REPRINTED FROM "THE FRIEND." OH! pleasant exercise of hope and joy! For mighty were the auxiliars which then stood Upon our side, we who were strong in love! In which the meagre, stale, forbidding ways When most intent on making of herself Not favored spots alone, but the whole earth, The beauty wore of promise, that which sets (As at some moment might not be unfelt The playfellows of fancy, who had made All powers of swiftness, subtilty, and strength Their ministers,-who in lordly wise had stirred Among the grandest objects of the sense, And dealt with whatsoever they found there As if they had within some lurking right To wield it--they, too, who, of gentle mood, YES, it was the Mountain Echo, To a babbling wanderer sent: Hears not also mortal Life? Have not we too?-yes, we have Such rebounds our inward ear Not to appal me have the gods bestowed "Great Jove, Laodamia! doth not leave And something also did my worth obtain; Should die; but me the threat could not withhold: A generous cause a victim did demand; And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain; A self-devoted chief-by Hector slain." "Supreme of Heroes - bravest, noblest, Thy matchless courage I bewail no more, Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest best! By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore ; Thou found'st-and I forgive thee - here thou art A nobler counsellor than my poor heart. But thou, though capable of sternest deed, Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave; And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed Though should'st elude the malice of the grave: Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair air. No Spectre greets me-no vain Shadow this; Come, blooming Hero, place thee by my side! Give, on this well known couch, one nuptial kiss To me, this day, a second time thy bride!" Jove frowned in heaven: the conscious Parcæ threw Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue. "This visage tells me that my doom is past: Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys Of sense were able to return as fast Be taught, O faithful Consort, to control mourn The Gods to us are merciful-and they Of magic potent over sun and star, But if thou goest, I follow" "Peace!" he said, She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered; The ghastly color from his lips had fled; In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared Elysian beauty, melancholy grace. Brought from a pensive though a happy place. He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away-no strife to healThe past unsigh'd for, and the future sure; Spake of heroic arts in graver mood Revived, with finer harmony pursued; Of all that is most beauteous-imaged there In happier beauty; more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, Climes which the sun, who sheds the And fields invested with purpureal gleams; Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey. brightest day Yet there the Soul shall enter which hath earned That privilege by virtue.-" Ill," said he, "The end of man's existence I discerned, Who from ignoble games and revelry Could draw, when we had parted, vain de light. While tears were thy best pastime, day and night; And while my youthful peers before my What time the fleet at Aulis lay enchained. The wished-for wind was given:-I then revolved The oracle, upon the silent sea; Mine the first blood that tinged the Trojan sand. Yet bitter, oft-times bitter, was the pang When of thy loss I thought, beloved Wife! On thee too fondly did my memory hang, And on the joys we shared in mortal life,The paths which we had trod-these foun tains, flowers; My new-planned cities, and unfinished been years; And him no mortal effort can detain: Swift, toward the reaims that know not earthly day, He through the portal takes his silent way, And on the palace-floor a lifeless corse She lay. Thus, all in vain exhorted and reproved, She perished; and, as for a wilful crime, By the just Gods whom no weak pity moved, Was doomed to wear out her appointed time, Apart from happy Ghosts, that gather flowers Of blissful quiet 'mid unfading bowers. -Yet tears to human suffering are due; As fondly he believes.-Upon the side died. XXXII. DION. (SEE PLUTARCH.) I. SERENE, and fitted to embrace, That he, not too elate With self-sufficing solitude, Might in the universal bosom reign, And from affectionate observance gain Help, under every change of adverse fate. The gazers feel; and, rushing to the plain, Down the long street, rich goblets filled with wine In seemly order stand, And flowers are on his person thrown Nor doth the general voice abstain from III. Exclaimed the Chieftain--"let me rather see Mourn, hills and groves of Attica! and The coronal that coiling vipers make; mourn Ilissus, bending o'er thy classic urn! Mourn, and lament for him whose spirit dreads Your once sweet memory, studious walks and shades! For him who to divinity aspired, Not on the breath of popular applause. Intent to trace the ideal path of right Which Dion learned to measure with sublime delight : : But He hath overleaped the eternal bars; And, following guides whose craft holds no consent The torch that flames with many a lurid flake, And the long train of doleful pageantry Which they behold whom vengeful Furies haunt; Who, while they struggle from the scourge to flee, Move where the blasted soil is not unworn, And, in their anguish, bear what other minds have borne!" Ill-fated Chief! there are whose hopes are built Upon the ruins of thy glorious name; Pursue thee with their deadly aim! Drawn in defiance of the Gods, hath laid As he had fallen in magnanimity; To his own native greatness to desire So were the hopeless troubles, that involved The soul of Dion, instantly dissolved. Released from life and cares of princely state, He left this moral grafted on his Fate: |