University of Virginia Library

Three girls, half-draped, stood by the sedgy bank,
Where, mocking with low laugh the noonday sun,
A cool stream flowed. Their robes of whitest linen,
Swept round their limbs, in large, uncertain folds,
Scarce knowing which, of all the varied charms,
From the bold day to vail; but 'wildered clung,
Betraying all the more what they would hide.
One dark-eyed maid, in whose voluptuous form
A passionate strength was glossed with gentle curves,
Leaned on a rock, and drooped her languid hand
Into the waves that rippled in blue rings,
As round a floating lily. Her deep eyes,
Moist with the dews of maiden longings, gazed
Down the still stream, peopling, mayhap, its depths
With gorgeous dreams, and visionary shapes
Of sensual beauty. Her half-parted lips,
Scarlet and wet as some red Orient fruit
To its core cleft, seemed oping to the sun—
Rich fruit of Love that burst in ripest hour!
Tossed in the wind, her black and chainless curls
Waved, like a pirate's flag, from her proud head
Defiance to the world! Stooping she stood,
With limbs half-quivering in convulsive grace,
Head drooping forward, with an unborn kiss
Fluttering upon her lips, and long, white arms
That, from sheer wantonness, twined round each other!
The hot wind, gusty with its mad desire,
Snatched at her robe; the while she did not strive
To gain it back, but stood, with heaving breast,
Proud in the knowledge of her beauty. She
Seemed a born Queen of Love. Her glowing form
Was but her soul in flesh; a reckless maid,
Whose very life was love, but whom much love
Could kill, or unrequited love might make
A murderess!

A blonde the second was.
Her simple robe drooped heavily around
The form that shone beneath. She leaned against
A rough-hewn wall, until her flexile shape
Seemed with its own weight bending. Sweet blue eyes,
O'erhung with carved white eaves of heavy lids,
As hangs the snow-ledge o'er calm Alpine lakes.
From head to foot the eye was led along
In curves of beauty rich and rythmical.
Unfilleted her head, and down her neck
Streamed the rich river of her golden hair
That on her shoulders broke, and, foaming, fell
Into her bosom's valley. One pink hand,
Like to some brooch from pale cornelian carved,
Clasped her thin robe o'er her rebellious bust,
That would be free. The other listless hung,
Curled like a sleeping blossom, while her feet,
White as the daisies that they crushed, were seen
Budding beneath her robe, as if too timid
To show themselves full-blown by day. A flush
Faint as the earliest dawn was on her cheek.
Along the rugged wall she leaned against,
The rambling eglantine came clambering, and pressed
Its starry blooms close to her face, and brushed
The vermeil down with countless honeyed kisses.
Above her head, between her and the sun
A maple spread its golden canopy;
And at her feet a throng of purple flowers,
That, night and day, gave all their looks to Heaven,
Now turned on her their young adoring eyes.
What charm was in the maid! An atmosphere
Of pleasure seemed around her, and a glow
Soft as the summer's breathed about her limbs,
Warming the air, as if young Love were near
Waving his ardent pinions! Soft and frail,
And with a beautiful humility,
She, drooping, seemed to ask from out those eyes,
Deep with unfathomable tenderness,
Something to love and cling to. She was one
Who craved, and not demanded to be loved.
With such a woman clinging to one's heart
Sorrow were sweet; 'twould be such great delight
To watch her calm assumption of one's griefs,
As if they were her birth-right. None like her
To suck the poisoned wound of circumstance,
Or soothe life's fever. Such this nameless maid
Seemed in her beauty; slender-shaped and frail,
But grand in her capacity for love!

Brown-skinned and glossy as a Spanish nut,
Lazy and warm, and with rich Southern blood
Mantling her full cheeks with a crimson dusk,
Like the last glow of sunset when the eve
Hath half o'ercast it, such the third fair maid.
Each round limb, heavy with an indolent grace,
Seemed made for repose. Of chestnut brown, her hair
Swept in rich, sleepy tresses round her head,
Which, as the wind did stir them, seemed to be
Silk curtains darkening round her dreaming eyes.
Through the arched portals of her parted mouth
Low, broken murmurs came, and went and came,
Like talk of sleepers. Gently-waving boughs
Made a green twilight o'er her as she sate
Swung in a cradle of lithe willow wands
Together woven, while a few bronzed leaves
Fluttered anear, and fanned the sluggish airs
Into faint breezes. Thus serenely passed
This maiden's being noiselessly along.
The basking earth, the hot, unwinking sun
Shone through a haze, and so all brightest things
Were softened in her eyes. Her very love
Was lazy and subdued as tropic noons
In matted palm-groves, where the heavy breath
Of orchids, like invisible incense, steals,
Drowsing the gloom. Indolence beautiful!
Slumber incarnate!

Through the parting boughs
A poet, listing to the singing reeds,
Saw these fair women, and insensibly
His fingers stole along his trembling harp,
And thus he hymned:

“Oh! virgins, pure and fair!
Beautiful Trinity! Like a music chord,
In which three harmonies are blent in one,
Ye strike upon my soul. Oh! thou dark maid!
Ideal of a Southern rhyme of love,
In which fierce pulses of a glowing breast
Beat the quick time, and broken trills of passion
Intoxicate the brain, and whirl the soul
Into mad revels—gazing on thy form,
I seem to hear the clink of castanets;
And lo! emerging from the far-off gloom,
Floating with sylph-like grace, but human step,
Until the air thou cleavest turns to fire,
Com'st thou! White, long, and undulating limbs;
Round bosom, heaving to the eloquent strain,
And arms that weave a white arch o'er thy head,
Beneath which thou dost float triumphally!
While in thy deep-brown eyes a half-vailed light
Burns with a rising lustre! Memories
Like these, in which the glories of the South,
Its songs, its dances, and its peerless maids
Are ever intermingled, thou dost call
From my soul's secret shades. And thou, fair girl!
Whose golden hair and azure eyes are bright
As Freya's when she wandered through the halls
Of lofty Asgard—like some Northern song,
In which love calmly floats, thou dost steal in
With no wild impulse, but with gentle tones,
Twining thy slender chains around the heart,
Unnoted till thou hast clasped them there forever!
Thou, lotus-bosomed! Houri from the East!
Fashioned in mould of Oriental grace;
Sunned into ripeness by the virgin light
That on thy land first breaks, and taught that Life
Is one long stream on which, from night till morn,
Thou may'st float calmly, gazing at the stars,
Inhaling spicy breaths, and trailing oft
Thy small hand through the waves—thy beauty mingles
With the two other harmonies, and makes
One glorious chord of beauty, on my soul
Striking divinest unison! For thus
Hath God ordained it; to the poet's eye
All beauty is alike, and ye, I swear,
Are beautiful as eve and noon and dawn
Shining together on the wondering earth!”