Her feather'd fellows all stood hush to hear; Dumb was the wind, the waters silent were. The gentle budding rose, quoth she, behold, That first scant peeping forth with virgin beams,

Half ope, half shut, her beauties doth unfold
In its fair leaves, and, less seen, fairer seems,
And after spreads them forth more broad and
bold,

Then languisheth, and dies in last extremes;
Nor seems the same that decked bed and bow'r
Of many a lady late and paramour.
So in the passing of a day, doth pass
The bud and blossom of the life of man,
Nor e'er doth flourish more; but, like the
grass

Cut down, becometh wither'd, pale, and wan:
Oh, gather then the rose, while time thou hast!
Short is the day, done when it scant began;
Gather the rose of Love, while yet thou

§ 126. Pathetic Farewell of Leonidas to his Wife and Family.

Has ever known the prevalence of love,
I SEE, I feel thy anguish, nor my soul
E'er prov'd a father's fondness, as this hour;
Nor, when most ardent to assert my fame,
Was once my heart insensible to thee.
How had it stain'd the honors of my name
To hesitate a moment, and suspend
My country's fate, till shameful life preferr'd
By my inglorious colleague left no choice,
But what in me were infamy to shun,
Not virtue to accept! Then deem no more
That, of my love regardless, or thy tears,
I haste uncall'd to death. The voice of fate,
The gods, my fame, my country, bid me bleed.
O thou dear mourner! wherefore streams afresh

-HE alone

Remains unshaken. Rising he displays
His godlike presence. Dignity and grace
Adorn his frame, and manly beauty, join'd
With strength Herculean. On his aspect shines

Sublimest virtue, and desire of fame,
Where justice gives the laurel; in his eye
The inextinguishable spark, which fires
The souls of patriots; while his brow supports
Undaunted valor, and contempt of death.
Serene he rose, and thus address'd the throng:

Why this astonishment on every face,
Ye men of Sparta? Does the name of death
Create this fear and wonder? O my friends!

renew'd

Should I, thus singled from the rest of men ;
Alone intrusted by th' immortal gods
With pow'r to save a people; should my soul
Desert that sacred cause, thee too I yield
To sorrow and to shame for thou must weep
With Lacedæmon, must with her sustain
Thy painful portion of oppression's weight.
Thy sons behold now worthy of their names,
And Spartan birth. Their growing bloom
must pine

In shame and bondage, and their youthful hearts
Beat at the sound of liberty no more.

On their own virtue and their father's fame
When he the Spartan freedom hath confirm'd,
Before the world illustrious shall they rise,
Their country's bulwark and their mother's joy.
Here paus'd the patriot. With religious awe
Grief heard the voice of virtue. No complaint
The solemn silence broke. Tears ceas'd to
flow:

Ceas'd for a moment; soon again to stream.
For now in arms before the palace rang'd,
His brave companions of the war demand
Their leader's presence; then her griefs re-
new'd,

Too great for utt'rance, intercept her sighs,
And freeze each accent on her falt ring tongue.
In speechless anguish on the hero's breast
She sinks. On ev'ry side his children press,
Hang on his knees, and kiss his honor'd hand.
His soul no longer struggles to confine
Its strong compunction. Down the hero's
cheek,

Down flows the manly sorrow. Great in woe,
Amid his children, who enclose him round,
He stands indulging tenderness and love
In graceful tears, when thus, with lifted eyes,
Address'd to Heaven: Thou ever-living Pow'r,
Look down propitious, sire of gods and men!
And to this faithful woman, whose desert
May claim thy favor, grant the hours of peace.
And thou, my great forefather, son of Jove,
O Hercules, neglect not these thy race!
But since that spirit I from thee derive,
Now bears me from them to resistless fate,
Do thou support their virtue! Be they taught,
Like thee, with glorious labor life to grace,
And from their father let them learn to die!

