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492 SARA J. CLARKE. Yet, Ariadne, worthy thou Of the dark fate which meets thee now, For thou art grovelling in thy woe! Arouse thee! joy to bid him go; For god above, or man below, Whose love's impetuous fervent tide Cold interest, or selfish pride Can chill, or stay, or turn aside, Is all too poor and mean a thing, One shade o'er woman's brow to fling Of grief, regret, or fear;- To cloud one morning's golden light,- Disturb the sweet dreams of one night,- To cause the soft lash of her eye To droop one moment mournfully, Or tremble with one tear! 'Tis thou should'st triumph-thou art free From chains which bound thee for awhile- This, this the farewell meet for thee, Proud Princess on that lonely isle:- "Go-to thine Athens bear thy faithless name! Go, base betrayer of a holy trust! Oh, I could bow me in my utter shame, And lay my crimson forehead in the dust, If I had ever loved thee as thou art, Folding mean falsehood to my high true heart! "But thus I loved thee not-Before me bow'd A being glorious in majestic pride, And breathed his love and passionately vow'd To worship only me his peerless bride; And this was thou-but crown'd, enrobed, entwined, With treasures borrow'd from my own rich mind! SARA J. CLARKE. 493 "I knew thee not a creature of my dreams, And my rapt soul went floating into thine! My love around thee pour'd such halo-beams, Had'st thou been true had made thee all divine- And I, too, seem'd immortal in my bliss, When my glad lip thrill'd to thy burning kiss! "Shrunken and shrivell'd into Theseus now Thou stand'st. Behold the gods have blown away The airy crown that glittered on thy brow- The gorgeous robes which wrapp'd thee for a day; Around thee scarce one fluttering fragment clings- A poor lean beggar in all glorious things! "Nor will I deign to cast on thee my hate- It were a ray to tinge with splendour still The dull, dim twilight of thy after fate- Thou shalt pass from me like a dream of ill- Thy name be but a thing that crouching stole Like a poor thief, all noiseless from my soul! "Though thou hast dared to steal the sacred flame From out that soul's high heaven, she sets thee free; Or only chains thee with thy sounding shame- Her memory is no Caucasus for thee; And e'en her hovering hate would o'er thee fling Too much of glory from its shadowy wing! "Thou think'st to leave my life a lonely night- Ha! it is night all glorious with its stars! Hopes yet unclouded beaming forth their light, And free thoughts rolling in their silver cars. And queenly pride, serene, and cold, and high, Moves the Diana of its calm, clear sky! "If poor and humbled thou believest me, Mole of a demi-god, how blind art thou. 42
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Reopened for Editing 2023-06-30 00:42:45
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Reopened for Editing 2023-06-30 08:29:16
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Reopened for Editing 2023-06-30 18:33:58