"Or doth he live he knows not—would not know
(Thralled—dead, to thee—in fair Assyrian arms.)
Who pines for him afar in fruitless woe
A phantom's bride—wasting love, life and charms.
XXIII.
"'Tis as a vine of Galilee should say,
Culturer, I reck not thy support, I sigh
For a young palm tree, of Euphrates; nay—
Or let me him entwine or in my blossom die.
"Thy heart is set on joys it may not prove,
And, panting ingrate, scorns the blessings given?—
Hoping from dust formed man, a seraph's love
And days on earth like to the days of heaven.
XXIV.
"But to my theme, maiden, a lord for thee,
And not of thee unworthy—I have chose—
Dispel the dread, that in thy looks I see—
Nor make it task of anguish to disclose,
"What should be—thine heart's dew. Remember'st thou
When to the Altar, by thy father reared,
We suppliant went with sacrifice and vow,
A victim-dove escaped? and there appeared
"And would have brought thee others to supply
Its loss, a Median?—thou, dissolved, to praise,
Didst note the beauty of his shape and eye,
And, as he parted, in the sunny rays
"The ringlets of his black locks clustering bright
Around his pillar-neck," ''tis pity he'
Thou saidst, 'in all the comeliness and might
Of perfect man—pity like him, should be
"But an idolater: how nobly sweet
He tempereth pride with courtesy; a flower
Drops honey when he speaks. Yet 'twere most meet
To praise his majesty: he stands—a tower.'