351
THE LAMIA.
GREEK TRADITION.
Lysippe—Chilonis.
Lysippe.
Chilonis, whither?
Chilonis.
To the town——
Lysippe.
So late?
Chilonis.
It is but twilight yet—
Lysippe.
’Tis true—but night
Is hovering—
Chilonis.
Oh! the night hour is so sweet!—
Hyperion’s curls have heated the red day;
The eve is cool and fresh.—
Lysippe.
And thy young child
Remains at home, alone?—
Chilonis.
No—she who nurs’d
My infancy, now watches hers, Erybæa—
She is a faithful guard.—
Lysippe.
The aged yield
Soon to the power of sleep—above their lids
Wave but a feather from old Somnus’ couch,
And straight they droop, and dose—the night is dreary,
Dismal, and dangerous, to the slumbering child.
The Lamias wander round, the fierce Empusa
Glides unseen to their couches.—
Chilonis.
Have the girls
Of Thessaly been telling thee these tales?
Lysippe.
Tales!—ask Areta, she who lately scorn’d
The warning, in her confidence, now weeps
Bereav’d of her sweet child.—
Lysippe.
Chilonis, whither?
Chilonis.
To the town——
Lysippe.
So late?
Chilonis.
It is but twilight yet—
Lysippe.
’Tis true—but night
Is hovering—
Chilonis.
Oh! the night hour is so sweet!—
Hyperion’s curls have heated the red day;
The eve is cool and fresh.—
Lysippe.
And thy young child
Remains at home, alone?—
Chilonis.
No—she who nurs’d
My infancy, now watches hers, Erybæa—
She is a faithful guard.—
Lysippe.
The aged yield
Soon to the power of sleep—above their lids
Wave but a feather from old Somnus’ couch,
And straight they droop, and dose—the night is dreary,
Dismal, and dangerous, to the slumbering child.
The Lamias wander round, the fierce Empusa
Glides unseen to their couches.—
Chilonis.
Have the girls
Of Thessaly been telling thee these tales?
Lysippe.
Tales!—ask Areta, she who lately scorn’d
The warning, in her confidence, now weeps
Bereav’d of her sweet child.—
