University of Virginia Library

I.

Ariadne, Ariadne,
Thou art left alone, alone!
And the son of Attic Aegeus,
Faithless Theseus, he is flown.
Ariadne, Ariadne,
In a sea-cave left she sleepeth:
In her dreams her bosom heaveth,
Through her dreams the maiden weepeth.
With an ugly dream she struggles;
In the bright and sunny weather,
O'er the meadows green and flowery,
She and Theseus walk together.
Suddenly there comes a change;
O'er a moor of old brown heather,
O'er a bare and treeless waste,
She and Theseus walk together.
Cold and loveless is the air,
Huge white mists are trailing near her;
And the fitful-swelling blast
Pipes with shrill note clear and clearer.
By a lonely tower she stands,
Where the wasted ruin crumbles;
Wandering by a lone black lake,
On an old grey stone she stumbles.
“Theseus! Theseus!”—to his arms
Close she clings; but like a trailing
Mist he flees; and o'er the waste
Echoes laughter to her wailing.
Dim confusion blinds her eye,
Through her veins the chilly horror
Creeps: she stands; she looks; she runs
O'er the moor with mazy error.
And she screams, with rending cries,
“Save me, Jove, save Ariadne!
Theseus, Theseus, in the waste
Hast thou left thy Ariadne?”
And the Spirits of the storm
Shout around her—“Ariadne!
Thou art left alone, alone,
In the waste, O Ariadne!”