University of Virginia Library

PENELOPE'S CHOICE.

By her unwilling father stands the bride,—
Penelope,—while near Ulysses waits.
Her eyes, more blue than darkest violets,
Downward she casts; her trembling rosy mouth
Half-oped, remains in vague uncertainty,
Whether to speak the word that parts her from
Her home or from her love. Her eyebrows archt
Are raised as though she questioned erst her hear
And waited its response. One little hand,
More white e'en than the spotless bridal robe,
Is half reached forth to meet Ulysses' own,
While one extends its fingers rosy-tipped,
Unto the gray-haired, sad Icarius,
Who prays her with his broken, trembling voice,
To leave him not thus childless and alone.
But proud Ulysses stands erect and says,
“Fair maiden, take thy choice to rest with him,
While all thy life glides by in peaceful calm,
Or follow me now in my journeyings,
Through sorrow and through peril unto Death.”
Penelope uplifts her drooping lids,
Looks but a moment at the warrior's form,
His noble limbs, his stalwart breast, his face,
So proud, so godlike, yet so full of love,
With all his heart within his yearning eyes;
And while a rising blush o'er cheek and brow,
Slow dyes her face, she murmurs soft and low,
“Pardon, my father,” and she drops her veil.