With his wise words; and eyes whose arrowy light Shone like the reflex of a thousand minds. He was the last whom superstition's blight Had spared in Greece-the blight that cramps and blinds, And in his olive bower at Enoe Had sat from earliest youth. Like one who finds A fertile island in the barren sea, One mariner who has survived his mates With soul-sustaining songs, and sweet debates Of ancient lore, there fed his lonely being: "The mind becomes that which it contemplates," And thus Zonoras, by for ever seeing A bloodier power than ruled thy ruins then, Was grass-grown-and the unremembered tears Were dry in Laian for their honoured chief, Who fell in Byzant, pierced by Moslem spears : And as the lady looked with faithful grief And blighting hope, who with the news of death Struck body and soul as with a mortal blight, She saw beneath the chestnuts, far beneath, An old man toiling up, a weary wight; She saw his white hairs glittering in the light Of the wood fire, and round his shoulders fall, And Athanase, her child, who must have been Then three years old, sat opposite and gazed In patient silence. FRAGMENT II. SUCH was Zonoras; and as daylight finds Thus through his age, dark, cold, and tempest-tost, The spirit of Prince Athanase, a child, And sweet and subtle talk now evermore, The youth, as shadows on a grassy hill / Outrun the winds that chase them, soon outran His teacher, and did teach with native skill Strange truths and new to that experienced man. Still they were friends, as few have ever been Who mark the extremes of life's discordant span. So in the caverns of the forest green, By summer woodmen; and when winter's roar Sounded o'er earth and sea its blast of war, The Balearic fisher, driven from shore, Hanging upon the peaked wave afar, Then saw their lamp from Laian's turret gleam, Piercing the stormy darkness, like a star Which pours beyond the sea one steadfast beam, Whilst all the constellations of the sky Seemed reeling through the storm; they did but For, lo! the wintry clouds are all gone by, Belted Orion hangs-warm light is flowing From the young moon into the sunset's chasm.— "O summer eve! with power divine, bestowing "On thine own bird the sweet enthusiasm Which overflows in notes of liquid gladness, Filling the sky like light! How many a spasm "Of fevered brains, oppressed with grief and madness, Were lulled by thee, delightful nightingale ! "And the far sighings of yon piny dale Made vocal by some wind, we feel not here. "To lighten a strange load!"-No human ear Heard this lament; but o'er the visage wan Of Athanase, a ruffling atmosphere Of dark emotion, a swift shadow ran, Beheld his mystic friend's whole being shake, Even where its inmost depths were gloomiest; And with a calm and measured voice he spake, And, with a soft and equal pressure, prest “Paused, in yon waves her mighty horns to wet, How in those beams we walked, half resting on the sea? 'Tis just one year-sure thou dost not forget "Then Plato's words of light in thee and me Lingered like moonlight in the moonless east, For we had just then read-thy memory "Is faithful now-the story of the feast; And Agathon and Diotima seemed From death and dark forgetfulness released." FRAGMENT III. "TWAS at the season when the Earth upsprings From slumber, as a sphered angel's child, Shadowing its eyes with green and golden wings, Stands up |