The various grapes, some like the stone
On which an Indian sky has shone,
And others like the amber streak
Pale on the fading twilight's cheek;
And others glistening and green,
As yet by summer suns unseen.
And where the soft grass spreads, just meet
For the light tread of maiden's feet,
And where the chesnut's trunk seems made
For the musician's seat and shade,—
Are peasants dancing: one alone
Has stolen from the group, unknown,
To watch the hunter prince pass by:
Alas ! love's fond idolatry!
She sat down by the cypress tree,
And well it might her shadow be,
With its dark leaves, and lonely weeping,
As if some lovelorn secret keeping.
Just there the thicker boughs gave way,
And dale, wood, heath, before her lay;
It came at last, the gallant train,
And hound, hawk, horseman, swept the plain.
There rode the leader of the band,
His hooded falcon on his hand;
Which held the broidered rein beside,
Curbing his foam-white courser's pride;
And carelessly on one side flung
The drooping heron feathers hung
