"But to my theme, maiden, a lord for thee,
And not of thee unworthy--I have chose--
Dispel the dread, that in thy looks I see--
Nor make it task of anguish to disclose,
"What should be--thine heart's dew. Remember'st thou
When to the Altar, by thy father reared,
We suppliant went with sacrifice and vow,
A victim-dove escaped? and there appeared
"And would have brought thee others to supply
Its loss, a Median?--thou, dissolved, to praise,
Didst note the beauty of his shape and eye,
And, as he parted, in the sunny rays
"The ringlets of his black locks clustering bright
Around his pillar-neck," ''tis pity he'
Thou saidst, 'in all the comeliness and might
Of perfect man--pity like him, should be
"But an idolater: how nobly sweet
He tempereth pride with courtesy; a flower
Drops honey when he speaks. Yet 'twere most meet
To praise his majesty: he stands--a tower.'
"The same, a false idolater no more,
Now bows him to the God, for whose dread ire
Fall'n on us loved but sinning, we deplore
This long but just captivity. Thy sire
"Receives him well and harkens his request
For know, he comes to ask thee-for a bride
And to be one among a people, blest
Tho' deep in suffering. Nor to him denied
"Art thou, sad daughter--weep--if't be thy will--
E'vn on the breast that nourished thee and ne'er
Distrest thee or compelled; this bosom still
Ev'n should'st though blight its dearest hopes, will share
"Nay, bear thy pains; but sooner in the grave
'Twill quench my waning years, if reckless thou
Of what I not command, but only crave,
Let my heart pine regardless of thy vow."