Canto X

—Then CORA came, the youngest of her race,And in her hands she hid her lovely face;Yet oft by stealth a timid glance she cast,And now with playful step the Mirror pass’d,Each bright reflection brighter than the last!And oft behind it flew, and oft before;The more she search’d, pleas’d and perplex’d the more!And look’d and laugh’d, and blush’d with quick surprize;Her lips all mirth, all ecstasy her eyes!But soon the telescope attracts her view;And lo, her lover in his light canoeRocking, at noon-tide, on the silent sea,Before her lies! It cannot, cannot be.Late as he left the shore, she linger’d there,Till, less and less, he melted into air!—Sigh after sigh steals from her gentle frame,And say—that murmur—was it not his name?She turns, and thinks; and, lost in wild amaze,Gazes again, and could for ever gaze!Nor can thy flute, ALONSO, now excite,As in VALENCIA, when, with fond delight,FRANCISCA, waking, to the lattice flew,So soon to love and to be wretched too!Hers thro’ a convent-grate to send her last adieu.—Yet who now comes uncall’d; and round and round,And near and nearer flutters to its sound;Then stirs not, breathes not—on enchanted ground?Who now lets fall the flowers she cull’d to wearWhen he, who promis’d, should at eve be there;And faintly smiles, and hangs her head asideThe tear that glistens on her cheek to hide?Ah, who but CORA?—till inspir’d, possess’d,At once she springs, and clasps it to her breast!

Soon from the bay the mingling croud ascends,Kindred first met! by sacred instinct Friends!Thro’ citron groves, and fields of yellow maize,Thro’ plantain-walks where not a sun-beam plays.Here blue savannas fade into the sky.There forests frown in midnight majesty;Ceiba,m and Indian fig, and plane sublime,Nature’s first-born, and reverenc’d by Time!There sits the bird that speaks! there, quivering, riseWings that reflect the glow of evening skies!Half bird, half fly,n the fairy king of flowersReigns there, and revels thro’ the fragrant hours;oGem full of life, and joy, and song divine,Soon in the virgin’s graceful ear to shine.’Twas he that sung, if antient Fame speaks truth,“Come! follow, follow to the Fount of Youth!I quaff the ambrosial mists that round it rise,Dissolv’d and lost in dreams of Paradise!”For there call’d forth, to bless a happier hour,It met the sun in many a rainbow-shower!Murmuring delight, its living waters roll’d’Mid branching palms and amaranths of gold!