I would compare this secrecy and shade
To that fair island, whither Love conveyed
His Psyche, where she lived remote from all:
Life one long, lone, and lovely festival;
But when the charm, concealment's charm, was known,
Oh then good by to love, for love was flown!
Love's wings are all too delicate to bear
The open gaze, the common sun and air. - - -
There have been roses round my lute; but now
I must forsake them for the cypress bough.
Now is my tale of tears:—One night the sky,
As if with passion darkened angrily,
And gusts of wind swept o'er the troubled main
Like hasty threats, and then were calm again:
That night young Hero by her beacon kept
Her silent watch, and blamed the night, and wept,
And scarcely dared to look upon the sky:
Yet lulling still her fond anxiety—
With, "Surely in such a storm he cannot brave,
If but for my sake only, wind and wave." - - -
At length Aurora led young Day and blushed,
In her sweet presence sea and sky were hushed;
What is there beauty cannot charm? her power
Is felt alike, in storm and sunshine hour;
And light and soft the breeze which waved the veil
Of Hero, as she wandered, lone and pale,
Her heart sick with its terror, and her eye
Roving in tearful, dim uncertainty.
Not long uncertain,—she marked something glide,
Shadowy and indistinct, upon the tide—
On rushed she in that desperate energy,
Which only has to know, and, knowing, die—
It was Leander!L. E. L.
