30

Wayne

Avolio.

[April,

AVOLIO A LEGEND OF THE ISLAND OF COS.*

What time the Norman ruled in Sicily

At that mild season when the vernal sea
Is ruffled only by the zephyrs gay,

A goodly ship set sail upon her way

From Ceos unto Smyrna; through the calm
She passed by sunny islands crowned, with palm,
Until, so witching tender was the breeze,

So drugged the hours with balms of slumbrous ease,
That they who manned her in the genial air
And dalliance of the time, forgot the care
Due to her courses; in the warm sunshine
They lay enchanted, dreaming dreams divine,
Whilst drifting heedless on the Halcyon water
The bark obeyed whatever currents caught her.
Borne onward thus for many a charmed day,
They reach at length a wide and wooded bay
The haunt of birds whose purpling wings, in flight,
Made even the gold-hued morning seem more bright,
Flushed as with darting rainbows; through the tide
By the o'erripe pomegranate juices dyed,

And laving boughs of the wild fig, and grape,

Great shoals of dazzling fishes madly ape

The play of silver lightnings in the deep

Translucent pools: the crew awoke from sleep,

Or, rather, that strange trance which on them pressed

Gently as sleep; yet still they seemed to rest

Fanned by voluptuous gales, by Morphean languors blessed.

The shore sloped upward into foliaged hills

Cleft by the channels of a maze of rills

That sent their clarion voices clear, and loud,

Up to the answering eagle in the cloud;

Green vales there were between, and pleasant lawns
Thick-set with blooms, like sheen of tropic dawns

Brightening the Orient; further still, the glades

Of murmurous forests flecked with golden shades

Stretched glimmering Southward; on the woods' far rim,

Faintly discerned through veiling vapors, dim

A mists of Indian summer, the wide view

Was clasped by mountains flickering in the blue

And hazy distance:-over all there hung

The morn's eternal beauty calm and young.

Amidst the throng that gazed with wondering faces

On that fair Eden, and its fairy graces,

*The authority for this Legend will be found in a paper called “The Daughter of Hippocrates," which first appeared in Leigh Hunts' "INDICATOR."

Was one-Avolio,—a brave youth of Florence,
Self-exiled from his country, in abhorrence

Of the base, blood-stained tyrants dominant there:-
A gentleman he was of gracious air,

And liberal as the summer, skilled in lore
Of arms, and chivalry, and many more
Deep sciences, which others left unlearned;
He loved adventure; how his spirit burned
Within him, when as now, a chance arose
To search untravelled forests, and strange foes
Vanquish by puissance of knightly blows,
Or, rescue maidens from malignant spells
Enforced by hordes of wizard sentinels:
So, in the ardor of his martial glee

He clapped his hands, and shouted suddenly;
"Ho! Sirs! a challenge! let us pierce these woods
Down to the core; explore the solitudes,

And make this flowery empire all our own;
Who knows but we may conquer us a throne;

At least, bold feats await us, grand emprize

To win us favour in our ladies' eyes;

By Heaven! he is a coward who delays!"

So saying, all his countenance ablaze

With fiery zeal, the youth sprang lightly up,

And with right lusty motion filled a cup

(They brought him straightway)—to the glistening brim
With Cyprus wine-" now glory unto him
Who bent on gallant deeds, no danger daunts,
Whose constant soul a constant impulse haunts
Which spurs him onward, onward, to the end;
Pledge we the Brave! and may St. Ermo send
Success to crown our valiantest "" this said,
Avolio shoreward leaped, and with him led
The whole ship's company.

A motley band,

Were they who mustered, 'round him on the strand,
Mixed knights, and traders, the first, fired for toil

Which promised glory, the last, hot--for spoil.

Through breezy paths, and beds of blossoming thyme
Kept fresh by secret springs, the showery chime

Of whose clear falling waters in the dells,

Played like an airy peal of elfin bells,
With eager minds, but aimless, idle feet,

(The scene about them was so lone, and sweet,

It spelled their steps), 'mid labyrinths of flowers,

By mossy streams, and in deep shadowed bowers,

They strayed from charm to charm through lengths of languid hours.

In thickets of wild fern, aud rustling broom

The bumble-bee buzzed past them with a boom

Of insect thunder, and in glens afar

The golden fire-fly, a small, animate star

Shone from the twilight of the darkling leaves.

High noon it was, but dusk like mellow eve's
Reigned in the wood's deep places, whence it seemed
That flushing locks, and quick arch glances gleamed,
From eyes scarce human; thus the fancy deemed
Of those most given to marvels; the rest laughed

A merry jeering laugh, and many a shaft

Launched from the Norman cross-bow pierced the nooks,

Or cleft the shallow channels of the brooks,

Whence, as the credulous swore, an Oread shy,

And a glad nymph had peeped out laughingly.

