red hue of twilight's hour
That lighted up the forest bower;
Where that sad Pleiad look'd her last.
The white wave of his plume is past;
She raised her listening head in vain,
To catch his echoing step again;
Then bow'd her face upon her hand,

And once or twice a burning tear
Wander'd beyond their white command,
And mingled with the waters clear.
"Tis said that ever from that day

It

rose,

until CYRENE's ear

No longer could its music hear.

She sought the fountain, and flung there
The crown that bound her raven hair;
The starry crown, the sparkles died,
Darkening within its fated tide.
She sinks by that lone wave :-'tis past;
There the lost Pleiad breathed her last.
No mortal hand e'er made her grave;
But one pale rose was seen to wave,
Guarding a sudden growth of flowers,
Not like those sprung in summer hours,
But pale and drooping; each appears
As if their only dew were tears.
On that sky lyre a chord is mute:
Haply one echo yet remains,

To linger on the poet's lute,

And tell in his most mournful strains,
-A star hath left its native sky,
To touch our cold earth, and to die;
To warn the young heart how it trust

To mortal vows, whose faith is dust;
To bid the young cheek guard its bloom
From wasting by such early doom;
Warn by the histories link'd with all
That ever bow'd to passion's thrall;
Warn by all-above-below,
By that lost Pleiad's depth of wo,—
Warn them, Love is of heavenly birth,
But turns to death on touching earth.