With learn'd Chaldeans trac'd the mystic sphere,

There number'd o'er the vivid fires that gleam
Upon the dusky bosom of the night.
Nor on the sands of Ganges were unheard
The Indian sages from sequester'd bow'rs,
While, as attention wonder'd, they disclos'd
The pow'rs of nature; whether in the woods,
The fruitful glebe or flow'r, or healing plant,
The limpid waters, or the ambient air,
Or in the purer element of fire.
The fertile plains where great Sesostris reign'd,
Mysterious Egypt, next the youth survey'd,
From Elephantis, where impetuous Nile
Precipitates his waters to the sea,
Which far below receives the sevenfold stream.
Thence o'er th' Ionic coast he stray'd: nor
pass'd

Miletus by, which once enraptur'd heard
The tongue of Thales; nor Priene's walls,
Where wisdom dwelt with Bias; nor the seat
Of Pittacus, along the Lesbian shore.
Here too melodious numbers charm'd his ears,
Which flow'd from Orpheus, and Musæus old,
And thee, O father of immortal verse,
Mæonides, whose strains through every age
Time with his own eternal lips shall sing.
Back to his native Susa then he turn'd
His wand'ring steps. His merit soon was dear
To Hyperanthes, generous and good;
And Ariana, from Darius sprung
With Hyperanthes, of th' imperial race
Which rul'd th' extent of Asia, in disdain
Of all her greatness, oft an humble ear
To him would bend, and listen to his voice.
Her charms, her mind, her virtue he explor'd
Admiring. Soon was admiration chang'd
To love, nor lov'd he sooner than despair'd.
But unreveal'd and silent was his pain;
Nor yet in solitary shades he roam'd,
Nor shunn'd resort; but o'er his sorrows cast
A sickly dawn of gladness, and in smiles
Conceal'd his anguish; while the secret flame
Rag'd in his bosom, and his peace consum'd.

§ 128. Ariana and Polydorus come by Night into the Grecian Camp.

IN sable pomp, with all her starry train, The night resum'd her throne. Recall'd from

Not with the feet of enemies we come,
But crave admittance with a friendly tongue.
The Spartan answers: Thro' the midnight
shade
[broad?
What purpose draws your wand'ring steps a-
To whom the stranger. We are friends to
Greece,

And to the presence of the Spartan king
Admission we implore. The cautious chief
Of Lacedæmon hesitates again :
When thus, with accents musically sweet,
A tender voice his wond'ring ear allur'd:

O gen'rous Grecian, listen to the pray'r
Of one distress'd! whom grief alone hath led
In this dark hour to these victorious tents,
A wretched woman, innocent of fraud.
The Greek descending thro' th' unfolded gates
Upheld a flaming brand. One first appear'd
In servile garb attir'd; but near his side
A woman graceful and majestic stood;
Not with an aspect rivalling the pow'r
Of fatal Helen, or the wanton charms
Of love's soft queen; but such as far excell'd
Whate'er the lily blending with the rose
Paints on the cheek of beauty, soon to fade;
Such as express'd a mind which wisdom rul'd,
And sweetness temper'd, virtue's purest light
Illumining the countenance divine;

Yet could not soothe remorseless fate, nor teach

Malignant fortune to revere the good;
Which oft with anguish rends the spotless
heart,

And oft associates wisdom with despair.
In courteous phrase began the chief humane:
Exalted fair, who thus adorn'st the night,
Forbear to blame the vigilance of war,
And to the laws of rigid Mars impute
That I thus long unwilling have delay'd
Before the great Leonidas to place
This your apparent dignity and worth.

