COME from the woods with the citron-flowers, Come with your lyres for the festal hours, Maids of bright Scio! They came, and the breeze Bore their sweet songs o'er the Grecian seas; They came, and Eudora stood robed and crowned, The bride of the morn, with her train around. Jewels flashed out from her braided hair, Like starry dews midst the roses there; Pearls on her bosom quivering shone, Heaved by her heart through its golden zone. But a brow, as those gems of the ocean pale, Gleamed from beneath her transparent veil; Changeful and faint was her fair cheek's hue, Though clear as a flower which the light looks through; And the glance of her dark resplendent eye, For the aspect of woman at times too high, Lay floating in mists, which the troubled stream Of the soul sent up o'er its fervent beam. She looked on the vine at her father's door, Like one that is leaving his native shore; She hung o'er the myrtle once called her own, As it greenly waved by the threshold stone; She turned -- and her mother's gaze brought back Each hue of her childhood's faded track. Oh! hush the song, and let her tears Flow to the dream of her early years! Holy and pure are the drops that fall When the young bride goes from her father's hall; She goes unto love yet untried and new, She parts from love which hath still been true: Mute be the song and the choral strain, Till her heart's deep well-spring is clear again! She wept on her mother's faithful breast, Like a babe that sobs itself to rest; She wept -- yet laid her hand awhile In his that waited her dawning smile -- Her soul's affianced, nor cherished less For the gush of nature's tenderness! She lifted her graceful head at last -- The choking swell of her heart was past; And her lovely thoughts from their cells found way In the sudden flow of a plaintive lay. |