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I leave thee, father! Eve's bright moon
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,
Will earth give love like yours again?
And like a slight young tree, that throws
The weight of rain from its drooping boughs,
Once more she wept. But a changeful thing
Thou rearest the lovely to see them go !
They are moving onward, the bridal throng,
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!
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.
Making a gleam round the lone abode ;
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--
The wine-cups foam'd, and the rose was shower'd
Hush! be still!-was that no more
On the grass like trampling feet?--
Thro' the dim olives their sabres shine ;
Now must the red blood stream for wine!
The youths from the banquet to battle sprang,
There were flashing poniards, and darkening brows,
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,
Might chain in life with its ivy-clasp.