gift, then, away!" "Ne'er with bridal train around me, Have I wreathed my radiant brow, Since to serve thy fane I bound me— Bound me with a solemn vow. Evermore in grief I languish— All my youth in tears was spent; And with thoughts of bitter anguish My too-feeling heart is rent." "Joyously my friends are playing, All around are blest and glad, In the paths of pleasure straying,— My poor heart alone is sad. Spring in vain unfolds each treasure, Filling all the earth with bliss; Who in life can e'er take pleasure, When is seen its dark abyss?" "With her heart in vision burning, Truly blest is Polyxene, As a bride to clasp him yearning. Him, the noblest, best Hellene! And her breast with rapture swelling, All its bliss can scarcely know; E'en the Gods in heavenly dwelling Envying not, when dreaming so." "He to whom my heart is plighted Stood before my ravished eye, And his look, by passion lighted, Toward me turned imploringly. With the loved one, oh, how gladly Homeward would I take my flight But a Stygian shadow sadly Steps between us every night." "Cruel Proserpine is sending All her spectres pale to me; Ever on my steps attending Those dread shadowy forms I see. Though I seek, in mirth and laughter Refuge from that ghastly train, Still I see them hastening after,— Ne'er shall I know joy again." "And I see the death-steel glancing, And the eye of murder glare; On, with hasty strides advancing, Terror haunts me everywhere. Vain I seek alleviation;— Knowing, seeing, suffering all, I must wait the consummation, In a foreign land must fall." While her solemn words are ringing, Hark! a dull and wailing tone From the temple's gate upspringing,— Dead lies Thetis' mighty son! Eris shakes her snake-locks hated, Swiftly flies each deity, And o'er Ilion's walls ill-fated Thunder-clouds loom heavily!
THE HOSTAGE. A BALLAD. The tyrant Dionys to seek, Stern Moerus with his poniard crept; The watchful guard upon him swept; The grim king marked his changeless cheek: "What wouldst thou with thy poniard? Speak!" "The city from the tyrant free!" "The death-cross shall thy guerdon be." "I am prepared for death, nor pray," Replied that haughty man, "I to live; Enough, if thou one grace wilt give For three brief suns the death delay To wed my sister—leagues away; I boast one friend whose life for mine, If I should fail the cross, is thine." The tyrant mused,—and smiled,—and said With gloomy craft, "So let it be; Three days I will vouchsafe to
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