University of Virginia Library


101

THE SUICIDE.

Cold glassy pool in whose dark fount
The sad shy Oreads bathed by night
Their marble limbs and white,
Why stir the elms that round thee mount,
Quivering in strange affright?
Ah, woe! for hither Nicias came,
And underneath the cool sweet boughs
Forgetful of his vows,
Soul-stricken by love's fatal flame
That marked his ashen brows,

102

He whispered, ‘Rhodion! Rhodion!’ twice,
And bent above thy shivering wave,
That no faint echo gave;
One piercing blow could well suffice,
And then, no god could save.
His blood dripped slowly down to thee,
And as it touched thy virgin face,
And soiled its crystal grace,
The moving elm-trees moaned to see
Their holy fount's disgrace.
And now no more from dusk to dawn
The Oreads bathe their slender feet
Through nights of dog-star heat,
Nor press thy banks of shelving lawn
With shapely limbs and fleet;

103

Nor shall, till she who wrought his woe,
And with the shafts of her disdain
Pursued his fading brain,
Come here in grief, and, bending low,
Purge thee with tears again.