Here the pale sorceress turned her face aside Wildly, and muttered to herself amazed; “I dread her who, alone at such an hour, Can speak so strangely, who can thus combine The words of reason with our gifted rites, Yet will I speak once more.—If thou hast seen The city of Charoba, hast thou marked The steps of Dalica?” “What then?” “The tongue Of Dalica has then our rites divulged.” “Whose rites?” “Her sister’s, mother’s, and her own.” “Never.” “How sayst thou never? one would think, Presumptuous, thou wert Dalica.” “I am, Woman, and who art thou?” With close embrace, Clung the Masarian round her neck, and cried: “Art thou then not my sister? ah, I fear The golden lamps and jewels of a court Deprive thine eyes of strength and purity. O Dalica, mine watch the waning moon, For ever patient in our mother’s art, And rest on Heaven suspended, where the founts Of Wisdom rise, where sound the wings of Power; Studies intense of strong and stern delight! And thou too, Dalica, so many years Weaned from the bosom of thy native land, Returnest back and seekest true repose. Oh, what more pleasant than the short-breathed sigh When laying down your burden at the gate, And dizzy with long wandering, you embrace The cool and quiet of a homespun bed.” “Alas,” said Dalica, “though all commend This choice, and many meet with no control, Yet none pursue it! Age by Care oppressed Feels for the couch, and drops into the grave. The tranquil scene lies further still from Youth: Frenzied Ambition and desponding Love Consume Youth’s fairest flowers; compared with Youth Age has a something something like repose. Myrthyr, I seek not here a boundary Like the horizon, which, as you advance, Keeping its form and colour, yet recedes; But mind my errand, and my suit perform. Twelve years ago Charoba first could speak: If her indulgent father asked her name, She would indulge him too, and would reply ‘What? why, Charoba!’ raised with sweet surprise, And proud to shine a teacher in her turn. Show her the graven sceptre; what its use? ’Twas to beat dogs with, and to gather flies. She thought the crown a plaything to amuse Herself, and not the people, for she thought Who mimic infant words might infant toys: But while she watched grave elders look with awe On such a bauble, she withheld her breath; She was afraid her parents should suspect They had caught childhood from her in a kiss; She blushed for shame, and feared—for she believed. Yet was not courage wanting in the child. No; I have often seen her with both hands Shake a dry crocodile of equal height, And listen to the shells within the scales, And fancy there was life, and yet apply The jagged jaws wide open to her ear. Past are three summers since she first beheld