The Poetical Works of ... C. G. G, edited, with a sketch of her Life, by A. Cleveland Wigan

Front matter

THE POETICAL WORKS OF THE LATE CATHERINE GRACE GODWIN EDITED, WITH A SKETCH OF HEE LIFE, BY A. CLEVELAND WIGAN. ILLUSTRATED WITH THIRTY-NINE ENGRAVINGS Iimtora : CHAPMAN AND HALL, 193, PICCADILLY. 1854. LONDON : PRINTED BY WALTON AND MITCHELL, WARDOUR STREET. CONTENTS. PAGE Memoir of the Author . . . . . . . . . . . . i Sappho. A Dramatic Sketch . . . . . . . . .... 1 Notes to Sappho . . . . . . . . . . 63 Kiz Koulessi. A Turkish Legend . . . . . . .... 65 Notes to Kiz Koulessi . . . . . . ..... . . 107 The Enchanted Lady. An Arabesque .. .. .. .... Ill The Reproving Angel. A Vision . . . . 123 The Wanderer's Legacy . . . . . . . . .... 141 Elena; or, the Night before the Bridal. A Metrical Romance .. .. 207 Notes to Elena . . . . . . . . .... 275 MISCELLANEOUS POEMS. Olden Times and Modern . . . . . . . . 281 Notes to Olden Times and Modern . . .. .. .... 292 The Seal Hunters .' . . . . . . . . . . . . . 293 Notes to the Seal Hunters . . . . 314 The Monk of Camaldoli .. .. .. .. ..315 Desultory Thoughts . . . . . . .... 328 Destiny . - ■ . • ■ . . . . 334 Solitude .. .- .. .. .... 343 Canova.

Part I. His Boyhood . . . . 352 Part II. His First Love . . .... 355 Solitude CONTENTS. PAGE A Tragedy in Rural Life . . . . . . . . . . 359 Notes to a Tragedy in Rural Life .. .. .. .... 373 The Deserted Town . . . . . . . . . . . . 374 Bivouac in Greece .. .. .. .. .. .... 378 The Hebrew Girl at the Auto da Fe . . . . . . . . . . 382 The Estranged .. .. .. .. .. .... 389 Ancient Cities . . . . . . . . . . ' . . . . 397 Notes to Ancient Cities . . . . . . . . .... 402 The Pestilence in Rome . . . . . . . . . . . . 403 Evening on the Shores of the Island of Procita . . . . .... 408 Notes to Evening on the Shores of the Island of Procita , . . . 411 The Spartan Mother .. .. .. .. .. .... 412 The Sister of Korner .. .. .. .. .. .. 415 Notes to the Sister of Korner . . . . . . .... 417 The Last Vigil of Julian . . . . . . . . 418 Recollections of a Lamented Friend .. .. .. .... 423 Angelicæ . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 426 A Dreamer . . . . . . . . . '. . . .... 428 The Burial of the Vestal.

A Fragmentary Sketch . . . . . . 430 The Ladye Jane Grey in her Study .. .. .. .... 433 Dante Inamorato . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 436 To Felicia Hemans . . . . . . . . . . .... 438 Sabbath on the Seas . . . . . . . . . . . . 441 The Dying Crusader . . . . . . . . . . .... 443 The Unknown Dead .. .. .. .. .. ..451 On Visiting a Solitary Tarn among the Mountains . . . . .... 453 The Voice of the Waterfall .. .. .. .. ..455 Unrecorded Graves .. .. .. .. .. .... 457 The Voice of Youth . . . . . . . . . . 4g0 The Voice of Age . . . . . . . . . . .... 462 The Penitence of the Bruce . . . . . . _ _ _ 4g4 To the River Rothay . . . . . . . . . . 457 Time . . . . . . . . . . . . . . CONTENTS. PAGE A Hymn . . . . . . . . . . . . 471 Four Sonnets written during a Summer Tour on the Continent . . . . . . 473 Sonnet.

