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Upon yon hill the cresset gleams,
Float on the twilight shade;
It tells to matron and to maid,
Upon Mycenae's highest tow'r
The sleepless virgin wakes and sighs; Impatient of the tardy hour,
She turns her gaze to Eastern skies; Close o'er her throbbing breast Her folded arms are prest, Her veil floats loosely on the passing breeze, And ever on her lips these fait'ring accents rest * O, Night, along the gloomy seas 'Your fading shadows move; 'And thou, Morn's earliest ray, * Trembling before the car of day, 6 Arise, and give me back my love.'
Her pray'r is heard—along the plain
And ey'ry virgin marks the painted shield, Of him by absence made more dear,
Bright gleaming in the dusty field.
Swift as the torrent's tide
Rolls headlong down the mountain's side, Dashing far its pearly dew,
So from Mycenae's heights each maid,
In lightest vest array'd,
As curls the stream in foaming wreath
The gloomy rock beneath,
So twin'd each snowy arm and veil
Around the hero's dusky mail.
'Twas sweet to view the joyous scene,
A smile of recollection stole;
Came rushing on his soul: