I.
A youth from Athens was to Corinth come,
Hoping to find therein another home
With an old citizen, his father's friend.
The parents had been intimate when young,
And call'd their children, with prophetic tongue,
Bridegroom and bride, desirous of the end.
II.
Shall he be welcome now he draws so near,
Or must he buy the proffer'd boon too dear?
He and his father both are heathens still;
But the Corinthian family, he is appriz'd,
Into the Christian faith have been baptiz'd;
And converts change, in many things, their will.
III.
The house already lay in silence deep,
Father and daughter were retir'd to sleep,
The mother watches yet in the saloon;
Welcomes the youth, and to his chamber led,
Where wine and food are for his comfort spread,
And, wishing him good night, she vanish'd soon.
IV.
The supper tempted not the weary guest,
Clad as he was, he flung himself to rest
Upon the bed, neglectful of the cheer:
Slumber had hardly clos'd his heavy eyes,
When, entering at the open door, he spies
A female stranger slowly gliding near.
V.
The lamp was burning; by the glimmering flare,
In a white robe and veil, with modest air,
He saw a maiden in his chamber stand:
A band of black and gold her forehead bound,
With terror in her glance she gaz'd around,
And toward him slowly stretch'd her lily-hand.
VI.
"Am I, said she, so strange within this home
As not to be inform'd our guest was come?
Must I within the cloister stay confin'd,
And only look for shame and for reproof,
If I return beneath my native roof?
Rest on — I 'll vanish like a passing wind."
VII.
"Stay, lovely maiden, so the youth exclaim'd,
And started briskly from his couch, inflam'd;
Here Ceres' gifts, here Bacchus' blessings glow,
And thou bringst those of Amor to the board.
Dismiss thy terrors, and approach the hoard,
And taste the presents the glad gods bestow."
VIII.
"Keep back, young man, and hope to find me coy;
I am not of the family of joy;
The irrevocable pledge alas! is given.
A mother's rashness seal'd my cruel doom;
She vow'd to priests, who haunted her sick room,
That youth and nature victims be to heaven.
IX.
"The motley medley of the gods of old
Was driven from chambers, henceforth void and cold;
A sole invisible now dwells above:
A saviour on the cross is all in all:
No offerings now of lambs or bullocks fall,
But human sacrifices in a drove."
X.
He hearkens, ponders every little word,
No one escapes his curious ear, unheard:
"And can it be that, in this still alcove,
My promis'd bride is with me face to face?
Our parents' promise sanctions our embrace,
And has secur'd heaven's blessing on our love."
XI.
"Kind hearted youth, beware, from me refrain:
My second sister thou mayst yet obtain:
In the dark cloister let my moans resound:
E'en in her arms, O think at times of me,
I think too often at all times of thee,
But soon shall hide me in the hollow ground."
XII.
"No, by this flame I swear, thou shalt not go,
Till Hymen hears and consecrates our vow:
Thou art not lost as yet to me and joy.
Come with me to my father's house, and there
Give to the antient gods a happy pair:
And let us here our wedding-feast enjoy."
XIII.
The amorous couple presently arrange
Some tokens of their faith to interchange.
She reach'd to him a golden chain to wear:
He offers her a silver cup with glee:
"That 's not," she said, "a present fit for me,
Give me a single lock of thy own hair."
XIV.
The ghostly midnight hour was fully come:
Now first the maiden seem'd to feel at home,
And eagerly she drank the purple wine
With her pale lips, but turn'd aside in dread,
When with a friendly hand he proffer'd bread,
To the least morsel she did not incline.
XV.
Anon she handed to the youth the cup,
With thirsty haste he drank the liquor up,
And ask'd for love to crown the quick repast.
His heart was throbbing in impatient mood,
But still his constant prayer she withstood,
Till on the bed in tears his limbs he cast.
XVI.
And now she flung herself beside him there:
"How do I grieve to witness this despair;
But if you once presume to touch my frame,
Shuddering you 'll feel what I have yet conceal'd,
Though white as snow, like ice I am congeal'd,
Such is the bride you 're hoping to inflame."
XVII.
By force of youth and passion manly warm,
At once he seizes her with nervous arm:
"Hope in my clasp to gather heat again.
If thou from underground art sent to me,
Exchange we breath and kiss and flowing glee,
Thou too shalt burn and glow in every vein."
XVIII.
Love knits them fondly closely face to face,
And tears are mingled with the wild embrace.
Her eager lip his ardent kiss entreats.
With murmurings soft, and intermingling sighs,
Each of the other only conscious lies:
But ah! no heart beneath her bosom beats.
XIX.
Meanwhile the mother pries about in gloom,
Hears an odd murmuring in the stranger's room,
And hearkens at the door, and listens long.
Screams as of giddy joy come floating by,
As of a bride and bridegroom's revelry ——
She startles, shudders, at the mighty wrong.
XX.
Long motionless she watches at the door,
She must be sure of what she fears, before
She ventures to break in upon the pair.
"The cock is crowing; 't is my hour of flight." —
"Will you not come again to-morrow night?"
These words, and rapid kisses, she could hear.
XXI.
Longer the mother could not hide the shock
She opens suddenly the well-known lock.
"Have I such wanton wenches in my train,
As to belong to strangers in a thrice?"
She enters at the door, and with surprize
Sees her own daughter with the 'Athenian swain.
XXII.
The youth is chiefly bent, in his alarm,
With her own veil to hide the maid from harm,
Or with the carpet on their couch outspread.
But she prefers to leave her visage bare,
And with a spirit's force, and fearless air,
Lifts her long figure slowly from the bed.
XXIII.
With hollow tone she spake in words of spite:
"Mother you grudge me one delicious night;
The couch of bliss is a forbidden doom.
You wake me to despair. It was not good
To wrap me early in a hallow'd shroud,
And send me prematurely to the tomb.
XXIV.
"To stay beneath the coffin's leaden lid
Me a peculiar judgement has forbid.
Chaunt of your priests ascends not there above:
Their blessing helps not, nor avails their ire,
No salt and water cools the amorous fire,
Nor does the grave itself extinguish love.
XXV.
"This youth was promis'd once to me for good,
While yet the temple of bright Venus stood,
Mother, you broke your plighted word to me.
A vow to foreign phantoms you could dare;
No god will hear a mother's voice forswear
Her daughter's hand and just maternity.
XXVI.
"From the deep grave I am driven forth in pain
To seek for the miss'd good, and seek in vain;
And doom'd to love the man already lost.
When he is gone and wither'd, O my mother,
I shall perhaps be doom'd to seek another:
The young must be the victims of my ghost.
XXVII.
"Thou lovely youth destruction is thy doom:
Here on this spot thou witherst in thy bloom,
I 've given thee my chain; I keep thy hair.
Look at it yet again, and turn away;
Soon as the morrow dawns thou wilt be gray,
And only wilt be brown again when there.
XXVIII.
"Hear, mother, my last prayer, and without ire,
Pile for us both at last a funeral pyre,
And take my reliques from their vault unblest:
So bring in flames the lovers to repose,
While the sepulchral fire around us glows
Among the antient gods we 'll seek our rest."