Thus wandering, they reached a sombre mound

Rising abruptly from the level ground,

And planted thick with dark funereal trees,

Whose foliage waved and murmured, though the breeze
Had sunk to midnight quiet, and the sky
Just o'er the place seemed locked in apathy,
Like a fair face wan with the sudden stroke

Of death, or heart-break; not a word they spoke,
But paused with wide, bewildered, gleaming eyes
Standing at gaze: what mortal terrors rise
And coil about their hearts with serpent fold;
And O! what loathly scene is this they hold,
Grasped with unwinking vision, as they creep,
(Led by their very horror,) up the steep,
And the whole preternatural landscape dawns
Freezingly on them; a broad stretch of lawns
Sown with rank poisonous grasses, whence the dew
Of hovering exhalations flickered blue,

And wavering on the dead-still atmosphere;

Dead still it was, and yet the grasses sere,

Stirred as with horrid life amidst the sickening glare!

The affrighted crew (all save Avolio) fled

Incontinent, but his dull feet with lead

Seemed freighted; whilst his Terror whispered "fly,"

The spell of some uncouth Necessity

Baffled retreat, and ruthless, scourged him on ;
Meanwhile the sun thro' darkening vapors shone
Nigh to his setting, and a sudden blast-
Sudden and chill-woke shrilly up and passed
With ghostly din, and tumult; airy sounds
Of sylvan horns, and sweep of circling hounds
Nearing the quarry: now, the wizard chase
Swept faintly, faintly up the fields of space,
And now, with backward rushing whirl roared by
Louder, and fiercer, till a madening cry,

A bitter shriek of human agony

Leaped up, and died, amidst the stifling yell
Of brutes athirst for blood: a crowning swell

Of savage triumph followed, mixed with wails
Sad as the dying songs of Nightengales
Murmuring the name-ACTEON!

Even as one

A 'rapt sleep-walker-through the shadows dun
Of half-oblivious sense, with soulless gaze
Goes idly journeying 'midst uncertain ways,
Thus did Avolio, sore perplexed in mind,
(Excess of mystery made his spirit blind,)
Grope through the gloom; anon he reached a fount
Whose watery columns had long ceased to mount
Above its prostrate Tritons: near at hand,
Damned up in part by heaps of yellow sand,—
Dead-white, and lustreless,-a rivulet

Of oozy banks, with dank dark alders set,
Blurred in its turbid tides the o'erhanging sky;
The melancholy waters seemed to sigh
In wailful murmurs of articulate woe,

And struggling from the sullen depths below,
This dirge arose :-

VI.

With ghastly face upraised, and shuddering throat,
I watched the Portent with a prescient pain,
When, lightning-harbed a beamy arrow smote,
Or seemed to smite my brain,

Woe! Woe, is me!

VII.

Oblivion clasped me, till I woke forlorn,
Fettered, and sorrowing on this lonely bed,
Shut from the mirthful kisses of the Morn,--
Earth's glories overhead,

Woe! Woe, is me!

VIII.

The South winds stir the sedges into song,

The blossoming myrtles scent the enamored air, But still, sore moaning for another's wrong,

I pine in sadness here,

Woe! Woe, is me!

IX.

Alas! alas! the weary centuries flee!

The waning seasons perish,-dark, or bright,My grief alone like some charmed poison-tree, Knows not an autumn blight,

Woe! Woe, is me!

The mournful sounds swooned off, but Echo rose

And bore them up divinely to a close

Of rare mysterious sweetness; nevermore
Shall mortal winds to listening wood and shore,

Bring such heart-melting music; "where, O! where!"
Avolio murmured, "to what haunted sphere
Hath dubious Fate my errant footsteps brought ?"
Launched on a baffling sea of mystic thought,
His reason in a whirling chaos lost

Compass and chart, and headway, vaguely tossed
'Midst flitting shapes of wingéd phantasies;-
Just then uplifting his bewildered eyes,
He saw-half hid in shade-the pillars grand,
Of a great gateway reared on either hand,
And close beyond them, nested in a wood
Of stern aspect, a sombrous mansion stood:
Long wreaths of ghastly ivy on its walls
Quivered like goblin tapestry, or palls,
Tattered and rusty, mildewed in the chill
Of dreadful vaults; across each window-sill
Curtains of weird device, and fiery hue

Hung moveless-only when the sun glanced through
The gathering glooms, the hieroglyphs took form
And life, and action, and the whole grew warm
With meanings baffling to Avolio's sense:-
He stood expectant, trembling, with intense