Edward Bulwer-Lytton: The Last Days of Pompeii

BOOK THE THIRD 2. Chapter II (continued)

'Ah!' said Nydia, with a sort of shiver, and she awoke mechanically a few pleasing notes from her lyre; the sound suited well the tranquility of the waters, and the sunny stillness of the noon.

'Play to us, dear Nydia, said Glaucus--'play and give us one of thine old Thessalian songs: whether it be of magic or not, as thou wilt--let it, at least, be of love!'

'Of love!' repeated Nydia, raising her large, wandering eyes, that ever thrilled those who saw them with a mingled fear and pity; you could never familiarize yourself to their aspect: so strange did it seem that those dark wild orbs were ignorant of the day, and either so fixed was their deep mysterious gaze, or so restless and perturbed their glance, that you felt, when you encountered them, that same vague, and chilling, and half-preternatural impression, which comes over you in the presence of the insane--of those who, having a life outwardly like your own, have a life within life--dissimilar--unsearchable--unguessed!

'Will you that I should sing of love?' said she, fixing those eyes upon Glaucus.

'Yes,' replied he, looking down.

She moved a little way from the arm of Ione, still cast round her, as if that soft embrace embarrassed; and placing her light and graceful instrument on her knee, after a short prelude, she sang the following strain:

               NYDIA'S LOVE-SONG

                     I

         The Wind and the Beam loved the Rose,
           And the Rose loved one;
          For who recks the wind where it blows?
          Or loves not the sun?

                     II

         None knew whence the humble Wind stole,
           Poor sport of the skies--
         None dreamt that the Wind had a soul,
           In its mournful sighs!

                    III