Page:The American Review Volume 02.djvu/584

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566
[Dec.,
The Flight of Helle.


"The fires of my Father's hearth are ashes,
 The joys ot my father's halls are dead;
Woe came with her he made my mother,
Her jealous heart his love did smother
For me and for my guardian brother—
 A curse of him who twice hath wed!
But fast the Fates her life-web further,
 While they her doom of blood recite,—
Chased to her son's and her own mother.
 By the grim Daughters of the Night."


Soon melts the wreath, that lighted wildly
 The raven depths of Helle's eyes;
Soon through her soul welled sadly, mildly,
 The gush of sweeter memories:
"Sheathed in the hues of morn, the river
Glides on and murmurs Love forever;
Its fringing flowers still throb and quiver
 With his and my pure ecstacies.
Yet thrills his heart with deep devotion;
 But my fond smile and rosy wreath?—
In the Dawn-land, or where the Ocean
 Breaks on the silent shores of death!


"Stars were gleaming, the moon was beaming.
 When last his arms my waist did twine—
We were like twain of Heaven, dreaming
 Dreams that made our loves divine;
Beneath the stars our troth was plighted.
Beneath the moon our souls united—
The stars and moon shall be benighted
 Ere thrills his heart no more through mine.
fires! that his long kiss imparted.
 Ye burn unquenched by bitter tears;
O Love! so true and tender-hearted,
 Thou'lt droop not mid the blight of fears."


Crushed in heart and sobbing, sighing.
 Heaved her white bosom with its woe.
Like rain-gusts sadly plaining, dying,
 O'er the curved fountain's fall and flow.
"The hoary mountain's emerald wonders
Blaze forth alone, where cleave the thunders;
Only in hearts mad anguish sunders
 "The live fires at the core can glow;
Their tears and blood must write the story
 Of woman's truth and hero's worth;
The Heavens give a godlike glory,
 Where wither all the joys of earth."


Spake these words her brave defender.
 While, like the sun's fire in the moon.
His spirit's glow, with softer splendor.
 In her pure soul enkindled soon.
Now soars their ram, self-poised, uplifting.
And bears them star-like on, unshifting.
Like a radiant cloudlet, drifting
 Sky-ward some May afternoon;
Swift past the shores the gray sea washes.
 High, where old Athos greets the star.