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BACCHUS AND ARIADNE.
Stands radiant in his youth and loveliness?
Around his sunny locks there is a wreath
Of the green vine leaves, and his ivory brow
Shines out like marble, when a golden ray
Of summer light is on it, and his step
Scarce seems to touch his pard-drawn car, but floats
Buoyant upon the air;—and who is she
On whom his ardent gaze is turned? So pale,—
Her dark hair gathered round her like a shroud,
Yet far more lovely than the sparkling nymphs
Dancing around that chariot. Yet how sweet,
Though dimmed with tears, those deep blue eyes,
Half turned and half averted timidly
From the youth's lightning glance. Oh tell me now
One of those legends that I love so well:
Has not this picture some old history?