Preface

History has preserved such slight records of the Lesbian Muse, that, in making her the subject of poetry or romance, much must be supplied by the imagination. A few lyrical fragments of unrivalled excellence, and the story of her ill-requited passion and its tragical consequences, are almost all we know of her. Some writers of antiquity have represented her as the ornament, others, as the disgrace of her sex. Fortunately, the most charitable side of the question is not only the most poetic, but also the most probable and consistent ; and it is worthy of remark, that the testimony against her is to be found only in authors greatly posterior to the time in which she flourished. In attempting to delineate the character of Sappho, I have portrayed her such as I conceive she must have been, — a creature of impulse, endowed with the finest sensibilities, easily elated to a state of rapture, and easily depressed to despair, — an enthusiast knowing no cold medium, either in poetry, love, religion, or patriotism, — prone to take an exaggerated view of the joys as well as of the ills of life, colouring surrounding objects with the vivid hues of her own imagination, and capable of the deepest devotion and the most heroic self-sacrifice where she placed her affections.

We are told by one of her biographers (if indeed the term biography may be properly applied to the disjointed records handed down to us), that Sappho, in early widowhood, de voted herself to letters, and undertook to inspire the Lesbian women with a taste for literature. Many of them received instructions from her, and several of foreign birth increased the number of her disciples. Another classical authority corroborates this, stating that she united around her a number of young women, whom she instructed in music and poetry ; and they, in their turn, revered her as their benefactress. Some writers have associated the name of Erinna with that of Sappho, making the former a pupil, or at least an intimate of the latter, but this appears uncertain, — indeed it is contradicted by the chronicle of Eusebius, which places Erinna 250 years posterior to the time of Sappho.

The name of Phaon has been omitted from the Dramatis Persona.. He is unques tionably an important personage in the history, but as my version professes to be nothing more than a sketch, or series of scenes, I considered myself at liberty to select such as were least likely to overtax my ability. For the introduction of Sappho just at the moment when she is abandoned by Phaon, I have, moreover, an honourable precedent in Gibson's exquisite statue. DRAMATIS PERSONÆ. High Priest or Apollo Leucadius. Second Priest. Theagenes ~| >■ Athenians. Cephisodorus J Hipparchus, a Misanthrope. Sappho. Cleis, Daughter of Sappho. Atthis, Iole, \- Female Friends of Sappho. Telesiphe. i $xtm fmt On the Lsland of Lesbos. Time, Evening. Atthis, Iole, Telesiphe lOLE. What balmy freshness fills the evening air !

My spirit, through the day oppressed with languor, Longs to spread wide her pinions, and mount up To fields of boundless space — far, far above The highest star of heaven. SAPPHO. Atthis. 'Tis heaven on earth ! Thou need'st not, Iole, desert our sphere For other realms. Enough for mortal bliss On such an eve, our native Grecian isle ; Now blest and beautified by early spring. Hath heaven itself a deeper, tenderer blue Than those young violets ? What clouds of perfume Commingle, rising from their dew-dropped lids, With subtler odours of more stately flowers ! Telesiphe. No more is heard the ring-dove's cooing note ; It ceased when high o'er yonder mountain ridge Pale Hesperus looked down, the loveliest gem In night's resplendent diadem — but hark ! The peerless Philomel's impassioned song !

The priestess she of this vast star-lit fane, And, priestess-like, devotes her noblest powers, Her holiest hymns, to its divinity. [The moon is seen rising Lo ! from her eastern temples comes in pride The huntress queen — the daughter of great Jove ! Atthis. Here let us rest awhile, my gentle friends, Here on this bank beneath the myrtle boughs. 'Tis happiness enough to sit and dream, Alone awake to the sweet influence Of treasured thoughts — the heart in earnest faith Confessing that all nature is instinct With love and beauty, and that we ourselves, Earth-born and perishing, have faculties, Hopes, aspirations, sympathies, that claim Affinity with the gods. SAPPHO. Iole. But all feel not These intimations of a loftier Being ? Atthis. All feel them not — or vaguely, as in sleep The slumberer hears, sometimes, a few faint sounds Blend with his dreaming fancies — or the eye Half-closed, perceiveth shadows of real forms Peopling the obscure.

Thus we ourselves (ere Sappho Quickened with yet a keener sense of life Each dormant faculty) knew not how vast The mind's dominion — how it comprehends Riches and power, oh ! far transcending all That kings hold priceless, — a blest, beauteous empire Which none may circumscribe ; and no assault Of foes can wrest from us. Our steps she hath led Into a region paved as are the heavens With countless orbs of never-failing light ; A wondrous realm, accessible alone To those whose souls some sovran mind hath train'd To enjoy, enrich, and magnify this earth, Finding in common and familiar tilings Beauty which seemeth not, but is, then own. Her genius — Jove's boon to the favoured few — She could not give ; but with that glorious art Which she hath striven to instil, some fervid beams Have found, methinks, their way into our breasts, And there met kindred elements.

