As in those gardens where the day Springs from the gems of Circassy— Of melody in woodland rill- Oh, nothing of the dross of ours— Yet all the beauty-all the flowers That list our Love, and deck our bowers Adorn yon world afar, afar— The wandering star. 'T was a sweet time for Nesace-for there Her world lay lolling on the golden air, Near four bright suns-a temporary rest― To distant spheres, from time to time, she rode, And late to ours, the favoured one of God But, now, the ruler of an anchored realm, She throws aside the sceptre-leaves the helm, Laves in quadruple light her angel limbs. Now happiest, loveliest in yon lovely Earth, Whence sprang the "Idea of Beauty" into birth, (Falling in wreaths thro' many a startled star, Like woman's hair 'mid pearls, until, afar, It lit on hills Achaian, and there dwelt) Rich clouds, for canopies, about her curled Fit emblems of the model of her world- Of other beauty glittering thro' the light- All hurriedly she knelt upon a bed Of flowers of lilies such as reared the head So eagerly around about to hang Upon the flying footsteps of deep pride Of her who loved a mortal-and so died. The Sephalica, budding with young bees, |