Think, when he meets at last his fountain-bride,
What perfect love must thrill the blended tide!
Each lost in each, till, mingling into one,
Their lot the same for shadow or for sun,
A type of true love, to the deep they run.
'Twas thus--
But, Theon, 'tis an endless theme,
And thou growest weary of my half-told dream.
Oh would, my love, we were together now.
And I would woo sweet patience to thy brow,
And make thee smile at all the magic tales
Of starlight bowers and planetary vales,
Which my fond soul, inspired by thee and love,
In slumber's loom hath fancifully wove.
But no; no more--soon as tomorrow's ray
O'er soft Ilissus shall have died away,
I'll come, and, while love's planet in the west
Shines o'er our meeting, tell thee all the rest.
[1] It was imagined by some of the ancients that there is an
ethereal ocean above us, and that the sun and moon are two floating,
luminous islands, in which the spirits of the blest reside.
[2] This belief of an ocean in the heavens, or "waters above the
firmament," was one of the many physical errors In which the early fathers
bewildered themselves.
[3] The pupil and mistress of Epicurus, who called her his "dear
little Leontium" as appears by a fragment of one of his letters in
Laertius. This Leontium was a woman of talent; "she had the impudence
(says Cicero) to write against Theophrastus;" and Cicero, at the same
time, gives her a name which is neither polite nor translatable.
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