Bright wreaths of scarlet plumes his temples crowned,
And round his ankles, arms, and wrists were wound
Unnumbered glassy strings of crystals bright,
Corals, and shells, and berries red and white.
On her he gazed, and floods of sable fires
Rolled his huge eyes, and spoke his fierce desires,
As on his club, a torn-up lime, he leaned.--
“Help, Heaven!” thought Irza, “‘tis the master-fiend!”
Not long he paused: he now with one quick bound
Sprang from the cliff, and lighted on the ground.
Back fled the maid in terror; but her fear
Was needless. Humbly, slowly crept he near,
Then kissed the earth, his club before her laid,
And of his neck her footstool would have made:
But from his touch she shrank. He raised his head,
And saw her limbs convulsed, her face all dread,
And felt the cause his presence! Sad and slow
He rose, resumed his club, and turn’d to go.
Reproachful was his look, but still ’twas kind;
He climb’d the rock, but oft he gazed behind;
He reach’d the cave; one look below he threw;
Plaintive again he moan’d, and with slow steps withdrew.
She is alone; she breathes again!--Fly, fly!--
Ah! wretched girl, too late! with frenzied eye,
(Scarce gone the master-fiend) his imps she sees,
Pour from the rocks, and drop from all the trees
With yell, and squeak, and many a horrid sound,
And form a living fence to hedge her round:
--“Now then,” she cried, 4 c all’s over!--oh! farewell,
Farewell, Rosalvo!” On her knee she fell,
And told her beads with trembling hands. Yet still
On came the throng; and soon, with wanton skill
(Lured by its coral glow and cross of gold),
One snatch’d her chaplet, nor forsook his hold,
Though hard she struggled: while more bold, more fierce
Another seized her arm, and dared to pierce
With his sharp teeth its snow. The pure blood stream’d
Fast from the wound, and loud the virgin scream’d;
And strait again was heard that sad strange moan,
And instant all the dwarfs again were flown.
Scarce conscious that she lived, scarce knowing why,
Half grieved, half grateful, Irza raised her eye:
Still on the rock (not dared he down to spring)
Then lowly knelt, and raised his arm to wave
An orange bough, and court her to his cave.
Lost are her friends; no help, no hope is nigh;
What can she do, and whither can she fly?