Evening-a banquet-the ghost of Cazziva. THE tamarind closed her leaves; the marmoset Dreamed on his bough, and played the mimic yet. Fresh from the lake the breeze of twilight blew, And vast and deep the mountain-shadows grew; When many a fire-fly, shooting thro' the glade, Spangled the locks of many a lovely maid, LL Who now danced forth to strew our path with flowers, There odorous lamps adorned the festal rite, But whence that sigh? "Twas from a heart that broke! And whence that voice? As from the grave it spoke! And who, as unresolved the feast to share, Sits half-withdrawn in faded splendour there? "Tis he of yore, the warrior and the sage, Whose lips have moved in prayer from age to age; The gathering signs of a long night of woe; *P. Martyr. dec. i. 5. -With sudden spring as at the shout of war, Hark, o'er the busy mead the shell proclaims And hummed the air that pleased him, while she fanned) How blest his lot!-tho', by the Muse unsung, His name shall perish, when his knell is rung. * P. Martyr, dec. iii. c. 7. + Rochefort. c. xx. That night, transported, with a sigh I said ""Tis all a dream!"-Now, like a dream, 'tis fled; And many and many a year has passed away, And I alone remain to watch and pray! Yet oft in darkness, on my bed of straw, Oft I awake and think on what I saw ! The groves, the birds, the youths, the nymphs recall, And CORA, loveliest, sweetest of them all! |