I leave thee, father! Eve's bright moon
Must now light other feet,

With the gather'd grapes, and the lyre in tune,

Thy homeward step to greet.

Thou in whose voice, to bless thy child,

Lay tones of love so deep,

Whose eye o'er all my youth hath smiled

I leave thee! let me weep!

Mother! I leave thee! on thy breast,

Pouring out joy and wo,

I have found that holy place of rest

Still changeless,-yet I go !

Lips, that have lull'd me with your strain,
Eyes, that have watch'd my sleep!

Will earth give love like yours again?
Sweet mother! let me weep!

And like a slight young tree, that throws

The weight of rain from its drooping boughs,

Once more she wept. But a changeful thing
Is the human heart, as a mountain spring,
That works its way, thro' the torrent's foam,
To the bright pool near it, the lily's home!
It is well!-the cloud, on her soul that lay,
Hath melted in glittering drops away.
Wake again, mingle, sweet flute and lyre!
She turns to her lover, she leaves her sire.
Mother! on earth it must still be so,

Thou rearest the lovely to see them go !

They are moving onward, the bridal throng,

Ye

Ye

may track their way by the swells of song;

may catch thro' the foliage their white robes' gleam,

Like a swan midst the reeds of a shadowy stream.

Their arms bear up garlands, their gliding tread

Is over the deep-vein'd violet's bed;

They have light leaves around them, blue skies above, An arch for the triumph of youth and love!

II.

Still and sweet was the home that stood

In the flowering depths of a Grecian wood,

With the soft green light o'er its low roof spread, As if from the glow of an emerald shed,

Pouring thro' lime-leaves that mingled on high,

Asleep in the silence of noon's clear sky.
Citrons amidst their dark foliage glow'd,

Making a gleam round the lone abode ;
Laurels o'erbung it, whose faintest shiver
Scatter'd out rays like a glancing river;
Stars of the jasmine its pillars crown'd,
Vine-stalks its lattice and walls had bound,
And brightly before it a fountain's play
Flung showers thro' a thicket of glossy bay,
To a cypress which rose in that flashing rain,
Like one tall shaft of some fallen fane.

And thither Ianthis had brought his bride,

And the guests were met by that fountain-side;

They lifted the veil from Eudora's face,

It smiled out softly in pensive grace,

With lips of love, and a brow serene,

Meet for the soul of the deep wood-scene.

Bring wine, bring odours !—the board is spread--
Bring roses! a chaplet for every head!

The wine-cups foam'd, and the rose was shower'd
On the young and fair from the world embower'd,
The sun look'd not on them in that sweet shade,
The winds amid scented boughs were laid;
But there came by fits, thro' some wavy tree,
A sound and a gleam of the moaning sea.

Hush! be still!-was that no more
Than the murmur from the shore?
Silence!-did thick rain-drops beat

On the grass like trampling feet?--
Fling down the goblet, and draw the sword!
The groves are filled with a pirate-horde!

Thro' the dim olives their sabres shine ;

Now must the red blood stream for wine!

The youths from the banquet to battle sprang,
The woods with the shriek of the maidens rang;
Under the golden-fruited boughs

There were flashing poniards, and darkening brows,
Footsteps, o'er garland and lyre that fled;
And the dying soon on a greensward bed.

Eudora, Eudora! thou dost not fly!

She saw but Ianthis before her lie,

With the blood from his breast in a gushing flow,

Like a child's large tears in its hour of wo,

And a gathering film in his lifted eye,

That sought his young bride out mournfully.-

She knelt down beside him, her arms she wound,
Like tendrils, his drooping neck around,
As if the passion of that fond grasp

Might chain in life with its ivy-clasp.