Classic Poem

S CYTHIAN .

 What does this olive here?

D ELIAN P RIEST

Its branches weave a holy gloom,
Over the northern maiden's tomb,
 Throughout the year:
She came from a land that is far away,
Where the brightness of our southern day
 Is all unknown,
To listen to our Delian god;
And here, beneath the flowery sod,
 She sleeps alone.
And this olive rose up silently,
To shade, with its sacred canopy,
 Her quiet sleep:
And our Delian virgins every year,
With solemn music come, and here
 Bend down to weep;
Whilst all the flowers of Greece are shed
Above the Scythian damsel's head.

S CYTHIAN .

 It is not beneath the olive shade,
 That a northern maiden should be laid,
  Deep though it be,
 Nor within these marble halls of pride;
  Her spirit free
 Should dwell, where some cliff's barren side,
 Is shaken by the echoing tide;
And your God should have brought a stately tree,
From the forests that frown o'er the northern sea,
  Her tomb to shade:
 He should have brought a mighty pine,
 With gnarlèd boughs, and knotted rind,
 To catch the roarings of the wind,
  Where she is laid:
For the olive, and the purple vine,
Though bright in the sun their green leaves shine,
  Know not the maid;
But the solemn tree of the north, would spread
Its shadow in love o'er her narrow bed;
And the breath of the simple flowers that blow
At the melting of the northern snow,
Would lend delight to the visions of death,
When she dreameth silently beneath.