Zara, The Bather

("Sara, belle d'indolence.")     [XIX., August, 1828.]     In a swinging hammock lying,         Lightly flying,     Zara, lovely indolent,     O'er a fountain's crystal wave         There to lave     Her young beauty - see her bent.     As she leans, so sweet and soft,         Flitting oft,     O'er the mirror to and fro,     Seems that airy floating bat,         Like a feather     From some sea-gull's wing of snow.     Every time the frail boat laden         With the maiden     Skims the water in its flight,     Starting from its trembling sheen,         Swift are seen     A white foot and neck so white.     As that lithe foot's timid tips         Quick she dips,     Passing, in the rippling pool,     (Blush, oh! snowiest ivory!)         Frolic, she     Laughs to feel the pleasant cool.     Here displayed, but half concealed -         Half revealed,     Each bright charm shall you behold,     In her innocence emerging,         As a-verging     On the wave her hands grow cold.     For no star howe'er divine         Has the shine     Of a maid's pure loveliness,     Frightened if a leaf but quivers         As she shivers,     Veiled with naught but dripping trees.     By the happy breezes fanned         See her stand, -     Blushing like a living rose,     On her bosom swelling high         If a fly     Dare to seek a sweet repose.     In those eyes which maiden pride         Fain would hide,     Mark how passion's lightnings sleep!     And their glance is brighter far         Than the star     Brightest in heaven's bluest deep.     O'er her limbs the glittering current         In soft torrent     Rains adown the gentle girl,     As if, drop by drop, should fall,      One and all     From her necklace every pearl.     Lengthening still the reckless pleasure         At her leisure,     Care-free Zara ever slow     As the hammock floats and swings         Smiles and sings,     To herself, so sweet and low.     "Oh, were I a capitana,         Or sultana,     Amber should be always mixt     In my bath of jewelled stone,         Near my throne,     Griffins twain of gold betwixt.     "Then my hammock should be silk,         White as milk;     And, more soft than down of dove,     Velvet cushions where I sit         Should emit     Perfumes that inspire love.     "Then should I, no danger near,         Free from fear,     Revel in my garden's stream;     Nor amid the shadows deep         Dread the peep,     Of two dark eyes' kindling gleam.     "He who thus would play the spy,         On the die     For such sight his head must throw;     In his blood the sabre naked         Would be slakd,     Of my slaves of ebon brow.     "Then my rich robes trailing show         As I go,     None to chide should be so bold;     And upon my sandals fine         How should shine     Rubies worked in cloth-of-gold!"     Fancying herself a queen,         All unseen,     Thus vibrating in delight;     In her indolent coquetting         Quite forgetting     How the hours wing their flight.     As she lists the showery tinkling         Of the sprinkling     By her wanton curvets made;     Never pauses she to think         Of the brink     Where her wrapper white is laid.     To the harvest-fields the while,         In long file,     Speed her sisters' lively band,     Like a flock of birds in flight         Streaming light,     Dancing onward hand in hand.     And they're singing, every one,         As they run     This the burden of their lay:     "Fie upon such idleness!         Not to dress     Earlier on harvest-day!"     JOHN L. O'SULLIVAN.