Campaspe. 295
And to visions of loveliness fairer than earth My brush and my canvas have given birth. With the laurel's evergreen wreath on ray brow, My boasted art shall not fail me now."
" Try not thy skill — it is sure to fail ; / The roses' red flush to her cheek is pale, And the violet's tender and liquid hue, Aglow in the sunshine, agleam in the dew, Nor the soft, sweet blue of the summer skies, Can match with their brightness her azure eyes."
Oampaspe sat in the softened light :
She lifted her hand, like a lily white,
And the loosened veil from her head-dress fell.
And her beauty fell o'er him like a spell,
While the hand on the canvas left no trace.
As she mocked his art with her ano;el face.
Campaspe her dewy eyes upraised.
And on Appeles she fondly gazed.
She had worshipped him long through his wondrous art ;
And she said to her wildlv throbbing heart, —
" Embodied before me my dream appears ;"
And the drooping eyelids veiled their tears.
On his knees Appeles breathed her name,
And burning words to his white lips came,
While the king's fair daughter, with smile and tear,
His passionate wooing bowed low to hear,
Till her cheek touched his lip, and kingdom and crown
By the spell of Love laid their barriers down.
Weary with waiting, the noble king
Bade his attendants Appeles bring.
"If thy work is done, the reward is thine."
"Though my hand be skilled and my art divine,"
Appeles said, "yet I cannot trace
A single line of so fair a face.
"Her wonderful beauty has maddened me.
I know my fate, and it sweet shall be.
For better is death than life," he cried :
But with tears in his voice the king replied,
"Campaspe has loved thee well and long.
And her cheek lost its bloom and her voice its song;.
Take her, and Love on thy heart shall trace,
In deathless beauty, her angel face."
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