Albert Pike Poems

A Masque

JAMES ALEXANDER WILLIAMSON:
ANN WHITFIELD GREGORY:
Married April 7, 1853.
...

We parted in the Spring,
When the flowers were all in bloom,
When the air was loaded with perfume,
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And thou too, dearest sister! thou art dead!
The pitiless archer once again has sped
At our small circle an unerring dart.
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I sit, unconscious of all things around,
And look into my soul. Within it far
There is an image, dim and indistinct.
Of something that hath been,—I know not which,
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I.
Hear, lovely Chloris, while we sing to thee!
Thou restest now beneath some shady tree,
Near a swift brook, upon a mossy root;
All other winds with deep delight are mute,
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Where the rocks are gray and the shore is steep,
And the waters below look dark and deep,
Where the rugged pine, in its lonely pride,
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The wind is low as woman's sigh,
The myriad stars are shining bright,
The pale moon, like a lustrous eye,
Smiles calmly on the brow of night;
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A morning of early June,—
The wind slept cradled in leaves,
And the throstles were singing a soft low tune,
In the ivy under the eaves.
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Once more unto the desert! who
Would live a slave, when he can free
His heart from thraldom thus? O who?
Slave let'him be.
...

I.
Hear, white-winged Messenger! If thy swift feet
Loiter within Heaven's starry walls, where meet
The Gods, their nectar daintily to sip
...