He spake; and gently to the lofty tent
Of Sparta's king the lovely stranger guides.
At Agis summons, with a mantle broad
His mighty limbs Leonidas infolds,

And quits his couch. In wonder he surveys Th' illustrious virgin, whom his presence aw'd:

Her eye submissive to the ground inclin'd
With veneration of the god-like man.
But soon his voice her anxious dread dis-
pell'd,

Benevolent and hospitable thus:

Thy form alone, thus amiable and great, Thy mind delineates, and from all commands Supreme regard. Relate, thou noble dame, By what relentless destiny compell'd, Thy tender feet the paths of darkness tread : Rehearse th' afflictions whence thy virtue

Commiseration from the good, behold,
Thou glorious leader of unconquer'd bands,
Behold, descended from Darius' loins,
Th' afflicted Ariana; and my pray'r
Accept with pity, nor my tears disdain!
First, that I lov'd the best of human race,
By nature's hand with ev'ry virtue form'd,
Heroic, wise, adorn'd with ev'ry art,
Of shame unconscious does my heart reveal.
This day in Grecian arms conspicuous clad
He fought, he fell! A passion long conceal'd
For me, alas! within my brother's arms
His dying breath resigning, he disclos'd.

-Oh I will stay my sorrows!-will forbid
My eyes to stream before thee, and my heart,
Thus full of anguish, will from sighs restrain!
For why should thy humanity be griev'd
With my distress, and learn from me to mourn
The lot of nature, doom'd to care and pain!
Hear then, O king, and grant my sole request,
To seek his body in the heaps of slain.

Thus to the Spartan sued the regal maid,
Resembling Ceres in majestic woe,
When supplicant at Jove's resplendent throne,
From dreary Pluto, and th' infernal gloom,
Her lov'd and lost Proserpina she sought.
Fix'd on the weeping queen with steadfast
eyes,

Laconia's chief these tender thoughts recall'd:
Such are thy sorrows, O for ever dear!
Who now at Lacedæmon dost deplore
My everlasting absence!-then inclin'd
His head, and sigh'd; nor yet forgot to charge
His friend, the gentle Agis, through the straits
The Persian princess to attend and aid.
With careful steps they seek her lover's corse.
The Greeks remember'd, where by fate re-
press'd

His arm first ceas'd to mow their legions down:
And from beneath a mass of Persian slain
Soon drew the hero, by his armor known.
To Agis' high pavilion they resort.
Now, Ariana, what transcending pangs
Thy soul involv'd! what horror clasp'd thy

heart!

But love grew mightiest; and her beauteous limbs

On the cold breast of Teribazus, threw
The grief-distracted maid. The clotted gore
Deform'd her snowy bosom. O'er his wounds
Loose flow'd her hair, and bubbling from her

eyes

Impetuous sorrow lav'd the purple clay,
When forth in groans her lamentations broke:
O torn for ever from my weeping eyes!
Thou, who despairing to obtain her heart,
Who then most lov'd thee, didst untimely
yield

Thy life to fate's inevitable dart
For her who now in agony unfolds
Her tender bosom, and repeats her vows
To thy deaf ear, who fondly to her own
Now clasps thy breast insensible and cold.
Alas! do those unmoving ghastly orbs
Perceive my gushing anguish? Does that.
heart,
Which death's inanimating hand hath chill'd,

Nor wine to cheer his heart, nor fire to burn,
Nor place to rest, nor prospect to return;
Drooping and spiritless, at life's despair,
He bade it pass, not worth his farther care;
When suddenly he spied a distant light,
That faintly twinkled thro' the gloom of night,
And his heart leapt for joy, and bless'd the wel-
come sight,

Oft times he doubted, it appear'd so far,
And hung so high, 'twas nothing but a star,
Or kindling vapor wand'ring through the sky;
But still press'd on his steed, still kept it in his

eye;

Till much fatigue and many dangers past,
At a huge mountain he arriv'd at last.
There lighting from his horse, on hands and
knees

Grop'd out the darksome road by slow degrees,
Crawling or clamb'ring o'er the rugged way,
The thunder rolls above, the flames around him
play.

Joyful at length he gain'd the steepy height, And found the rift whence sprang the friendly light;

And here he stopp'd to rest his wearied feet, And weigh the perils he had still to meet; Unsheath'd his trusty sword, and dealt his eyes With caution round him, to prevent surprise; Then summon'd all the forces of his mind, And ent ring boldly cast his fears behind : Resolv'd to push his way, whate'er withstood, Or bravely perish as a monarch should.