With her In deep devotion we have knelt at shrines Sacred to Nature's worship. In the groves, When filled with whisperings of the voiceful winds, Taught by our great instructress, we have learned To interpret oracles. From yonder sea, When murmuring sweetly, even as when, up-roused SAPPHO. To furious wrath, it chafes along the shore, Have we drawn poetry ; and she, our Sappho, Hath been the nurse of every noble thought And soaring aspiration. Iole. Vast our debt Of gratitude and love, and it were meet That faculties which to her fostering mind Owe their chief culture, should in growth mature To her be consecrated. Thou, dear Atthis, Who of her love hast gained the larger share, Be thine the task to solace and console Her hours of sadness, — hours which loftiest fame Propitious fortune, genius rare and bright Even as her genius, cannot all avert. 'Tis for affection tried and prized like thine Such office is reserved.

Atthis. But hath not love, One soul-engrossing passion, quenched the torch Of calmer, gentler friendship ? Telesiphe. Fear it not. E'en now love's bonds are rent. This very day, So rumour saith, Phaon again set sail In stealthy haste, as though he feared delay From hostile power. Soon Sappho's finer nature Will disenthral itself. Too base his soul, Despite the god-like beauty of his mien, To prize the boon of love so lavishly Cast in his path. SAPPHO. Atthis. Alas ! Telesiphe, Thou little knowest her, nor yet the fervour Of passionate love, if thou canst so delude Thy heart with hope. She will not bend to fate As doth thy reed-like nature, but erect Will court, aye, as the stately cedar doth, The storm that blasts her, laying bare her breast To meet its ruin. If our sympathy May aught avail, let it be offered now. [Exeunt.

SAPPHO. $wa $ttm&. The Sea-shore of the Lsland of Lesbos. Sappho alone. He is gone — it is no dream — I am alone — My eyes are dim, and yet they shed no tears. My voice is hoarse, yet not, as some may deem, With oft-repeated vows of burning love, Or wild farewells that are beyond all price In horns of dark bereavement. He came not, But silently, and like a thief in the night, Did steal away, bearing the treasured hoard Of my life's hopes. Oh heart betrayed and spurned ! Weak, womanish heart ! still loving madly on, Despite all wrong ; would that I could pluck out Thy canker spot, and live again for glory ! Say, what avails it that my name hath gone Forth throughout Greece, or that in rapt suspense Crowds hang on my lyre's music ? 'Tis all vain. The homage of the world would leave me poor, One thing still wanting — trust in him I love. [A Vessel is descried in the distance.

Sappho bends eagerly forward, her eyes directed towards it. 'Tis there ! — his sail ! — the prow is this way set. Benignant heaven ! He comes with favouring gales Upon a homeward track. He doth relent — He could not leave me thus ! Be still my heart ! Joy were too sweet a death. Mine eye-sight fails, Or hie they hence in truth ? Deluded wretch ! What didst thou hope ? In very truth he's gone ! tfjjirii ?mte .t_ Grove in the Island of Lesbos. A small Grecian Temple in the back ground. Sappho, Atthis, Iole, and Telesiphe are discovered; the former pensively reclining, while her three companions or pupils touch each a lyre which they hold in their hands, in celebration of the birth of Aurora. Time, early Morning. HYMN TO AURORA. Atthis sings. Goddess that from the shadowy arms of night Risest in glory like a bride come forth From out the nuptial chamber, thy fair steps Seen on the eastern mountains, fill our vales With beauty and delight ; thou from the golden gates Oped by thy rosy fingers, issuing first u SAPPHO.

Of all the heavenly throng, makest the stars Withdraw their waning lamps ; then to the winds Thy robes unloosing, speed' st with fleeter foot To meet our homage. Hail, bright Goddess, hail ! Iole sings. Daughter of light ! that with a kiss divine Unseal'st the eye-lids sleep with spells had bound, And to the limbs, in languid dews besteeped, Dost lend new vigour. From thy crystal urn, Even as a priestess odorous gums doth shed, Thou pom'st celestial gifts. The gleesome hours Troop after thee, as hand in hand they pass In sister beauty o'er the flowery earth. The wanton airs caress thee on thy way, For they are thine, by thee called into life, On thee attendant, with harmonious songs Saluting thee — Aurora ! Goddess ! hail ! Telesiphe sings. Hail bright divinity ! true source of hope — Thou in the vernal groves awak'st the choir Of feathered warblers, that in hymns of joy Break forth until the universal air Resomids with gladness, and each sylvan shade Becomes a temple wTith thy worship filled.

