What wonder then that into her wild and passionate soul should creep the pangs of jealousy when another claimed the homage of him who was all to her!
Glaucus loved Ione, a beautiful young Neapolitan of Greek parentage who had lately come to Pompeii. She was one of those brilliant characters which seldom flash across our career. She united in the highest perfection the rarest of earthly gifts,—Genius and Beauty. No one ever possessed superior intellectual qualities without knowing them. In the person of Ione, Glaucus found the long-sought idol of his dreams; and so infatuated was he, that he could talk of no one else. No song was sweet but that which breathed of love, and to him love was but a synonym of Ione.
"Play to us, dear Nydia,—play, and give us one of thy songs; whether it be of magic or not as thou wilt—let it at least be of love."
"Of love! wish you that I should sing of love?"
"Yes."
She moved a little way from Ione, who had learned to love her more as a sister than a slave, and placing her light, graceful instrument on her knee, after a short prelude, she sang the following strain, in which with touching pathos, her own sighs were represented by the Wind, the brightness of the beautiful Ione by the Sun-beam, and the personality of Glaucus by his favorite flower, the Rose.
I
The Wind and the Beam loved the Rose,
And the Rose loved one;
For who seeks the Wind where it blows?