120
Orion.
[Book III.
While Eos lingered midst the southern groves,
Made Delos vocal to its lowest roots.
Yet stood she with Orion in the shade,
Who noting not her tender, anxious face,
In generous feelings happy, took his rest.
Made Delos vocal to its lowest roots.
Yet stood she with Orion in the shade,
Who noting not her tender, anxious face,
In generous feelings happy, took his rest.
Midst songs and garlands and uplifted joy,
Day's bright dream sped. Night came; but not the Moon.
Night passed. Two spectral armies in the air
Appeared, and with mute fury fought; then died
In mist. A cloud of pale and livid blue,
Lit from behind, hangs low amid the west!
Day's bright dream sped. Night came; but not the Moon.
Night passed. Two spectral armies in the air
Appeared, and with mute fury fought; then died
In mist. A cloud of pale and livid blue,
Lit from behind, hangs low amid the west!
What scarce-apparent ray! what wavering light
Down glances, arching through the silent vault!
Again it flies!—and yet again the ray!
The omen and the deed unite—in death!
Into the grove, and to the self-same spot
The darts flew! They thy naked breast have reached,
O, Giant! child-like in thy truthfulness,
Yet full of noblest gifts, and hard-earned skill;
Cut off when love was perfect, and in the midst
Of all thy fresh designs for human weal,
To make the morning feel itself in vain,
Down glances, arching through the silent vault!
Again it flies!—and yet again the ray!
The omen and the deed unite—in death!
Into the grove, and to the self-same spot
The darts flew! They thy naked breast have reached,
O, Giant! child-like in thy truthfulness,
Yet full of noblest gifts, and hard-earned skill;
Cut off when love was perfect, and in the midst
Of all thy fresh designs for human weal,
To make the morning feel itself in vain,
