Now joy thee, Astarte, thy voyage is done,
The day is unbroken, the island is won.—
She passed thro' a drear and desolate track.
Seen dim in the shadow of glimmering rack;
A silence and stillness weighed in the air,
And the trees in their age stood gaunt and bare;
There was not a flower or a leaf on the ground
Till she came where some cypresses gathered around;
She entered the funeral shade of the dell,
And looked on the depth of each haunted well.
Thickly around did the tall grass wave,
Like the green dank growth that springs on the grave—
There it was that the charm must be done.
To hide the wells from the beam of the sun,
She took the webs of silvery white
Herself had wove in the lone moonlight,
And threw them o'er, so that not one ray
Could lighten their depths with a glimpse of day;
And with silent lip, tho' with beating heart,
She watched the hours of sunlight depart.
The moon rose up, and with it a sound
Of low sweet music breathed around;
There came a gushing of perfume,
For the earth was now covered with bud and bloom.
The maiden unveiled each mystic well,
And as the light of the moonbeam fell,
Sparkled and shone each darkling stream,
Like molten silver or diamond gleam.
Then down the maiden knelt and prayed
At the first well, for its lady's aid,
And there up rose a sparkling chain
As chanted a soft voice the magic strain:—
First Fairy's Song.
Here are burning brighter gems
Than on kingly diadems;
Rubies, like the crimson light
Seen upon a winter night;
Pearls, the whitest that can be
Hidden in the deep blue sea;
Emeralds, let summer show
Greener light; like winter snow
Virgin silver, pure and white;
Gold, red as the morning light.
For the service thou hast done,
Shading me from the hot sun,
Stores from every Indian mine
And Afric river shall be thine.
Oh, this is not what my boon shall be,
Gold and gems have no charms for me.
Then turned the maid to the second well,
And waited the fate of her next tried spell;
And up from the water, on air, there played,
Of a thousand colours, a mingled braid.
