Alvine. But for the history of that pale girl
Who stands so desolate on the sea shore?
Leonardi. She was the daughter of a Cretan king—
A tyrant. Hidden in the dark recess
Of a wide labyrinth, a monster dwelt,
And every year was human tribute paid
By the Athenians. They had bowed in war,
And every Spring the flowers of all the city,
Young maids in their first beauty—stately youths,
Were sacrificed to the fierce King ! They died
In the unfathomable den of want,
Or served the Minotaur for food. At length
There came a royal Youth, who vowed to slay
The monster or to perish!—Look, Alvine,
That statue is young Theseus.
Alvine. Glorious!
How like a god he stands, one haughty hand
Raised in defiance! I have often looked
Upon the marble, wondering it could give
Such truth to life and majesty.
Leonardi. You will not marvel Ariadne loved.
She gave the secret clue that led him safe
Through all the labyrinth, and she fled with him.
Alvine. Ah, now I know your tale: he proved untrue.
This ever has been woman's fate,—to love,
To know one summer day of happiness,
And then to be most wretched!
Leonardi. She was left
By her so heartless lover while she slept,
She woke from pleasant dreams—she dreamt of him—
Love's power is felt in slumber—woke, and found
Herself deserted on the lonely shore!
The bark of the false Theseus was a speck
Scarce seen upon the waters, less and less,
Like hope diminishing, till wholly past.
I will not say, for you can fancy well,
