Page:Poems Sigourney 1827.pdf/166

One foot the advance, as if in combat made,
One hand instinctive sought the temper'd blade,
But one short moment mark'd the frenzy's sway,
Its birth, its growth, indulgence and decay:
Thus on the rippling lake the clouds that fly,
Stain one pure wave,—the next restores its die.
—A voice was heard within the warrior's mind
"Behold thy father!"—and his rage declined.
From the high halls in anxious haste he rush'd,
With muttering lip, and cheek indignant flush'd,
Traversed the distant wild in rapid flight,
And like a meteor vanish'd from the sight.
—Now to the outcast in his lonely shade
The expected morn her tardy movement made;
First, with a mantle dark, and plume of gray
She sought the chariot of the slumbering day,
Then through her loosen'd folds were seen to flush
A vest of azure, and a purple blush,
And as her dewy robe the mountain swept
The watcher's eye beheld her grace and wept,
Wept at his wish!—for he had wish'd her near
To seal his doom, or to dispel his fear.
    But ere the rising Sun began his race
With lingering step the prince approach'd the place,
As at some recollected wrong he frown'd,
His tear-swoll'n eyes dejected sought the ground,
He lifts his arm,—the sad spectator shakes,
Wide through the air its flight the arrow takes,
While with faint voice he to his servant cries
"Haste thee!—beyond!—beyond!—the arrow lies"
Quick rushing to the thicket's breast, he found
His prostrate friend, who thrice salutes the ground.