That sweeps the bosom of thy thymy hills,
Charg'd with the notes of sorrow, to bemoan
Th' untimely fate of an Arcadian pair,
Who on yon bier, by friendly hands compos'd,

Lie side by side, united e'en in death.
Sad is their tale; and Pity from the domes

320

Of monarchs, where in gorgeous pomp array'd

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She pours the solemn mockery of tears,
For slight or fancied pangs, shall turn aside
And heave th' unbidden sigh of real woe
Upon the peasants' grave. In Ladon's vale
The young Teresa liv'd—when in the games
Of rural festival she shunn'd her swain,
With light step bounding o'er the dewy herb;
When the anxiety of feign'd alarm

Gave brighter colours to her cheek, and shades

330

Of deeper sadness to her eye; when loose

Her ringlets wanton'd o'er her snowy breast,
And the wild breeze just rais'd her floating veil,

Or wand'ring thro' the mazes of her robe,
Display'd the just proportion of her form,
She seem'd the loveliest of Arcadia's nymphs,

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340

Fairer than Syrinx, when she fled from Pan
By Ladon's stream. The young Alexi saw,

And woo'd the beauteous maid: for her he led
Beneath the aged oak the rustic choir,

Shepherd and shepherdess with myrtles crown'd 345

To pipe and tabor moving; on her door

He hung fresh flow'ry garlands at the blush

Of May's first morn; and when the midnight moon
Pour'd thro' her lattice the soft silver ray,
He struck his mandoline, and rais'd his song,
Glowing impassion'd with Teresa's charms.
The fair one heard, nor did she bend her lip
With cold disdain, nor with the frown of scorn
O'ercloud the sunshine of her brow; she smil'd
Consenting; and with downcast looks, half hid
Beneath her veil, confess'd the mutual love.
Now beams each eye with gladness; ev'ry voice
Joins in the note of joy; th' attendant group
Of nymphs crowd eager round the timid fair,
And as their flying fingers twine the thread
Of varied dye, or lead the ductile gold
In waving lines around the bridal vest,

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360

Each cheek with mirth is dimpled, and each eyė
Glistens with laughter's tears. Happy, alas!
In ignorance, enjoy, whilst yet ye may,
Your bliss; those tears of transport, ah! too soon
Must change to sorrow's moan; and the rich robe
Which now ye weave for Hymen's softest hour,
Will be the shroud upon Teresa's limbs,
Stiffen'd in death.-Be happy whilst ye may,
Carol your jocund lays, nor hear the dirge

Which, ere to-morrow's eve, will pour its strain
Sad and reluctant o'er Teresa's tomb.

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E'en now indignant at his slighted vows,

His love transform'd to hate, and the desire

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Of dark revenge deep rankling in his breast,
Demetri breathes into the Vizier's ear

His treach'rous tale; and with such art commends

Teresa's matchless charms, her youthful grace

And simple elegance; paints with such force

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Each glance of beauty, that the tyrant's eye
Gleams joyful, and the frown which hangs upon

His swarthy visage brightens to a smile,

In expectation of his destin'd prey.

The wish'd for morn arriv'd-the sacred rites.

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Were solemniz'd, and to Alexi's cot

Slow mov'd the festive train. Link'd hand in hand

Nymphs to the soft guitar led on the dance,

In graceful circles twin'd. The marriage torch,
High rais'd, beam'd bright before the wedded pair, 390
Crown'd with the flow'ry chaplets. From the gaze
Of the admiring crowd the bride retir'd

Beneath her nuptial veil, and o'er her breast
Cross'd her fair arms, and fixed her timid eye
Upon the ground in maiden bashfulness.
Now rose the star of Hesper-cheerful songs
Hail'd his approach; and the gay syrtos, led
By youths and virgins, swell'd the ev'ning pomp
Of th' hymenæal feast. But who are they,
Whose fierce eyes glaring thro' the dusk, beneath
Their snowy turbans, dart a sudden fear

On ev'ry breast; whom do they seek with scowls
That search each shrinking fair? Fly, hapless bride!

The tyrant's satellites are come to bear

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Thee from thy spouse; the gaunt wolves are let loose

To seize their prey; e'en now they raise their arms 406

3 A Greek dance.

To clasp thy form, and with a smile that mocks

، To tear thee from me. This alone remains —

This, this shall free thee.'--With these parting words

The lover pierc'd the breast of his belov'd,

Hung for a moment o'er her faded form

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To look a last farewell, then plung'd his knife

Beneath the mountain shadow, in the gloom

Deep in his faithful bosom and expir'd.

Of the dark cypress, on a bank inlaid
With azure harebell and the laurel-rose,
Their grave is open'd, and a weeping train,
Slow winding thro' the thickets of yon vale,
Chaunt to the ev'ning air the fun'ral dirge

That mourns Alexi's and Teresa's love.

The vintage glows empurpling all the plain, Or tinging with a partial blush the brown

Of mountain-side. Upon his lofty shed,

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Thatch'd o'er with leaves, the peasant keeps his watch Sleepless, and views well pleas'd the fruit mature Bend the o'erloaded boughs; eager to cull

The vine's rich honours, to the grateful toil