And in her eye's dark glance there strove
A heavenly and an earthly light,
Now flashing like the bird of Jove
Proudly from the empyrean height,
Now mild as Aphrodite's doves
Drawing the chariot of the Loves.
O, Axel ! of thy wounds the smart
Soon passes, only scars remain ;
"Without, thy breast is cured of pain ;
But ah ! how fares it with thy heart ?
Look not so loving on the hand
That binds thy wounds with healing band —
The hand that white as marble shows —
In thine it never may repose !
It bears more peril to thy peace
Than those hard hands of Osmanlis,
That late at Bender thou hast seen
With sabre armed and carabine.
Those fresh red lips, that only ope