It was not that every feature apart,
Seem'd as if carved by the sculptor's art.
It was not the marble brow, nor the hair
That lay in its jewel-starr'd midnight there;
Nor her neck, like the swan's, for grace and whiteness,
Nor her step, like the wind of the south for lightness;
But it was a nameless spell, like the one
That makes the Opal so fair a stone,
The spell of change:—for a little while
Her red lip shone with its summer smile—
You look'd again, and that smile was fled,
Sadness and softness were there instead.
This moment all bounding gaiety,
With a laugh that seem'd the heart's echo to be;
Now it was grace and mirth, and now
It was princely step and lofty brow;
By turns the woman and the queen,
And each as the other had never been.
But on her lip, and cheek, and brow,
Were traces that wildest passions avow,
All that a southern sun and sky
Could light in the heart, and flash from the eye;
A spirit that might by turns be led
To all we love, and all we dread.
And in that eye darkness and light
Mingled, like her own climate's night,
Till even he on her bosom leaning,
Shrank at times from its fiery meaning.
There was a cloud on that warrior's face,
That wine, music, smiles, could not quite erase:
He sat on a rich and royal throne,
But a fear would pass that he sat there alone.
He stood not now on his native land,
With kinsman and friends at his red right hand;
And the goblet pass'd unkiss'd, till the brim
Had been touch'd by another as surety for him.
She, his enchantress, mark'd his fear,
But she let not her secret thought appear.
Wreath'd with her hair were crimson flowers,
The brightest that form the lotus bowers;—
She pluck'd two buds, and fill'd them with wine,
And, laughing said, "this pledge be mine!"
Her smile shone over their bloom like a charm,
He raised them up, but she caught his arm,
And bade them bring to the festive hall
One doom'd to death, a criminal.
He drank of the wine, he gasped for breath,
For those bright, but poison'd flowers, held death;
And turn'd she to Antony with the wreath,
While her haughty smile hid the sigh beneath,
"Where had thy life been at this hour,
Had not my Love been more than my Power?
—Away, if thou fearest,—love never must,
Never can live with one shade of distrust."
