Graham's Magazine Vol XXXIII No. 2 August 1848. Various

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      With unassured yet graceful step advancing,

      The light vermilion of her cheek more warm

      For doubtful modesty; while all were glancing

      Over the strange attire that well became such form

      To lend her space the admiring band gave way;

      The sandals on her silvery feet were blue;

      Of saffron tint her robe, as when young day

      Spreads softly o'er the heavens, and tints the trembling dew.

      Light was that robe as mist; and not a gem

      Or ornament impedes its wavy fold,

      Long and profuse; save that, above its hem,

      'Twas broidered with pomegranate-wreath, in gold.

      And, by a silken cincture, broad and blue,

      In shapely guise about the waste confined,

      Blent with the curls that, of a lighter hue,

      Half floated, waving in their length behind;

      The other half, in braided tresses twined,

      Was decked with rose of pearls, and sapphires azure too,

      Arranged with curious skill to imitate

      The sweet acacia's blossoms; just as live

      And droop those tender flowers in natural state;

      And so the trembling gems seemed sensitive,

      And pendent, sometimes touch her neck; and there

      Seemed shrinking from its softness as alive.

      And round her arms, flour-white and round and fair,

      Slight bandelets were twined of colors five,

      Like little rainbows seemly on those arms;

      None of that court had seen the like before,

      Soft, fragrant, bright – so much like heaven her charms,

      It scarce could seem idolatry to adore.

      He who beheld her hand forgot her face;

      Yet in that face was all beside forgot;

      And he who, as she went, beheld her pace,

      And locks profuse, had said, "nay, turn thee not."

      Touching his golden harp to prelude sweet,

      Entered the youth, so pensive, pale, and fair;

      Advanced respectful to the virgin's feet,

      And, lowly bending down, made tuneful parlance there.

      Like perfume, soft his gentle accents rose,

      And sweetly thrilled the gilded roof along;

      His warm, devoted soul no terror knows,

      And truth and love lend fervor to his song.

      She hides her face upon her couch, that there

      She may not see him die. No groan – she springs

      Frantic between a hope-beam and despair,

      And twines her long hair round him as he sings.

      Then thus: "O! being, who unseen but near,

      Art hovering now, behold and pity me!

      For love, hope, beauty, music – all that's dear,

      Look, look on me, and spare my agony!

      Spirit! in mercy make not me the cause,

      The hateful cause, of this kind being's death!

      In pity kill me first! He lives – he draws —

      Thou wilt not blast? – he draws his harmless breath!"

      Still lives Altheëtor; still unguarded strays

      One hand o'er his fallen lyre; but all his soul

      Is lost – given up. He fain would turn to gaze,

      But cannot turn, so twined. Now all that stole

      Through every vein, and thrilled each separate nerve,

      Himself could not have told – all wound and clasped

      In her white arms and hair. Ah! can they serve

      To save him? "What a sea of sweets!" he gasped,

      But 'twas delight: sound, fragrance, all were breathing.

      Still swelled the transport: "Let me look and thank:"

      He sighed (celestial smiles his lips enwreathing,)

      "I die – but ask no more," he said, and sank;

      Still by her arms supported – lower – lower —

      As by soft sleep oppressed; so calm, so fair,

      He rested on the purple tapestried floor,

      It seemed an angel lay reposing there.

      "He died of love, or the o'er-perfect joy

      Of being pitied – prayed for – pressed by thee.

      O! for the fate of that devoted boy

      I'd sell my birthright to eternity.

      I'm not the cause of this thy last distress.

      Nay! look upon thy spirit ere he flies!

      Look on me once, and learn to hate me less!"

      He said; and tears fell fast from his immortal eyes.