 | Lays and Legends of Ancient Greece, with Other Poems |  |
II.
From the painful dream she wakes,
Starts, and looks, and feels for Theseus;
On the cold rock-floor her hand
Falls, and feels in vain for Theseus.
“Theseus, Theseus!”—he is gone;
Dost thou see that full sail swelling?
There he hies, with rapid keel,
Soon to find his Attic dwelling.
“Theseus! Theseus!”—she doth beat
The breasted wave with idle screaming;
Like a white sea-bird so small,
Now his distant sail is gleaming:
Now 'tis vanished. O'er the isle
Hurries vagrant Ariadne;
None she sees, and, when she calls,
Answers none to Ariadne.
'Neath a high-arched rock she rests,
Weary, and, with meek behaviour,
Stretched upon a stony floor,
Plains her prayer to Jove the Saviour:—
Starts, and looks, and feels for Theseus;
On the cold rock-floor her hand
Falls, and feels in vain for Theseus.
“Theseus, Theseus!”—he is gone;
Dost thou see that full sail swelling?
There he hies, with rapid keel,
Soon to find his Attic dwelling.
“Theseus! Theseus!”—she doth beat
The breasted wave with idle screaming;
Like a white sea-bird so small,
Now his distant sail is gleaming:
86
Hurries vagrant Ariadne;
None she sees, and, when she calls,
Answers none to Ariadne.
'Neath a high-arched rock she rests,
Weary, and, with meek behaviour,
Stretched upon a stony floor,
Plains her prayer to Jove the Saviour:—
Mighty Jove, strong to destroy,
Stronger to save,
Hear; nor in vain may Minos' daughter
Thy mercy crave!
Weak is a maiden's wit: I saw
The galliard stranger,
And, with wise clue, I brought him through
The mazy danger.
My father's halls I left; I gave
My heart's surrender;
He loved the flower, and plucked the fruit,
With hand untender.
Mighty Jove, the suppliant's friend,
My supplication
Hear thou, and touch my prostrate woe
With restoration!
Stronger to save,
Hear; nor in vain may Minos' daughter
Thy mercy crave!
Weak is a maiden's wit: I saw
The galliard stranger,
And, with wise clue, I brought him through
The mazy danger.
My father's halls I left; I gave
My heart's surrender;
He loved the flower, and plucked the fruit,
With hand untender.
Mighty Jove, the suppliant's friend,
My supplication
Hear thou, and touch my prostrate woe
With restoration!
87
She spake; and, on the stony floor,
Stretched she lay in tearful sorrow;
Slumber, sent from Saviour Jove,
Bound her gently till to-morrow.
Stretched she lay in tearful sorrow;
Slumber, sent from Saviour Jove,
Bound her gently till to-morrow.
| Lays and Legends of Ancient Greece, with Other Poems | |