CATHARA.
———
BY WALTER COLTON, U. S. N.
———
Cathara had that pure Ionian face,
Which melts its way in music to the heart;
Each look and line betrayed that breathing grace,
Which Genius has embalmed in classic art,
Or sculptured in the Aphrodite—where glows
Immortal life, in marble’s still repose.
Her presence on your love and wonder stole
With such an atmosphere of softened light,
It seemed as some Aurora of the Pole,
Were melting down the starry depths of night;
Or Dian had her glowing form unrolled
From out her floating orb of liquid gold.
Her features were most delicately moulded,
And so transparent shone her dimpled cheek,
That when her large black eyes their rays unfolded.
Its bloom was lighted like some Alpine peak,
When zephyrs roll the circling mists away,
And on its summit breaks the blush of day.
Her raven hair in showering ringlets fell,
That veiled her sylph-like form from human vision;
Her step was light as that of the gazelle,
And yet its airy motions had precision;
The circling air displayed, where’er she went,
A wave of light in rainbow beauty bent.
Her voice was sweet as warble of a bird;
The accent flowed so softly through the tone,
It seemed as ’twere the thought itself you heard—
Like music, which the summer’s breeze hath thrown
O’er silent waters, from some woodland lyre,
Or humming stream, or old cathedral quire.
Her beauty broke not on a sudden glance,
But if you watched its soft progressive ray,
Some hidden charm of form, or countenance,
Like silver planets at the close of day—
Would cast its slender veil of shadows by,
And timidly advance upon the eye.
Her heart was that from which her features took
The tender tone their aspect ever wore;
The pensive thoughts which saddened in her look,
Were what you feel upon a lonely shore,
Where not a sound is heard except the surge,
In which some billow hymns its dying dirge.
Her eyes would swim, her bosom heave with grief,
When pale misfortune poured its tragic theme;
As in the quick wind shakes the forest leaf,
An orphan’s wo would tremble in her dream;
The tears despair had hardened into stone,
Would melt to dew, when mingled with her own.
You deemed that such an one, if death were nigh,
Might cheer and soothe you, tho’ she might not save;
You thought how sweetly on your closing eye
Would fall each glance her tender spirit gave;
While meekness showed where guilt might be forgiven,
And mercy plumed the parting soul for Heaven.