Miscellaneous Writings and Speeches — Volume 1. Томас Бабингтон Маколей

the portico of a temple peeping through the trees on a huge peak above our heads,—and thousands of people, with myrtles in their hands, thronging up the winding path, their gay dresses and garlands disappearing and emerging by turns as they passed round the angles of the rock,—then perhaps—

      ALCIBIADES. Now, by Venus herself, sweet lady, where you are we shall lack neither sun, nor flowers, nor spring, nor temple, nor goddess.

      CHARICLEA. (Sings.)

           Let this sunny hour be given,

           Venus, unto love and mirth:

           Smiles like thine are in the heaven;

           Bloom like thine is on the earth;

           And the tinkling of the fountains,

           And the murmurs of the sea,

           And the echoes from the mountains,

           Speak of youth, and hope, and thee.

           By whate'er of soft expression

           Thou hast taught to lovers' eyes,

           Faint denial, slow confession,

           Glowing cheeks and stifled sighs;

           By the pleasure and the pain,

           By the follies and the wiles,

           Pouting fondness, sweet disdain,

           Happy tears and mournful smiles;

           Come with music floating o'er thee;

           Come with violets springing round:

           Let the Graces dance before thee,

           All their golden zones unbound;

           Now in sport their faces hiding,

           Now, with slender fingers fair,

           From their laughing eyes dividing

           The long curls of rose-crowned hair.

      ALCIBIADES. Sweetly sung; but mournfully, Chariclea; for which I would chide you, but that I am sad myself. More wine there. I wish to all the gods that I had fairly sailed from Athens.

      CHARICLEA. And from me, Alcibiades?

      ALCIBIADES. Yes, from you, dear lady. The days which immediately precede separation are the most melancholy of our lives.

      CHARICLEA. Except those which immediately follow it.

      ALCIBIADES. No; when I cease to see you, other objects may compel my attention; but can I be near you without thinking how lovely you are, and how soon I must leave you?

      HIPPOMACHUS. Ay; travelling soon puts such thoughts out of men's heads.

      CALLICLES. A battle is the best remedy for them.

      CHARICLEA. A battle, I should think, might supply their place with others as unpleasant.

      CALLICLES. No. The preparations are rather disagreeable to a novice. But as soon as the fighting begins, by Jupiter, it is a noble time;—men trampling,—shields clashing,—spears breaking,—and the poean roaring louder than all.