THE YOUNG OLYMPIA.
BY MISS LANDON.
The young Olympia!—On her face the dyes
Were yet warm with the dance's exercise,
The laugh upon her full red lip yet hung,
And, arrow-like, flash'd light words from her tongue.
She had more loveliness than beauty; hers
Was that enchantment which the heart confers;
A mouth sweet from its smiles, a glancing eye,
Which had o'er all expression mastery:
Laughing its orb, but the long dark lash made
Somewhat of sadness with its twilight shade,
And suiting well the upcast look which seem'd
At times as it of melancholy dream'd;
Her cheek was as a rainbow, it so chang'd,
As each emotion on its surface rang’d;
And every word had its companion blush,
But evanescent as the crimson flush
That tints the day-break; and her step was light
As the gale passing o'er the leaves at night;
In truth those snow feet were too like the wind,
Too slight to leave a single trace behind.
She lean'd against a pillar, and one hand
Smooth'd back the curls that had escap'd the band
Of wreath'd white pearls—a soft and fitting chain
In bondage such bright prisoners to retain.
The other was from the white marble known
But by the clasping of its emerald zone;
