“When I sang of Ariadne,
    Sang the old and mournful tale,
  How her faithless lover, Theseus,
    Left her to lament and wail;
  Then thine eyes would fill and glisten,
    Her complaint could soften thee: 
  Thou hast wept for Ariadne—­
    Theseus’ self might weep for me!

  “Thou may’st find another maiden
    With a fairer face than mine—­
  With a gayer voice, and sweeter,
    And a spirit liker thine: 
  For if e’er my beauty bound thee,
    Lost and broken is the spell;
  But thou canst not find another
    That will love thee half so well.

  “O thou hollow ship that bearest
    Paris o’er the faithless deep,
  Wouldst thou leave him on some island,
    Where alone the waters weep? 
  Where no human foot is moulded
    In the wet and yellow sand—­
  Leave him there, thou hollow vessel! 
    Leave him on that lonely land!

  “Then his heart will surely soften,
    When his foolish hopes decay,
  And his older love rekindle,
    As the new one dies away. 
  Visionary hills will haunt him,
    Rising from the glassy sea,
  And his thoughts will wander homewards
    Unto Ida and to me.

  “O! that like a little swallow
    I could reach that lonely spot! 
  All his errors would be pardoned,
    All the weary past forgot. 
  Never should he wander from me—­
    Never should he more depart,
  For these arms would be his prison,
    And his home would be my heart.”

  Thus lamented fair Oenone,
    Weeping ever, weeping low,
  On the holy mount of Ida,
    Where the pine and cypress grow. 
  In the self-same hour Cassandra
    Shrieked her prophecy of woe,
  And into the Spartan dwelling
    Did the faithless Paris go.

THE BURIED FLOWER

  In the silence of my chamber,
    When the night is still and deep,
  And the drowsy heave of ocean
    Mutters in its charmed sleep,

  Oft I hear the angel-voices
    That have thrilled me long ago,—­
  Voices of my lost companions,
    Lying deep beneath the snow.

  O, the garden I remember,
    In the gay and sunny spring,
  When our laughter made the thickets
   And the arching alleys ring!

  O the merry burst of gladness! 
    O the soft and tender tone! 
  O the whisper never uttered
    Save to one fond ear alone!

  O the light of life that sparkled
    In those bright and bounteous eyes! 
  O the blush of happy beauty,
    Tell-tale of the heart’s surprise: 

  O the radiant light that girdled
    Field and forest, land and sea,
  When we all were young together,
    And the earth was new to me: 

  Where are now the flowers we tended? 
    Withered, broken, branch and stem;
  Where are now the hopes we cherished? 
    Scattered to the winds with them.