The insect tribes, — they too exalt thy praise, And flowers salute thee with their earliest bloom, Brightening at thy approach. Hail, fairest thou Of heaven's immortal daughters, most adored By young fond hearts with all the fervency Of natural homage. Hail, pure Goddess, hail ! Iole {to Sappho). Hymnest thou not Aurora ? thou whose voice SAPPHO. Raised at the joyous hour of prime to greet Her coining steps, erst was our inspiration ! See, all is gladness — mystic night no more Folds his dusk pinions round a slumbering world. The great Apollo from his golden bow Hath shot the first shaft through the empurpled air Atthis {to Sappho). Still sad ? still silent ? See how gloriously Celestial light is kindling earth with beams Of vivifying power. What garniture Nature puts on to grace the birth of day !

Hast thou no song of praise ? Sappho. Nay, chide me not. To-day I am not very light of heart. The morn ye say is lovely, but, in truth, Unto these eyes unwonted darkness seems To curtain earth. The very air methinks Hath lost its pure and vital principle, And heavy as some dungeon's atmosphere It weighs upon my soul. Atthis. Thou'rt ill at ease — Some life-corroding malady, alas ! Those languid eyes, that cheek of marble hue, Anon o'erspread with unfamiliar bloom, Proclaim the cruel truth. Sappho. Fear is love's offspring, And doth mislead thee. If my cheek is blanched, Dear Atthis ! it in sympathy grows pale. SAPPHO. For as my heart responds, fond girl, to thine, So also doth my aspect shew thee now Thy woeful looks reflected. Atthis. Think' st thou thus To cheat our vigilance ? Have we not marked thee, Hour after hour, consuming life in care — Thy days in loneness spent, till darkness came And wrapped thee in its mantle, while damp dews, As though the very stars, dissolved in tears, Wept all night long on that unsheltered head ?

Indeed thou'rt changed, albeit thou own'st it not. No charm for thee hath our companionship To win thee from sad thoughts. Mute is thy lyre ; Silent the voice that filled all hearts with joy. The glory, and the gladness, and the power That made existence a resplendent dream, Have passed away. Sappho. They little know of Sappho, Who deem she feels no joy save in the blaze Of admiration, when the aching ear Is deafened by the acclaim of flattering tongues. Oh ! this is nought but a deceptive show, False as the wandering light of the morass Which warms not that it shines on. But there's bliss Oft in the mood that looks like grief or care, — When solitude is sought, and pensiveness Sheds its soft twilight o'er the entranced soul. And think ye that my lays which have gone forth Not all unhonoured, fruits spontaneous grew From those bright hours in festive gladness spent ?

Believe it not. The source whence they did spring SAPPHO. Is hidden deep, — deep as the Fount of Life, Nourished in secret, with my life's tide fed, Even as the Arabian bird her brood sustains With her owm blood. They are mine offspring, born With throes of the soul's travail ; gushing wild With power resistless, like the lava-flood Poured from the mountain's height, wiiose inmost core Consumes in certain ruin. Iole. Nay, we deemed Thy pensiveness had yet another source. Since Phaon left our Isle for Sicily A visible gloom hath on thy spirit fall'n. We would not have our Sappho mourn for one So light and faithless. Sappho. Thou art somewhat harsh To accuse him thus. May he not steer his course Where'er it likes him best ? If those fond vows Which he hath sworn with all love's fervency In truth are founded, absence will not shake them.

If, like base coin, they cannot bear the test Of this so slight ordeal, it were well To make the treason clear. Come, gentle friends, The day in sooth shews glorious, — let us hence. [Exeunt. SAPPHO. inm fwxfy. The Summit of a Cliff overhanging the Sea, on the Island of Lesbos. Sappho alone. Again, and yet again, my weary feet Have borne my sadder sphit to this height To gaze in vain ! What see I but the waves Mocking my misery with their life and mirth, Dancing to their own music. He comes not, Whose truant bark set forth for Sicily With the young Spring's fresh breathings in her sails. 'Tis strange, — the allotted time hath long elaps'd, Yet comes he not ! I know he'll ne'er return. Bark of my fate ! how oft, when some small speck Has loomed on the horizon, I have felt My heart leap up, my eyes grow dim with gazing, And hope itself become a fearful thing !

