349
THE RAVEN.
A GREEK TALE.
LEARCHUS.
Tell me, Peroe, wherefore art thou false,
Didst thou not bid me linger in the grove,
The beechen grove for thee, what time thy Sire
Slept, shaded from the sun-light? I did wait
Till fervid noon, nay, solitary trod
The beechen grove in haste, until the sun
Departed, smiling on mine agony;
Oh cruel! wherefore thus afflict my soul?
Tell me, Peroe, wherefore art thou false,
Didst thou not bid me linger in the grove,
The beechen grove for thee, what time thy Sire
Slept, shaded from the sun-light? I did wait
Till fervid noon, nay, solitary trod
The beechen grove in haste, until the sun
Departed, smiling on mine agony;
Oh cruel! wherefore thus afflict my soul?
PEROE.
Frown not, Learchus, but my father slept
So lightly, starting in his troubled rest,
I dar’d not venture, lest he should awake.
Frown not, Learchus, but my father slept
So lightly, starting in his troubled rest,
I dar’d not venture, lest he should awake.
LEARCHUS.
Oh thou untrue!—the bright glow of thy cheek
Proclaims the falsehood of thy lip, there is
No pale regret upon it!—on thy brow
No disappointment sits! I tell thee, girl,
Thou mays’t have cause to tremble; dread the wrath
Of Eros, the eternal!—he abhors
Deceit in love, and he will punish thee
As did Apollo once, the sun-crown’d God,
His lying raven, which, ere he was false
Was beautiful, as the caressed dove
That sleeps in Cytherea’s breast.
Oh thou untrue!—the bright glow of thy cheek
Proclaims the falsehood of thy lip, there is
No pale regret upon it!—on thy brow
No disappointment sits! I tell thee, girl,
Thou mays’t have cause to tremble; dread the wrath
Of Eros, the eternal!—he abhors
Deceit in love, and he will punish thee
As did Apollo once, the sun-crown’d God,
His lying raven, which, ere he was false
Was beautiful, as the caressed dove
That sleeps in Cytherea’s breast.
PEROE.
Oh, tell
That tale to me, Learchus.
Oh, tell
That tale to me, Learchus.
LEARCHUS.
Shall it win
A kiss for this fond lip then?
Shall it win
A kiss for this fond lip then?
