 | Poems |  |
499
ON A VIOLET-STAND.
On such a shape, Aspasia loved to heapHymettus' thyme, Illissus' violets,
To charm to softness Pericles, with frets
Of the Pnyx heated,—all his soul to steep
In hours of her and joy; or, years to leap,
Some Roman Lydia's hand, ere time forgets
Lost Pompeii, till some distant century lets
Life's light upon its deaths, in hyacinths, deep
In purple as the violet skies on high,
Might hide with Nature its as beauteous art,
Even on that morn when hideous death drew nigh
Those fair Italian homes, while her young heart
Dream'd not Vesuvius soon, 'neath the black sky,
Would from its womb the entombing torrent start.
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