Laodamia

.  "With sacrifice before the rising morn
   Vows have I made by fruitless hope inspired;
   And from the infernal Gods, 'mid shades forlorn
   Of night, my slaughtered Lord have I required:
   Celestial pity I again implore;--
   Restore him to my sight--great Jove, restore!"
   So speaking, and by fervent love endowed
   With faith, the Suppliant heavenward lifts her hands;
   While, like the sun emerging from a cloud,
  Her countenance brightens--and her eye expands;
  Her bosom heaves and spreads, her stature grows;
  As she expects the issue in repose.

  O terror! what hath she perceived?--O joy!
  What doth she look on?--whom doth she behold?
  Her Hero slain upon the beach of Troy?
  His vital presence? his corporeal mould?
  It is--if sense deceive her not--'tis He!
  And a God leads him, wingèd Mercury!

  Mild Hermes spake--and touched her with his wand
  That calms all fear; "Such grace hath crowned thy prayer,
  Laodamía! that at Jove's command
  Thy husband walks the paths of upper air:
  He comes to tarry with thee three hours' space;
  Accept the gift, behold him face to face!"

  Forth sprang the impassioned Queen her Lord to clasp;
  Again that consummation she essayed;
  But unsubstantial Form eludes her grasp
  As often as that eager grasp was made.
  The Phantom parts--but parts to re-unite,
  And re-assume his place before her sight.

  "Protesiláus, lo! thy guide is gone!
  Confirm, I pray, the vision with thy voice:
  This is our palace,--yonder is thy throne;
  Speak, and the floor thou tread'st on will rejoice.
  Not to appal me have the gods bestowed
  This precious boon; and blest a sad abode."

  "Great Jove, Laodamía! doth not leave
  His gifts imperfect:--Spectre though I be,
  I am not sent to scare thee or deceive;
  But in reward of thy fidelity.
  And something also did my worth obtain;
  For fearless virtue bringeth boundless gain.

  "Thou knowest, the Delphic oracle foretold
  That the first Greek who touched the Trojan strand
  Should die; but me the threat could not withhold:
  A generous cause a victim did demand;
  And forth I leapt upon the sandy plain;
  A self-devoted chief--by Hector slain."

  "Supreme of Heroes--bravest, noblest, best!
  Thy matchless courage I bewail no more,
  Which then, when tens of thousands were deprest
  By doubt, propelled thee to the fatal shore;
  Thou found'st--and I forgive thee--here thou art--
  A nobler counsellor than my poor heart.

  "But thou, though capable of sternest deed,
  Wert kind as resolute, and good as brave;
  And he, whose power restores thee, hath decreed
  Thou should'st elude the malice of the grave:
  Redundant are thy locks, thy lips as fair
   As when their breath enriched Thessalian air.

  "No spectre greets me,--no vain Shadow this;
  Come, blooming Hero, place thee by my side!
  Give, on this well-known couch, one nuptial kiss
  To me, this day a second time thy bride!"
  Jove frowned in heaven: the conscious Parcæ threw
  Upon those roseate lips a Stygian hue.

  "This visage tells thee that my doom is past:
  Nor should the change be mourned, even if the joys
  Of sense were able to return as fast
  And surely as they vanish. Earth destroys
  Those raptures duly---Erebus disdains:
  Calm pleasures there abide--majestic pains.

  "Be taught, O faithful Consort, to control
  Rebellious passion: for the Gods approve
  The depth, and not the tumult, of the soul;
  A fervent, not ungovernable love.
  Thy transports moderate; and meekly mourn
  When I depart, for brief is my sojourn--"

  "Ah wherefore?--Did not Hercules by force
  Wrest from the guardian monster of the tomb
  Alcestis, a reanimated corse,
  Given back to dwell on earth in vernal bloom?
  Medea's spells dispersed the weight of years,
  And Æson stood a youth 'mid youthful peers.

  "The Gods to us are merciful--and they
  Yet further may relent: for mightier far
  Than strength of nerve and sinew, or the sway
  Of magic potent over sun and star,
  Is love, though oft to agony distrest,
  And though his favourite seat be feeble woman's breast.

  "But if thou goest, I follow--" "Peace!" he said,--
  She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered;
  The ghastly colour from his lips had fled;
  In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared
  Elysian beauty, melancholy grace,
  Brought from a pensive t