While he the wonders of the place survey'd,
And through the various cells at random stray'd,
In a dark corner of the cave he view'd
Somewhat that in the shape of woman stood;
But more deform'd, than dreams can represent
The midnight hag, or poet's fancy paint
The Lapland witch, when she her broom be-
strides,

And scatters storms and tempests as she rides.
She look'd as nature made her to disgrace
Her kind, and cast a blot on all the race;
Her shrivel'd skin with yellow spots besmear'd
Like mouldy records seen'd, her eyes were
blear'd;

Her feeble limbs with age and palsy shook,
Bent was her body, haggard was her look.
Froin the dark nook outcrept the filthy crone,
And propt upon her crutch, came tott'ring on.
The prince in civil guise approach'd the
dame,

Told her his piteous case, and whence he came,
And till Aurora should the shades expel,
Implor'd a lodging in her friendly cell.
Mortal, whoe'er thou art, the fiend began,
And as she spake a deadly horror ran
Thro' all his frame; his cheeks the blood for-
sook,

Chatter'd his teeth, his knees together shook :
Whoe'er thou art, that with presumption rude
Dar'st on our sacred privacy intrude,
And without licence in our court appear,
Know, thou'rt the first that ever enter'd here.
But since thou plead'st excuse, thou'rt hither
brought

More by thy fortune than thy own default;

Thy crime, tho' great, an easy pardon finds,
For mercy ever dwells in royal minds.
And would you learn from whose indulgent

hand

You live, and in whose awful presence stand;
Know farther, thro' yon wide extended plains,
Great Eolus, the king of tempests, reigns,
And in this lofty palace makes abode,
Well suited to his state, and worthy of the god.
The various elements his empire own,
And pay their humble homage at his throne;
And hither all the storms and clouds resort,
Proud to increase the splendor of his court.
His queen am I, from whom the beauteous race
Of Winds arose, sweet fruit of our embrace!
She scarce had ended, when with wild uproar,
And horrid din, her sons impetuous pour
Around the cave; came rushing in amain,
Lybs, Eurus, Boreas, all the boist'rous train;
And close behind them on a whirlwind rode
In clouded majesty the blust'ring god.
Their locks a thousand ways were blown about,
Their cheeks, like full-blown bladders, strutted
[done,

out;

Their boasting talk was of the feats th' had Of trees uprooted, and of towns o'erthrown; And when they kindly turn'd them to accost The prince, they almost pierc'd him with their frost.

The gaping hag in fix'd attention stood, And at the close of every tale cried-Good! Blessing, with outstretch'd arms, each darling

son,

In due proportion to the mischief done.
And where, says she, does little Zephyr stray?
Know ye, my sons, your brother's route to day;
In what bold deeds does he his hours employ?
Grant heaven no evil has befall'n my boy;
Ne'er was he known to linger thus before.
Scarce had she spoke, when at the cavern door
Came lightly tripping, in a form more fair
Than the young poet's fond ideas are,
When, fir'd with love, he tries his utmost art
To paint the beauteous tyrant of his heart.
A satin vest his slender shape confin'd,
Embroider'd o'er with flowers of every kind,
Flora's own work, when first the goddess

strove

To win the little wanderer to her love.
Of burnish'd silver were his sandals made,
Silver his buskins, and with gems o'erlaid;
A saffron-color'd robe behind him flow'd,
And added grace and grandeur as he trod,
His wings than lilies whiter to behold,
Sprinkled with azure spots, and streak'd with
gold;

So thin their form, and of so light a kind, That they for ever danc'd, and flutter'd in the wind.

Around his temples, with becoming air,
In wanton ringlets curl'd his auburn hair,
And o'er his shoulders negligently spread,
A wreath of fragrant roses crown'd his head.

Such his attire, but O! no pen can trace, No words can show the beauties of his face; So kind! so winning! so divinely fair, Eternal youth and pleasure flourish there;