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182C.] Detur Amanliori. 499 



O'er Athens : they demand a life to pay 



The penalty — to wash the stain away ! 



But if another, from Leucadia's steep 



(The fame is deathless of " the Lover's Leap"), 



Plunge headlong down, and for the false one give 



A life for life, the faithless one may live ! 



Bathyllus loved me — was by me adored ; 

 On him I lavish'd, without stint, the hoard 

 Of love which time had gathered in my breast. 

 Which, like an altar-pile, there lay at rest. 

 Till the bright torch of Eros gave the flame 

 To light that altar — then Bathyllus came. 

 We were betroth'd — and I adored him ! Well 

 Might love's full passion in my bosom swell ; 

 For none or ever did, or ever can, 

 So well deserve woman's whole love to man. 



And was I faithless then to him ? was I, 



To whom he seemed almost divinity. 



False to the love I gave, the troth I plighted? 



No ! may the worst of all the ills which lighted 



On fated Troy, on my head be united. 



If ever e'en my heart possessed a thought 



With change or falsehood to Bathyllus fraught ! 



I loved him — as my sex can love in youth — 



I loved, with ardent, undivided truth ! 



I loved, as no one but himself, alas ! 



Could equal — I should say with him surpass ! 



Tin then I ne'er knew shade or sadness ; now 



Sorrow has stamp'd his cold seal on my brow. 



Daily my blood grows cold — my eyes grow dim — 



I soon shall be at rest, and sleep by him I 



Yes I he is laid in the Leucadian sea. 



The bright Bathyllus died — and 'twas for me ! 



False heart, false oaths— the offspring of foul hate, 



For slighted vows, thus drove us to our fate. 



Crito arraign'd me as a false one, swore 



My plighted faith was forfeited — nay more, 



He meanly stole (the grov'lling wretch!) a token 



Of plighted troth, to prove my troth-plight broken ! 



I was condemn'd, on the most perjur'd breath 



Of that base villain's oath — condemn'd to death ! 



Bathyllus paused not — madly to the steep 



O'er Leucas' wave he rush'd — he took the Lover's Leap ! 



These words were brought to me ; " I die for j'ou, 



Even if false — oh ! how much more, if true !" 



I thus was spared ; and soon the subtle train 

 Of perjur'd falsehood, woven now in vain. 

 Was traced and proved — the villain Crito fled 

 To hide in exile his dishonour'd head. 



Now, judges, give the prize ! the wreath of love 

 Should crown Bathyllus' urn ; far, far above 

 All others he has loved — those who have vied 

 Must yield them now ; for me my lover died I 

 Yes ! when his bride is gather'd to his breast, 

 May she not say you deem'd " He loved the best ?" 



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