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THE ELIXIR.
173
And feel her cool and dewy fingers press
My mortal-fevered brow, while in my heart
She poured with tender love
Her healing Lethe-balm !
See! the close curtain moves, the spell dissolves!
Slowly it lifts : the dazzling sunshine streams
Upon a newborn world
And laughing summer seas.
Swift, snowy-breasted sandbirds twittering glance
Through crystal air. On the horizon’s marge,
Like a huge purple wraith,
The dusky fog retreats.
THE ELIXIR.
" OH brew me a potion strong and good !
One golden drop in his wine
Shall charm his sense and fire his blood,
And bend his will to mine."
Poor child of passion ! ask of me
Elixir of death or sleep,
Or Lethe s stream ; but love is free,
And woman must wait and weep.
