But they tore her thence in her wild despair, And on the wet violets a pile of slain, So clos'd the triumph of youth and love! III. Gloomy lay the shore that night, When the moon, with sleeping light, Gloomy lay the shore, and still. O'er the wave no gay guitar Sent its floating music far; No glad sound of dancing feet But a voice of mortal wo, In its changes wild or low, Thro' the midnight's blue repose, From the sea-beat rocks arose, As Eudora's mother stood Gazing o'er th' Egean flood, With a fix'd and straining eye Oh! was the spoilers' vessel nigh? There its broad pennon a shadow cast, Moveless and black from the tall still mast, And the heavy sound of its flapping sail, Idly and vainly wooed the gale. Hush'd was all else—had ocean's breast Rock'd e'en Eudora that hour to rest? To rest?-the waves tremble!--what piercing cry Bursts from the heart of the ship on high? What light through the heavens, in a sudden spire, Shoots from the deck up? Fire! 'tis fire! There are wild forms hurrying to and fro, There are shout, and signal-gun, and call, The might and wrath of the rushing flame! It hath touch'd the sails, and their canvass rolls The slave and his master alike are gone.- Mother! who stands on the deck alone? The child of thy bosom !-and lo! a brand And her veil flung back, and her free dark hair And her eye with an eagle-gladness fraught,- It was her's! She hath kindled her funeral pile! Her blood was the Greek's, and hath made her free. Proudly she stands, like an Indian bride On the pyre with the holy dead beside; But a shriek from her mother hath caught her ear, As the flames to her marriage-robe draw near, And starting, she spreads her pale arms in vain One moment more, and her hands are clasp'd, |