Yet still day after day I watch for thee As gazed the Athenian father from the rock Until the winds brought from the Cretan Isle The adventurous crew. They came, — but what brought they To thy expectant arms, Ægeus ? Death ! [Enter Atthis and Iole conversing, and leading Ci.eis by the hand. Your looks are ominous, my friends ! Ye come, Bearers of evil tidings ! Iole {aside to Atthis). I would speak, But cannot for these tears. She loves thee much, Dear Atthis ; the sad tale were best from thee. D SAPPHO. Atthis. Evil indeed, my Sappho ! Thy banislnnent from Lesbos is decreed. ("J Sappho. And is this all the fearful newTs ye bring ? Say ye not aught of Sicily — of Phaon ? Iole. No bark hath come with news from Sicily ; But we have heard what Atthis now has told, That Pittacus doth banish from this Isle, On pain of death, within brief time to flee, Alcæus, and all those who did embrace His free opinions, joining in revolt.

Sappho. So let it be. Weep not, my gentle daughter, Nor you, my friends. Has earth no plains as fair As these of Mitylene ? Cleis. Yet, dear Mother, Yet is it sad to leave the groves we love, The birds that sung to us their songs so sweetly, The vales where first the early flowers of spring Rewarded eager search, the shores where stray'd, Day after day, our steps, the cliffs where shine The glittering spars, and stores of painted shells — In sooth 'tis very sad to go away. Sappho. My beauteous Cleis, trust me, thou shalt find The spring flowrers bloom as fresh in Sicily. The nightingales will there as sweetly sing, SAPPHO. And the waves murmuring on as fair a strand Will yield to thy white hand, my darling child, In lavish pride, their brightest, choicest treasures, And thou wilt slumber on thy mother's breast, Sharing her love with these, her bosom friends.

Say, will ye go with us, my kind companions ? Atthis and Iole. Ay, even to death ! Sappho. Then farewell, Mitylene, First object of my fondness, thou hast been To me a not ungentle nurse ; but now That fortune frowns on me, and fate puts on A threatening aspect, and oppression drives Me from thy shores, thy skies weep not, but wear As flatterers do, in servile courts, a smile In mockery of my wrongs. So fare thee well ! The tyrant leaves me those I love, and I In truth do thank him. — Now for Sicily. [Exeunt. SAPPHO. Irene Jftftjj. Outside the dwelling of Sappho in Sicily. Enter Atthis and Iole. Iole. And they have met, thou say'st — met in thy presence ? Atthis. Do not these eyes bear witness by their tears ? I saw them, or in sooth had not believed There lived the heartless thing could so have wrong'd her She knelt to him, nay, she embraced his feet, And humbly prayed that he would look on her Yet once again as he was wont to do, Then let her perish.

Oh ! I blushed to see her Debased before an ingrate, who but borrows A little light from her too favouring notice, As the pale planets radiance from the sun. Iole. And how replied he ? if indeed the upbraidings Of conscience suffered him to answer her. Atthis. He drew his robe from her beseeching grasp, And turned on her so proud, so cold an eye, It might have chilled to ice the summer sea. He said such posture did beseem her ill, And that she lacked true generosity SAPPHO. Thus to enforce a promise rashly given — And then did counsel her, for her fair fame, (Oh ! was't not nobly done ?) Yes, taunting, said It had been well if she, who prized renown So much, had never come to Sicily. (Was it not kindly urged ?) And yet the while He looked so beautiful in his disdain, Bearing him hke to a triumphant god, That I did fear my heart would own his power, Ay, ev'n while I abhorred him.

Iole. Perjured Phaon ! Oh, Paphian Queen ! why didst thou gift him thus,*'0) Investing him with charms none might resist, Yet leave him cold and soulless as his image Reflected in the waves ? I would fain learn How Sappho brooked his taunts and scornful tone. Atthis. At first she did abandon her to grief, In all its agonized intensity ; Then grasped at visionary hope, which owed Its birth to her desire. Lifting her brow, Which she had dropped upon my breast, she flung Her tresses back, through which her tearfid eyes Had shone like rain-dimmed stars, and eagerly Gazed on my countenance, as if she sought There to confirm the illusions she had raised ; Then said to me, " Atthis, he meant it not ; " 'Tis but some wayward mood that now doth sway him " He will relent when I do sing the strains " That he in Lesbos used to love."

