THE ROSE.
199
But rudely down the cup was flung, undrain'd,
So hastily, the leaf below was stain'd;
For many an open'd volume lay beside,
As each for solace had in vain been tried:
And now, worn, wearied, with his solitude,
He strode, half sad, half listless in his mood,
Listening the lute or the deep ocean wave,
When an attendant enter'd in and gave
A packet to his hand. Careless he gazed,
And broke the seal. Why! the red flush has raised
Its passion to his brow—what! is the name
There written?—from Olympia, then, it came.
"One word, Leoni, 't is my first and last,
And never spoken but that life is past.
It is earth's lingering dreaming, that I pine
To know these lines will meet one look of thine;
O 4
