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308 CONSTANTINE AND AKETE.
He calls to witness God above, he calls the holy-martyrs, Be woe her lot, or be it joy, he would restore her
daughter: And when they wedded Arete, in that far distant
country, Then comes the year of sorrowing, and all the nine
did perish. All lonely was the mother left, like a reed alone in
the meadow; O'er the eight graves she beats her breast, o'er eight is
heard her wailing, And at the tomb of Constantine, she rends her hair
in anguish. "Arise, my Constantine, arise, for Arete I lanÂguish : On God to witness thou didst call, didst call the holy
martyrs, Be woe my lot or be it joy, thou wouldst restore my
daughter." And forth at midnight hour he fares, the silent tomb
deserting, He makes the cloud his flying steed, he makes the star
his bridle, And by the silver moon convoyed, to bring her home
he journeys: And finds her combing down her locks, abroad by
silvery moonlight, And greets the maiden from afar, and from afar
bespeaks her. "Arise, my Aretula dear, for thee our mother
longeth." "Alas! my brother, what is this? what wouldst at
such an hour ? |
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