When back returns her trembling sight, A soothing stillness round her spreads! The pearly walls reflect a light Like that which doubtful morning sheds: No sound is near, save rustlings soft Of myrtles waving to and fro, And nightingales, that warbling oft At distance, pour the plaint of woe: Thro’ violet beds whose sweets distil, A far-off, gliding fount she hears; And lo! the youthful genius still, (But prostrate at her feet) appears! Eclipsed by tears, no more his eyes Burn, or insufferably shine; Faultering with fear and broken sighs, His voice no longer rings divine. “And have I seen thee but to love! “And hast thou seen me but to hate!-- “Ah, that with thee in Delian grove, “’Twere mine beloved to share thy fate! “Ah that with thee, ’twere mine to tend “A peaceful flock on Cynthus’ plain, “Or bless’d with thy rare smiles, to spend “A transient life of joy and pain! “For this, my days immortal, given, “My boundless power o’er Indies deep, “My throne on earth, my rank in heaven, “Were even then, a purchase cheap!”-- “O cease thou unknown God! or say “By what strange magic am I here? “Why torn from all I love away, “And doom’d thy fruitless vows to hear? “Art thou a God, and dost not know “That I this withering garland wore, “To welcome from a vanquished foe, “The warlike youth whom I adore? “That as his conquering gallies rode “Majestic o’er the foamy sea, “I hasted from the shouting croud, “To shed the tears of ecstacy; “And while my raised, transported soul, “On joy’s tumultuous surge was tost, “Strange slumbers o’er my senses stole, “That fled but on thy fearful coast?-- “What means that cry of wild despair? “That look of more than mortal pain? “Why dost thou rend thy radiant hair? “O, waft me to my home again!” “Cease then to talk of love, or be “Thy voice for me thus thrilling sweet; “Thy love-expressive eyes, from me “Thro’ softer mists, abashed retreat! “O let me, let me fondly press “These trembling, longing lips to thine, “And lost in rapture’s tranc’d excess, “Blend all thy lovely soul with mine! “Then shalt thou share my ample throne; “Then to my prayer incessant, given, “Thine shall it be, yes thine alone, “In mortal shape to range thro’ heaven!” “Forbear! forbear!” she breathless cries, (As now with wild, impassion’d start, With burning cheeks and burning eyes, The Genius strains her to his heart.) “O, by those precious tears, that late “Thy splendor quench’d, and seem’d to prove “A breast incapable of hate, “But warm with pity, as with love;