When fond, Sephora hoped to see her wed;
And, for 'twould else expire, impatient grew
To renovate her race from beauteous Egla's bed.

VIII.

None of their kindred lived to claim her hand
But stranger-youths had asked her of her sire
With gifts and promise fair; he could withstand
All save her tears; and harkening her desire

Still left her free; but soon her mother drew
From her a vow, that when the twentieth year
Its full, fair finish o'er her beauty threw,
If what her fancy fed on, came not near,

She would entreat no more but to the voice
Of her light-giver hearken; and her life
And love—all yielding to that kindly choice
Would hush each idle wish and learn to be a wife.

IX.

Now oft it happ'd when morning task was done
And for the virgins of her household made
And lotted each her toil; while yet the sun
Was young, fair Egla to a woody shade,

Loved to retreat; there, in the fainting hour
Of sultry noon the burning sunbeam fell
Like a warm twilight; so bereft of power,
It gained an entrance thro' the leafy bower;
That scarcely shrank the tender lilly bell

Tranquil and lone in such a light to be,
How sweet to sense and soul!—the form recline
Forgets it ere felt pain; and reverie,
Sweet mother of the muses, heart and soul are thine. [FN#9]

[FN#9] Every one talks and reads of groves, but it is impossible for those who never felt it, to conceive the effect of such a situation in a warm climate. In this island the woods which are naturally so interwoven with vines as to be impervious to a human being, are in some places, cleared and converted into nurseries for the young coffee-trees which remain sheltered from the sun and wind till sufficiently grown to transplant. To enter one of these "semilleros," as they are here called, at noon day, produces an effect like that anciently ascribed to the waters of Lethe. After sitting down upon the trunk of a fallen cedar or palm-tree, and breathing for a moment, the freshness of the air and the odour of the passion flower, which is one of the most abundant, and certainly the most beautiful of the climate; the noise of the trees, which are continually kept in motion by the trade winds; the fluttering and various notes, though not musical, of the birds; the loftiness of the green canopy, for the trunks of the trees are bare to a great height, and seem like pillars supporting the thick mass of leaves above; and the rich mellow light which the intense rays of the sun, thus impeded, produce; have altogether such an effect that one involuntarily forgets every thing but the present, and it requires a strong effort to rise and leave the place.

X.

This calm recess on summer day she sought
And sat to tune her lute; but all night long
Quiet had from her pillow flown, and thought
Feverish and tired, sent for th' unseemly throng

Of boding images. She scarce could woo
One song reluctant, ere advancing quick
Thro' the fresh leaves Sephora's form she knew
And duteous rose to meet; but fainting sick

Her heart sank tremulously in her; why
Sought out at such an hour, it half divined
And seated now beside, with downcast eye
And fevered pulse, she met the pressure, kind

And warmly given; while thus the matron fair
Nor yet much marr'd by time, with soothing words
Solicitous; and gently serious air
The purpose why she hither came preferr'd:

XI.

"Egla, my hopes thou knowest—tho' exprest
But rare lest they should pain thee—I have dealt
Not rudely towards thee tender; and supprest
The wish, of all, my heart has most vehement felt.

"Know I have marked, that when the reason why
Thou still wouldst live in virgin state, thy sire
Has prest thee to impart, quick in thine eye
Semblance of hope has played—fain to transpire

"Words seem'd to seek thy lip; but the bright rush
Of heart-blood eloquent, alone would tell
In the warm language of a rebel blush
What thy less treacherous tongue has guarded well.

XII.

"Dost waste so oft alone—the cheerful day?
Or haply, rather bath some pagan youth"—
She with quick burst—'whate'er has happ'd I'll say!
Doubt thou my wisdom, but regard my truth!

XIII.

"Long time ago, while yet a twelve years' child
These shrubs and vines, new planted, near this spot,
I sat me tired with pleasant toil, and whiled
Away the time with many a wishful thought

"Of desolate Judea. Every scene
Which thou so oft, while sitting on thy knee,
Wouldst sing of, weeping, thro' my mind has been
Successive; when from yon old mossy tree

"I heard a pitious moan. Wondering I went
And found a wretched man; worn and opprest
He seemed with toil and years; and whispering faint
He said "Oh little maiden, sore distrest

"I sink for very want. Give me I pray,
A drop of water and a cake: I die
Of thirst and hunger, yet my sorrowing way
May tread once more, if thou my needs supply."

XIV.

"A long time missing from thy fondling arms—
It chanced that day thou'dst sent me in the shade
New bread, a cake of figs, and wine of palms [FN#10]
Mingled with water, sweet with honey made.

"These did I bring—raised as I could, his head;
Held to his lip the cup; and while he quaffed,
Upon my garment wiped the tears that sped
Adown his silvery beard and mingled with the draft.

[FN#10] "The palm is a very common plant in this country, (Assyria,) and generally fruitful; this they cultivate like fig-trees and it produces them bread, wine and honey." See Beloe's notes to his translation of Herodotus. Mr. Gibbon adds, that the diligent natives celebrated, either in verse or prose, three hundred and sixty uses to which the trunk, the branches, the leaves, the juice and the fruit of this plant were applied. Nothing can be more curious and interesting than the natural history of the palm tree.

XV.

"When gaining sudden strength, he raised his hand,
And in this guise did bless me, "Mayst thou be
A crown to him who weds thee.—In a land
Far distant bides a captive. Hearken me

"And choose thee now a bridegroom meet: to day
O'er broad Euphrates' steepest banks a child
Fled from his youthful nurse's arms; in play
Elate, he bent him o'er the brink, and smiled

"To see their fears who followed him—but who
The keen wild anguish of that scene can tell—
He bend o'er the brink, and in their view,
But ah! too far beyond their aid—he fell.

XVI.

"They wailed—the long torn ringlets of their hair [FN#11]
Freighted the pitying gale; deep rolled the stream
And swallowed the fair child; no succour there—
They women—whither look—who to redeem

"What the fierce waves were preying on?—when lo!
Approached a stranger boy. Aside he flung,
As