SAPPHO. Iole. Alas! How can a mind that seems as though 'twould grasp Heaven in its comprehensive hold, yield up Reason to love so blind ? Atthis. 'Tis as thou sayest, Infatuation — the resistless power Of some strong-woven spell. Come, let us hence, And offer her the tribute of our tears. [Exeunt. §tmt fetjj. Interior of the dwelling of Sappho in Sicily. Sappho, Atthis, Iole, Cleis. Sappho. There still is hope. This last appeal which I have made to him May, like the warm and genial ray that melts The ice upon the mountain, reach his heart — And yet he might have answer'd me ere now, Or come to tell me we could meet no more, And that he had renounced me. It were mercy, When the barbed arrow rankles in the wound, SAPPHO. To strike it deep into some mortal part, And spare the victim death's protracted throes. 'Tis past the hour of sunset — that bright line Of golden light which now illumes the west, When I sent to him hardly 'gan to sparkle On the blue altars of the east.

A little while, And I shall know my doom ; for never, never, If he do now abandon me, will I Behold or seek communion with him more. Bear with me, gentle friends. Oh ! how shall I Requite your love, that unabated still Sustains my sinking spirit. I would fain Repay you by a lightened heart. [She turns to Cleis, who is weaving garlands My child, Tell me wiiere soundest thou those floral treasures ? Methought none such remained. Cleis. I gathered them, with Atthis, Near yonder bubbling foimt. Once thou didst love Their fragrancy, and round that sylvan source They flowrer still in prime. 'Twould seem, the cool And sunless shelter of the spot is genial To plants that brook not fierce meridian heats. Sappho. Give me the lily ; 'tis a peerless blossom, And seems to me, amid its bowser of leaves, Like a pale priestess who, in shades religious, Secludes herself far from the glare of the wrorld.

And much I love those beauteous flowers that lift Their urns, like Naiads, o'er the crystal wraters In sculptural grace ; and those that from the earth Sprung up wrhen lovely Hyacinthus died — ■_'i SAPPHO. The offspring of his life's blood ; but they perished When the meek violet closed her deep blue eyes, And early sighed away her odorous soul. Iole. There yet remains to us the rose, who loves Earth's bowers so well. Although she died in spring, Her spirit comes on the autumnal air. And here I place her near the amaranth, A flower that loves to haunt sepulchral caves. And here I twine thy graceful polished stem, Fair rhododaphne, genius of the grove ! How pale she shews contrasted with the pride Of Dian's poppies ! Sappho. Findest thou no place For the green ivy that doth fling its arms Round lonely tombs and desolated fanes, Caressing them in ruin ?

I will wreathe thee, Rejected plant ! meet coronal for my brows. [She wanders into a Portico looking upon the Sea Fair art thou, Sicily ; yea, passing fair ! Our Grecian skies have not a heavenlier hue, Our seas no purer crystal. From thy shores A breeze, the gentlest of the airy choir, Doth wing its way, laden with richest spoil ; It kisses now the deep, whose glassy surface Dimples anon with myriad mimic waves, And music, sweet as childhood's mirth, breaks forth Where all so late was stillness. 'Tis a scene Recalls to me a dream of vanished joy, When I and Phaon roved by Lesbia's sea, Silent, but reading in each other's eyes What wrords had failed to utter. All around crave a boon, and know thou'lt not deny me. 25 F SAPPHO. Was life and balm, for amorously a Zephyr Toyed with the rose, his ancient love, and scents Of humbler blossoms crushed beneath our feet Did fill the air.

Then, even as now, the sun Went down in gold and purple, and the waves Rippled along the beach melodiously. The temple and the altar, they are here, But wiiere the Deity I worshipped ? Gone ! It was a memorable eve, the close Of our great festival of early spring, When all is bloom, expectancy, and hope. Now mellow, melancholy autumn reigns : The scene hath shifted too, and all is changed. [She resumes her seat amidst her companions Bring here thy lute, that, like thyself, sweet Atthis, Hath been so oft the soother of my thoughts When they were troubled. Atthis. It hath many tones, And all are thine, and shall obey thy call. Say, what would'st thou evoke ? Sappho. Some lay of love — Of love and loneliness — of breaking hearts And broken vows. Some melody like that Mount Ida's echoes erst so wildly sung When sad Œnone, all forsaken, pined For the false son of Priam.