A MEDLEY.
47
III.
Morn in the white wake of the morning star
Came furrowing all the orient into gold.
We rose, and each by other drest with care
Descended to the court that lay three parts
In shadow, but the Muses' heads were touch'd
Above the darkness from their native East.
And while we stood beside the fount, and watch'd
Or seem'd to watch the dancing bubble, approach'd
Melissa, tinged with wan from lack of sleep,
Or sorrow, and glowing round her dewy eyes
The circled Iris of a night of tears;
'And fly' she cried, 'O fly, while yet you may!
'My mother knows:' and we demanding 'how'
'My fault' she wept 'my fault! and yet not mine;
Yet mine in part. O hear me, pardon me.
Morn in the white wake of the morning star
Came furrowing all the orient into gold.
We rose, and each by other drest with care
Descended to the court that lay three parts
In shadow, but the Muses' heads were touch'd
Above the darkness from their native East.
And while we stood beside the fount, and watch'd
Or seem'd to watch the dancing bubble, approach'd
Melissa, tinged with wan from lack of sleep,
Or sorrow, and glowing round her dewy eyes
The circled Iris of a night of tears;
'And fly' she cried, 'O fly, while yet you may!
'My mother knows:' and we demanding 'how'
'My fault' she wept 'my fault! and yet not mine;
Yet mine in part. O hear me, pardon me.
